Preachers Pulpit Parishioners And

Blake

How could things be the same after all we had gone through? It's true that you can't judge a book by its cover because sometimes the cover lied.

Either it didn't entice the reader enough to open the pages or it made you believe that the words on the inside were equivalent or better than the wonderful picture on the outside.

That's how we were, Samson and I.

Sitting here on the 5th pew during morning worship made everyone think that he loved me so much. I was a strong woman but always submissive to Samson. He was somewhat of a quiet man which made it seem that I was the dominant one in this 4 year relationship. Even though Samson was educated and had his degrees to prove it, I felt he channeled his aggressions in the wrong direction. He was often times manipulated by other women including his mother. She constantly told him what a failure he was and choose his mates for him until I came along. For that reason alone she didn't like me and she made no secret of it. Even though he tried he could never make her happy or proud of him. So where she failed to be there for him I tried to fill that void. Judging on how things were going between us my efforts were failing.

That's why sitting here listening to the choir sing its 2nd hymn, I begin to silently pray that I would find enough courage and strength to make this relationship work.

Why did we have to come to the church where all of his family attended? Beside it being located in the backwoods of the country no one here liked me.

I smoothed my hands over my lap and crossed my legs at the ankle. Being in the presence of Samson's "kinfolk" ranging from his immediate family to distant relatives, it was paramount that I appeared confident.

These Christians could be a real handful.

I looked ahead as I saw the pastor approach the pulpit podium following the reading of the church announcements. He wasn't what would be considered gorgeous by looks alone but he certainly had a confident disposition about him. He was 6'3 with creamy brown skin and a red undertone. His freshly shaven face looked as if were sculpted by the hands of the finest potter, only further being defined by his thick lips and long lashes.

"Amen. Let the church say amen."

"Amen." the congregation echoed repeating after the pastor.

"It truly is a day to be thankful for."

After making several announcements one regarding the youth bake sale, Pastor Bronson begins to look around and looked directly over to Samson and me. Samson he already knew, me he did not.

"Hello Samson." his smooth deep voice caught me off guard when he spoke Samson's name aloud.

"Its good to have you worship with us."

Samson nodded his head in response. Pastor Bronson looked over at me.

"Oh gosh here we go. I hope he doesn't put me on spot like most black preachers do new visitors" I thought.

"Good morning Mrs.?" he waited for me to fill in the blank to his open question.

"Ms Clareon." I replied emphasizing the 'Ms'.

From the look of his face he seemed surprised that I wasn't married to Samson. After not seeing Samson for so long he didn't know if he had taken on a wife or not. It was common not to carry the name of your husband nowadays but he knew by the 'Ms' that this was not the case.

"Ms. Clareon" he addressed me rolling my last name from his tongue and pronouncing it in its perfect French tone as I had moments ago.

"You are such a beautiful woman. Are you from here? Ive never seen you before.''

"Thank you for the compliment and yes I am from here."

"I hope you enjoy service enough to worship with us again."

"Thank You."

What had just happened? Was he flirting with me or just being nice? All eyes appeared to be watching the dialogue take place between the two of us.

Maybe he was like most preachers that I grew up in church around. Always womanizing the ladies of the church to get the things they wanted, sometimes a pie, sometimes pussy.

It was something about preachers in the south that made them able to get almost any woman in their congregation to do anything without question, even the married ones. It's as if women thought they would be saved just by being near to a pastor or by spreading their legs. Some were surely guilty of 'Southern Hospitality'. I despised preachers like that. Taking advantage of others and using the name of the Lord to do so.

Was this the same kind of man standing before me, looking at me as though he was trying to figure out my innermost thoughts? If he was then it would do him good to not try that "pastoral" friendship on me. Judging by the way Samson's cousin Tonya was looking at him he already had "extended" himself enough.