Page 6 of A Taste of Grace

Unexpected

“Sorry for the last-minute notice, but I’m not able to babysit tonight.” Aunt Nita’s voice rang through my cell’s speaker phone as I finished tying my black tie for the night’s ministerial gala.

“Do I need to drive by and lay hands on you? I’m looking at a fresh case of anointing oil, so I’m ready to rebuke sickness in the Name of Jesus.” I rubbed my hands together and honed in on the unopened brown box on my dining room floor.

I was serious. Aunt Nita was the most reliable woman I knew. If she cancelled, I wouldn’t hesitate to cover her in prayer.

“Boy, I’m fine. Take that pastor hat off and save that oil for somebody who really needs it. Callie had a bad day. She’s still struggling after Willie Earl’s death.”

Mrs. Callie was one of Aunt Nita’s best friends. Just last week, I eulogized Mr. Willie Earl at Haven of Hope and Blessings. The paramedics had to carry Mrs. Callie out on a stretcher right behind Mr. Willie Earl’s casket.

“Do what you need to, Auntie, and tell Mrs. Callie I’m here if she needs me,” I said as my oven timer dinged.

With my tie still hanging loosely around my neck, I rushed to the kitchen and turned off the oven to pull out my girls’ dinner.

“I won’t leave you hangin’…as the young kids say. I’m sending my replacement over right now.” Aunt Nita chuckled.

Relief overtook me, but curiosity quickly replaced it. As a self-proclaimed control freak, I wanted to know who would be in my home in my absence.

“Are you sure they’re trustworthy?” I tried to be as respectful as I could without grilling Aunt Nita.

I could never be too careful with the two most precious gifts I had on earth, my six- and eight-year-old daughters.

“Do you think I would allow anyone to harm my precious babies? Grace will probably take care of them better than I would.”

Grace. I sighed in relief as I sliced the kids’ cheese pizza.

I pictured one of Aunt Nita’s elder friends with grandkids around my girls’ ages, reading Bible stories and singing sweet songs to my little angels. They would spend the night with an elder who knew how to raise Godly children and teach my girls how to be respectable young women.

“I should have known my main girl wouldn’t let a brother down.”

“You know it, nephew.”

We laughed in unison.

More than any other family member, Aunt Nita got me.

From my wild playboy days to my ascension as pastor of the largest nondenominational church in the region, she saw every side of me, even the ones that weren’t always holy.

Over time, she had become more like a friend than an auntie, always having my back.

She was my safe space, my wise counsel with keen discernment.

She didn’t judge me when I slipped up as a new pastor but directed me to the Word of God for final instruction.

Her unconditional love and reverence for God motivated me to love Him more, too.

“I just want to do right by my girls,” I spoke the words like a scared little boy, revealing my insecurity about a role I didn’t expect to hold without a woman by my side.

“As you should. You’re a wonderful father, baby. Don’t let the enemy plant seeds of doubt in your brilliant head.”

I smiled at Aunt Nita’s praise.

“I appreciate that. They deserve the best. I’m only one person, though.”

For the past five years, I raised Hannah and Esther alone, engaging in more tea and princess parties than I could count.

As a burly guy with a linebacker build, I learned how to tap into my feminine side, though, watching countless social media videos about how to shampoo, condition, and style Hannah’s fine hair and Esther’s coarse hair.

I messed up more times than I cared to admit with my mother and auntie gently coming behind me so my girls wouldn’t leave the house looking like little circus clowns.

They deserved the world, but I didn’t have the capacity or skills to give them everything they needed.

I sighed, slightly frustrated and guilt-ridden. It would only get harder as they approached puberty.

“God won’t give you more than you can bear.”

“Just say a prayer that the girls won’t run over Grace.”

Aunt Nita laughed again.

“Stop worrying.”

“I’ll try. I’ve already fixed dinner and cleaned them up for bed. All she’ll need to do is entertain them, keep them alive, brush their teeth, and put them to bed before I return.”

“That’s all?’

“Auntie’s got jokes.”

“I forgot to warn Grace about your obsession with to-dos.”

“It’s called order.” I huffed.

“If you say so. But seriously, with your entrepreneurial mind, have you given more thought about transferring your guide to a caregiving book for little girls?”

“No, ma’am. When would I have time to do that?”

It was my turn to laugh. I was meticulous about my daughters’ routine by necessity. Otherwise, our household would fall apart. I had to set a firm foundation so they could become independent earlier than their peers. They had to be if we were going to stay sane.

“If I had a helpmate, I might be less anal, but since I don’t…” My voice trailed off.

“Grace is on her way. Have fun tonight, Caleb. Remember that ministry isn’t all business. This is a marathon, not a sprint.”

“Perfect words from a perfect auntie. Thanks for looking out for us. Love you.”

“Love you, too, baby.”

I disconnected the call and walked to the full-length mirror in my master bedroom. I frowned at my reflection as I considered how many more Friday movie and pizza nights I would miss with Hannah and Esther because I decided to answer the call of God on my life.

Please, Lord, protect my daughters and let them lead full lives in my absence.

I hated to leave my girls alone with a stranger, but I couldn’t miss tonight’s fundraising event for the local homeless shelter. My father was one of the shelter’s biggest donors, so I had to continue the advocacy he started before his death.

Two weeks ago, I vowed before God and man to devote my life to my duties as the senior pastor of Haven of Hope and Blessings Christian Church without compromise or hesitation. I’d been preparing for this role for three years, so it was my time to step up.

As I straightened my tie, a twinge of sadness entered my heart.

In my forty-three years, life hadn’t turned out like I expected.

I lost a marriage I thought would last forever.

Madeline knew how seriously I walked with God, even when I was a little wild.

She didn’t respect my calling. That, and drug addiction, pulled her from our family, leaving me to carry a weight that was already heavy.

She gave you Hannah and Esther.

When I got in a pissy mood about my relationship status, I remembered that. Even in darkness, light could shine bright.

But I’m horny as a mother.

I wanted to curse out loud but bit my tongue instead. God had the biggest sense of humor when he called a former hoe like me to be a pastor. That was why I delayed my call to the ministry and married Madeline.

Don’t get me wrong. I was an excellent pastor and leader.

I could fast for days and pray like nobody’s business, but that love box between a woman’s legs was my kryptonite.

Even now, I remembered the amazing sensation of inserting my tip and gripping some of the tightest and wettest cooches in the South.

I sighed.

Celibacy was for the birds. Nothing in me wanted to be single like the Apostle Paul.

Sacrifice.

The word rang out in my head as I finished my preparation for the night. This life wasn’t about me. I would cut my penis off if that was what it took to be a great father and be obedient to God.

“Daddy, my hair looks ugly.” My daughter Esther ran around the corner from the hallway into my bedroom, pulling me from my reflection.

I couldn’t stand seeing my youngest daughter cry. She was as tough as steel about most things, but when it came to her appearance, she was oversensitive. At least in my opinion.

Both of my girls had tender hearts that made me say extra prayers for them so they would not spend a lifetime suffering at the hands of others.

“Don’t cry, sweetheart.” I kneeled and wiped the tears that pooled in her pretty almond eyes with the pads of my fingers.

“I don’t have time to fix your hair how you like it. I’ll give you a ponytail. Is that okay?”

“Yes.” Esther tilted her head forward so I could remove the loose barrette from her hair.

I quickly raked through her full head of wild, thick hair with my fingers, feeling several tangles.

“Ouch!” She shouted.

“Sorry.” I paused and then resumed my process.

Since Esther’s hair was coarse like mine, Mama told me I needed to comb it gently from the root to the tip. Unfortunately, Esther was tender headed. That required extra time I rarely had.

Esther sucked in her cheeks and pursed her lips, slowly nodding her approval when the pain stopped.

I walked to my bathroom and returned with a small black hair tie. Within a couple of minutes, Esther’s hair was contained in the messy hair tie and barrette combination. Still squatting, I patted her hair and smiled.

“There. You’re ready for the circus.”

“Daddy!” Her face scrunched up, and her eyes got wide.

Let me stop playing with this child.

“I’m kidding. You’re more beautiful than the rising sun.”

She faced me again in her two-piece ice cream cone pajama set and rubbed the stubble on my cheeks. I poked my finger into her left cheek, causing her to release a giggle that was music to my ears.

“Am I pretty like my mommy?” she asked with drawn brows.

It was my turn to suck in my breath as I forced a grin and spoke as I always did when one of my babies spoke about my ex-wife. I kissed her round cheek and wrapped my hands around her little waist.

“Prettier, sweetheart. You’re unique in your own right. God knew you when you were in Mommy’s belly and said you would be queen. That is why we named you Esther. You’re royalty.”

“Like a princess?”

“No, a queen, sweetheart, like one who rules a kingdom. You’re worthy to sit on a throne.”

“Can I be a nice queen?”

I tickled her stomach until she bent over in laughter.

“You better be. It’s who you are, little one.”

Every time I shared this story with Esther, she lit up like a Christmas tree.

Although Madeline gave up on motherhood, I would not tarnish my ex’s name until Esther was old enough to ask questions about why her mother left our family.

Esther was as sharp as a tack. If she asked too many questions, I might call Madeline a crackhead.

“A new sitter is coming tonight, so tell me the rules of good behavior.”

Esther raised her short fingers and, one by one, recited our house rules in a strong, clear voice.

“Be kind. Listen. Have fun.” She lowered her hand and beamed, pleased that she remembered my exact words.

“Good girl.” I tickled my precious daughter until she bent over and almost fell on the carpeted floor.

When she caught her breath, she straightened her body.

“Now, get Hannah so you’ll be ready to meet our guest. I need to go.”

“I love you, Daddy.” Esther smacked me on the cheek, then whipped her small body around and rushed from my room as quickly as she had entered.

Madeline and I disagreed about a lot of things, but we did well when we created our girls. I loved them so hard it hurt. I would do anything to protect them as they grew into fearless women who never doubted that their daddy had their backs.