No Weapon Formed (Boaz Brown) (23 page)

After dismissal, I rushed to
approach her. “I wanted to let you know how much the message blessed me. And to
thank you for praying for my husband. He’s better now.”

“Fully recovered?”

Odd question.
The Holy Spirit directed me to tell her
the whole truth, not the cheery version I’d given to everyone who’d asked.
“Seventy-five percent, if I had to put a number on it.”

Her intense focus on me in a
buzzing crowd of sixty or so women was unnerving. Made me feel extremely
vulnerable. Had the Spirit not arrested me moments earlier, I might have
sidestepped her probe with humor or a churchy cliché.

Not today.

“You know, the last time we
talked in the parking lot, you asked me to pray and ask God to heal your
husband.”

I nodded as my eyes began to
sting. My heart was jumping at the chance to receive whatever she had to say.
The fact that I was there, the way the Lord used me at my table, it wasn’t a
coincidence. This day was important, and I knew it even before Sister Windham
laid it on me.

“I wanted to say something to
you then, but the Holy Spirit said you weren’t ready, so I didn’t. I prayed
what you requested. And if you remember, I prayed for
you
more than your
husband.”

A tiny smile escaped. “Yes,
ma’am, I did notice.”

“Well, God has answered my
prayer for you. You’re ready. And what I see is that you and your husband have
been fighting this attack on his health like y’all are at the bottom of a hill,
his health is at the top, and the enemy’s standing between where you are and
where you need to be.” She lowered one hand toward her knee, the other she
raised high. “But y’all got it backwards. In Christ, you
already have
health.
Your fight is to
protect
your health, not
get
it. You understand
what I’m saying?

“You’re at the
top
of
the hill swinging the sword down, not up. The enemy is beneath you, never
above.
You
tell
him
what to do, not the other way around. We been
singin’ Jesus, He will fix it after while, when all the time, He left the power
with us. You hear?”

“Yes, ma’am. How, exactly, do
I fight him?”

“I see you missed a lot of
sessions,” she semi-fussed. “Your sword is the Word. Every time you speak it
from your lips, you strike a blow to the enemy.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Let me sum it up for you.
You and your husband, speak to what’s left of the mountain and tell it to be
removed. Keep your thought-life in check, and don’t let your mouth utter
anything contrary to the Word of God. I don’t care what the doctors say, what
the TV say, what the internet say. You”—she poked my shoulder—“fear
not and believe only. Find you some scriptures to stand on and don’t be moved.”

I wiped my face. “Thank you.”
Such inadequate words. “Thank you so much.”

She gave me a big Grandmomma-hasn’t-seen-you-in-a-while
hug. “Bless Jesus.”

Stelson’s groaning permeated
the midnight silence. “Baby?”

He was upright, groping his
knees. “All of a sudden, they just started throbbing. Maybe it’s—”

“Don’t even speculate. Get
the scriptures,” I declared before he could confess something we’d have to
strike down later.

He hit the light and pulled
the index cards out of the drawer. I leaned into him as we professed in unison,
“My son, attend to my words; incline thine ear unto my sayings. Let them not
depart from thine eyes; keep them in the midst of thine heart. For they are
life unto those that find them, and health to all their flesh. Proverbs 4:22-23,”
we professed in unison.

“But he was wounded for our
transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our
peace was upon him; and with his stripes we are healed. Isaiah 53:5.”

Then, I placed both hands on
his knees and spoke to them. “On the authority of the Word of God, we come
against everything that’s out of line with perfect health given to us through
Christ. I command these knees to be healed and cease from throbbing in the name
of Jesus.”

Stelson rubbed my back as I
continued praying for him. Normally, I would have just said a few words and
given him an Aleve. But the Spirit pressed me to tarry over him. And that’s
exactly what I did. Led by Him, I spoke not only to his knees in a general
sense, but to his cells. Mind you, I didn’t remember anything about cells from
my science classes.

But I knew He did.

My tears fell onto my
husband’s body as the cell-calling continued up and down his legs. “Sickness,
be removed from his body. We cast you into the sea.”

I prayed and commanded until
Stelson’s hand stopped moving and I heard him snoring again.

Music to my ears.

Poor Zoe. Her first birthday
was in less than a week and I hadn’t officially invited anyone to the simple
gathering at the park. In truth, we had been blessed with unseasonably warm
weather for late January—not that Texas weather follows any logic. A
check of the 10-day forecast put us in the high 60s just in time for an outdoor
party (with plenty of bug spray).

 If the comparative lack
of documentation in her baby book was any indication of how different things
would be for her as a second child, I could see why so many people suffered
from second-child complex.

Mommas be tired!

“Who’s gonna show up besides
Daddy, Jonathan’s crew, Momma Miller and a few people from the church?” I asked
Stelson as we waited in the doctor’s office.

“Don’t worry. No one
remembers their first party.”

“When she sees pictures of
Seth’s first birthday party, she’s going to notice a difference. Remember? We
had the bounce house, the cotton candy machine, face painting…”

Stelson winced as he read the
latest issue of Time Magazine. “I remember it all too well. Two different
flavors of cake, a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle, a piñata—”

“We did
not
have a piñata!”

He shrugged. “Might as well
have.”

Seth’s first birthday party
had been one of our biggest blow-ups. I believed in giving our kids things I
never had. Stelson believed I was throwing the party to impress our new
neighbors and the people at the church. There was some truth to his argument, but
I was too hormonal to acknowledge his point. I went behind his back and planned
a huge celebration. I thought Stelson was going to spit fire when he opened the
door and saw that overgrown masked turtle.

I chuckled at the memory.
“Okay. No turtle this time. But we will have a bubble-blowing machine.”

“Works for me.”

By this time, I already knew
the number of stripes on the outdated wallpaper in the doctor’s office. I had
seen every segment of the continuously playing “educational” video twice. The
testimonials read more like horror stories. One man was perfectly healthy until
he woke up one morning and couldn’t move his arms. Of course, the commentator
ended his segment by saying that his doctor prescribed yada-yada.

Seriously, if I hadn’t been immersed
in the scriptures on health, coming to the doctor’s office would have scared me
silly.

Stelson and I had already
prayed before we got out of the car. I’d drawn up the verses on my phone and we
recited them together, though it was clear we both knew them by heart. For as
much as I’d been slipping little index card reminders in his lunch, Stelson
probably hid them in his heart before I did.

The nurse beckoned us to a
patient room, where Stelson’s doctor performed an examination and reviewed the
most recent lab results. “So far so good. But there’s always a chance of
bizarre, random symptoms popping up later with Lyme disease.”

“I understand,” Stelson
politely acknowledged without agreeing.

I winked at him.

We left the office holding
hands. Actually,
swinging
hands like two nine year olds who had just
shared a secret.

Daddy and Momma Miller had
agreed to each watch a child while Stelson and I went to his late afternoon
follow-up appointment. I had no doubt Momma Miller could handle them both, but
I felt an obligation to divvy them up if at all possible. Now that Zoe was
walking and getting into everything, I needed to save the double-up babysitting
for special occasions.

“You want me to drop you off
at home before I go get the kids?”

“No. I’m not going back in to
the office today. I’ll go with you,” Stelson said.

First stop was Peaches’
mother’s house. Upon entrance, we knew she was at it again, baking cookies to
send home with us. She kissed us both, squeezed Zoe, then gave her to Stelson
while thrusting a plate of decorated sugar cookies in my hand.

“Zoe helped make these,” she
claimed.

“You teaching my baby to cook
already?”

“Gotta start early,” she
joked. “She is such a joy, Shondra. And her golden brown color is really coming
in. No offense, Stelson.”

“Why would I be offended?” he
asked with a hint of polite laughter.

“I’m just sayin’.
This
one ain’t gon’ look like you.”

In the car, Stelson asked me
what I thought Momma Miller meant by her comment.

“Nothing.”

“Then why did she say it?”

“Stelson, people in her
generation, in Daddy’s generation…they had a different experience growing up.
Can we leave it alone?”

Uneasiness etched in his
forehead as he headed to my father’s house next. “I wish we could all come to
an understanding. Get on one accord.”

“May not happen in our
lifetimes. Can you live with that?”

“I suppose I’ll have to.”

To my surprise, he parked the
car and slid the keys out of the ignition.

“You’re getting out?”

“Yeah. I owe your father an
apology.”

“For what?”

He widened his eyes. “Does
the name Chuck E. Cheese ring a bell?”

“Yeah.” I popped my lips.
“Pretty bad day.”

Stelson faced me. “When your
dad walked you down the aisle and gave you to me, he wasn’t expecting to see
his little girl be mistreated. Looking at Zoe—with her golden brown skin,”
he teased, “I don’t know what I would do if someone disrespected her in my
presence. I want to look your father in the eye and let him know I’m sorry I
let him down. Man-to-man.”

Now, if we had been talking
about any other “man” except my Daddy, Stelson’s sentiments might have actually
been touching. Endearing. But this was Daddy and I knew my father had a hard,
nearly impossible time forgiving people.

“You don’t have to do this.”

“Yes, I do.”

“No, you don’t,” I tried. “My
father isn’t always a reasonable person. You might think you’re going to talk
to him about your behavior, but I guarantee you somehow, some kind of way, he
will turn this into something else. Maybe you should write him a letter
or—”

“I’m not a coward,” my
husband spat back at me. “I got this, babe.” He unlocked the doors and exited.

I unlocked Zoe from her seat
and kissed her gently. “Sweetie pie, your Daddy is going into a lion’s den.”

She grinned, showing off her
little square white teeth.

“Yes, he is,” I cooed.

Stelson knocked on the door.

I rushed up behind him. “Just
tell him you’re sorry and get it over with. No long, drawn out conversation.
Check?”

“Check.”

“Do not answer any questions.
All questions lead to endless debate. Capiche?”

“Capiche.”

Daddy answered the door. Saw
Stelson. His face soured. “I’ll get Seth.”

“Great.”

“Wait. Mr. Smith,” Stelson
said before Daddy could walk away. “I want to apologize for the way I talked to
both you and LaShondra at Seth’s party. It was rude and disrespectful, and I’m
sorry.”

Still partially veiled behind
the screen, Daddy asked, “Heard you must have been real sick at the time.”

“Yes, sir, I was…not that I’m
making excuses for my behavior.”

His eyes swept over my
husband. “I accept your apology. You look like yourself again. Must have gotten
over it.”

“I did, by the grace of God.”

“Uh huh. What’d you have,
anyway?”

“Daddy, I told you he had
Lyme disease. We don’t want to hold you long.”

“Shondra, can’t you see I’m
talkin’ to the man?”

I rolled my eyes behind Zoe’s
back.

Daddy continued, “I told a
friend of mine about it. He does a lot of studyin’ and stuff on the internet.
Told me Lyme disease is man-made, just like the government created AIDS and the
West Nile virus. Printed off a bunch of papers and everything.”

Stelson shifted. “Yes,
LaShondra told me about the theories floating around, but you know, I don’t
really subscribe to these unfounded government, military conspiracy theories
except, maybe, the one about who shot JFK.”

I kicked my husband’s foot.

“Say you don’t believe in
‘em, eh?” Daddy baited.

“No, sir.”

“You ever heard of the
Tuskegee Experiment?”

Stelson leaned his ear toward
the door. “The what?”

Didn’t I tell him not to
entertain questions?

Daddy swung the door open.
“Y’all come on inside.”

“Are you serious?” I begged.

“I’m just gon’ educate the
man,” my father insisted.

Stelson crossed the
threshold.

I had no choice except to
follow him. Otherwise, who knew what might happen? “Ooooh!” I fumed, stomping
in the house. “Where is my son?”

“Back there by the washing
room foldin’ towels. You were right. Seth can sho ‘nuff make a perfect crease.
He can do sheets, too. And I told him he’s off to a real good start. Needs to
get used to doing things better than other people so they won’t look down on
him, look down on his race.”

“I’m afraid we’ll have to
agree to disagree on Seth’s need to represent the race,” Stelson said.

“Maybe we will,” Daddy said,
“but let’s at least understand what we’re disagreeing about.” He pulled out a
kitchen chair for Stelson to sit. Then he scooted a chair close so that he and
Stelson were almost knee-to-knee.

Disgust twisted my face. I
stood over them both with Zoe dangling from my side. “You two are asking for
trouble. Stelson, you
know
you don’t need to get agitated. And Daddy,
your pressure is not the lowest. Why can’t y’all just let it go?”

“We’re two perfectly sane
men,” Stelson set it up. “If we can’t talk through our differences like
civilized people, we’re both terrible examples for our race and Seth is in deep
trouble.”

I shoved Zoe onto Stelson’s
lap. “She’s young, impressionable, and very sensitive. Don’t do anything to
scare her. Either of you.” I wagged my finger between my husband and father.

“Reach me those papers over
there,” Daddy ordered, pointing to a pile on top of the microwave.

My lips tightened as I
fulfilled my father’s request. I handed him the papers.

He slapped them on the table
and pushed them toward Stelson. “
This
is the Tuskegee Experiment.”

“I’m outta here.”
God, I
hope You got this.