Sex In The Sanctuary. Lutishia Lovely
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“Of course, Friday is Young Adult Night,” Denise continued, excitement in her delivery. She licked her lips unconsciously as she turned the page to continue.
Pink, Mark decided, following her tongue as it traced the outline of her sumptuous mouth. And as if to confirm his decision, the color of her blouse grabbed his attention. His eyes traveled south of their own volition, and without meaning to, he visually caressed her neck, adorned with a thin gold chain that sported an equally thin cross that dipped down and hovered just above her breasts. Mark sat back and gazed at her eyes, large and inviting as they scanned back and forth over the notes she read. Her nose was lovely, and Mark noticed it turned up just slightly at the end. As if to say, “Kiss me, I’m cute.” Denise licked her lips again. Mark found himself wondering if she liked Mexican food, and if she was doing anything Friday night.
“…so with the dance performance by the Angels of Hope, the steppers, Mixed Blessings, and Imani’s dramatic presentation, that as they say in show business, will be a wrap!”
“Good, good,” King replied. He went around the room then, asking specific questions relative to each person’s responsibilities and assignments. Work regarding volunteers, security personnel, hospitality for out-of-town guests, and even the budget was under control. One of the assistant pastors was conducting a series of outreach endeavors for people who may not have considered church as a place they could receive instruction for practical living, in addition to food for their souls. Mark and a group of specially selected and trained teenagers and young adults were passing out flyers at the local schools and youth hangout spots. Deacon Nash had prayer covered, and Hope had designed an excellent and energetic schedule for Young Adult Night.
“As you know, Pastor King,” Hope began, having given a more detailed outline of the extravaganza earlier in the meeting, “Righteous Rebel will be a huge draw for the young people because of his popularity and visibility when he was a secular hip-hop artist and because of his latest hit, ‘Holy Ghost High.’ With him performing, there will be tons of young people there, many of whom may have never stepped in to a church otherwise. He’s got an awesome testimony about how God spared his life in a gang-related shootout where his best friend died. And with your approval of course,” she added, looking at King and flashing a megawatt smile, “we might be able to talk him into doing a midnight concert just for the kids.”
King had been watching her intently and leaned forward as she finished, forming a praying hands pose beneath his chin. “Good, good. Excellent idea, Hope. Let’s get together after this meeting is over so you can give me more details. How’s my schedule?” he asked Joseph, who grabbed a day planner and scanned it quickly.
“You’ve got about forty-five minutes, it looks like, before your meeting with the councilman.”
King nodded and turned to the others. “I want to thank everybody for the hard work you’re putting into this conference. When everything’s over and everybody’s commenting on how blessed they were and how successful the meeting was, know that each of you played a vital part.” On that note King stood, as did the others except for Hope, who sat patiently waiting as King spoke to Joseph first and then to Mark. Her legs were crossed and she was shaking the top one gently, the only outward sign of her inner excitement at Pastor King’s approval of her plans.
She wasn’t the only one excited. King had barely been able to concentrate on the conference details, still caught up in a conversation he’d had with a certain female before the meeting started. She had detailed the plans she had for him later, plans that sounded good, good.
Ladies first
Vivian scooped the last bite of butter pecan cheesecake onto her fork and moaned audibly as it melted in her mouth. Her eyes were closed, and they stayed that way as she chewed, swallowed and reached for her napkin, dabbing her mouth before falling back against the plush, wicker chairs at Whispers, her favorite beachfront restaurant. “It should be illegal for a piece of cake to taste that good,” she said as she grinned, shaking her head and reaching for her almond mint tea. “I feel like a stuffed pig.”
“Well, you definitely look like you were enjoying yourself,” Carla commented as she downed her last bite of deep-dish apple pie and pushed the plate away. “And if you’re a stuffed pig, I must be a beached whale!”
Carla was often referred to as “big pretty” in private male conversations. Carla had never been a skinny girl, nor had she ever suffered low self-esteem. She was big boned and shapely, like an oversized coca-cola bottle, with expressive eyes and a ready smile. Her personality attracted both men and women like bees to honey. Even after many years in Los Angeles, her Georgian twang was as strong as ever, and when she got excited, which was often, it became even more pronounced. There was not a jealous or pretentious bone in her body. Carla enjoyed life and came as close to being an angel as anyone Vivian ever met.
They had met three years ago when her husband, Reverend Stanley Lee, was appointed to a local Church of God In Christ, COGIC, assembly after serving in an Atlanta suburb affiliate for five years. A progressive and contemporary thinker, Reverend Lee had consciously sought out like-minded religious leaders of other denominations with whom to network and possibly bring about a much-needed spiritual change in the city’s atmosphere. One of his first phone calls had been to Vivian’s husband, Derrick, and after inviting them to dinner—an evening that lasted from seven that night until two in the morning—Vivian and Carla were fast friends.
It was also during this first meeting that the seeds were sown for Ladies First, a group of pastors’ wives from different churches all over the city meeting once a month to discuss ways to best serve God, their husbands and the female members in their congregations. Carla was very attuned to the women in her church and empathetic with their needs both spiritual and emotional. She was particularly sensitive to single women, including single mothers, wanting to get married. She had been both. And when it came to loving yourself no matter what your weight, Carla could have been the poster girl. She was beautiful inside and out, and she saw herself that way. She believed she was made in the image of God and that “God don’t like ugly so he sho’ didn’t make it.”
Vivian’s forte was with women looking for their spiritual purpose in God, as well as overcoming issues of self-doubt, self-worth and self-esteem. Other core members of Ladies First included Chanelle Robinson, Terri McDaniels, Ruth Edwards, Pat Lange and Rebecca Collins, the only ordained minister in the group.
It was this group who sat fat and happy, having stuffed themselves with the delicious cuisine at Whispers as they planned their quarterly women’s fellowship meeting. It was a one-day affair, including various seminars, symposiums and discussions and a special luncheon speaker, held at the Beverly Hilton Hotel in a beautiful, chandeliered ballroom. Each quarter, a specific topic was selected, and all of the activities, including the luncheon speaker, centered on this subject. Vivian thought she had a poignant, if a bit explosive, topic for an upcoming session.
“My proposed theme for the fall fellowship is called S.O.S.,” Vivian began, having sat up from her reclined state and looked from one face to the next, before continuing.
“S.O.S.?” Terri questioned.
“That must stand for Sick Of Somethin’,” Carla bellowed. “’Cause God knows we are all…Sick—of—Somethin’. Sick of no-good Negroes, sick of hard-headed kids…”
“They are blessings and not curses,” Minister Rebecca injected, only half teasing. “Watch your witness!”
“Sick of cookin’, cleanin’—first our house and then the Lord’s house,” Carla went on dramatically, although now she had taken on the intonation of a plantation slave. “I’s so tired, massa,” she moaned. “Nobody knows de trouble I see,” she began to sing, so loudly that some of the other diners turned around with a mixture of curious, comical or censoring looks on their faces. Carla couldn’t have cared less. She was enjoying herself.
“Girl, will you shut up,” Vivian whispered loudly, barely able to keep an unladylike guffaw from erupting. The other ladies at the table were giggling, and Chanelle held