I Say a Little Prayer Read Free Page B

magnificently, into middle age.
    I jumped into the shower and soon was patting myself dry with a leaf-green beach-sized towel. I spent more shower and mirror time than I planned, so I avoided my razor, dressed quickly, and then dashed off to the Abundant Joy Baptist Church in midtown Atlanta, off Peachtree Street near Grant Park.
    When I walked into the tiny church with a growing congregation of over five hundred, the praise service was in full force, with tambourines banging and melodic voices singing loudly. I had joined Abundant Joy over two years ago because it felt like a real church and didn’t have the businesslike attitude of Atlanta’s megachurches. At Abundant Joy, no one was concerned with my tax return, what type of car I drove, and more important, who I slept with.
    It had taken me almost seven years to get over my last church trauma. When Shiloh Baptist turned from a friendly and supportive congregation of 1,000 to a 15,000-member cultlike organization, it didn’t seem like anything God wanted to be a part of. It was more like a business where the mission was to put on a show every Sunday. I mean, who ever heard of a church where you had to send in an audition tape to even try out for the choir or where the minister talked about his new house and Rolls-Royce as much as he talked about Jesus? To me it felt as though God had left me and the church I loved. That made me mad, and for years I used my Sundays to sleep off my Saturday-night hangovers.
    But I was smart enough to know I needed God in my life every day and that the right church could fill that need. It’s not like I came to church in search of perfection. Perfection is dangerous, and I am nowhere near perfect. I’m a sinner, and I continue to sin. I like to get my drink on every now and then, and have been known to use the N and F words. Okay. I like to cuss. Especially when I get upset. And Lord knows I love sex. Lots of sex. With men as stupid as Jayshawn, with women as beautiful and spiritual as Giselle, a woman I met at church and whom I lost to the cult formerly known as Shiloh Baptist. I fell in love with Giselle because she was such a kind woman and I thought maybe God had sent her to change my desires for men. It worked for a while—until one day I walked into a gym and was smiled at by a tall, well-built man with a swinging dick. All he had to do was give me the look and I was ready to switch teams again. I’ve come to know that no matter what I do and how many times I do it, forgiveness and God’s love are always there. I just have to find them. Nevertheless, Giselle was not so forgiving after my confession.
    Abundant Joy Baptist Church was headed by Pastor Kenneth Davis and his wife, Vivian, two dynamic people in their early thirties who used secular references in teaching the scriptures. It was not unusual to hear Nelly and Jay-Z mentioned right along with some of Jesus’ favorite disciples. In some ways, though, Abundant Joy was like an old-time country Baptist church where weekly announcements were read aloud, visitors were asked to stand and were welcomed warmly, and hymns like “Sweet Hour of Prayer” and “Just How Much We Can Bear” (my favorite) were sung.
    I loved the fact that the church had no dress code and both male and female members often wore jeans or, on occasion, a hip-hop designer sweat suit. The only people who wore anything close to traditional garb were the praise team, who wore all black each week.
    I took a seat on the last row of the left side of the church and said a little prayer, asking for the forgiveness of my sins of the night before. Then I glanced around. Almost all the seats in the pews were filled. There was a rumor going around that Pastor Kenneth was looking for a larger space. It looked like our little church was growing, and that had me concerned. Atlanta didn’t need another black megachurch. A few minutes later, it was time for the offering. I pulled out the check I had written the night