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Memoirs of a Preacher's Wife

February 12, 2016

WHEN GOD IS NOT A PRIORITY

 

Listen girl, when God is not a priority in your life,

you spend more time talking about why you can’t make church than you do talking about what you learned at church.

Sweetie, when God is not a priority in life, you spend more time complaining than you do praying.

When God is not a priority in life, dear child, you find yourself feeling guilty more times than you find yourself reading scriptures.

 

When God is not a priority in life, you listen more to what others say than you do listen to what the Holy Ghost says.

Let me tell you dear heart, when God is not a priority in life, communication with your mate comes more frequently in the form of arguments, when it should come more frequently in the form of revelation.

When God is not a priority in life, your life is as good as your faith.

You know it’s the truth girl.

Your life, is as good as your faith.

 

 

Shoot, I don’t even know how to start this, except to say that my silly old girlfriend, Gertrude kept nagging and nagging and nagging at me child, to do this.

She said, “Girl, you need to put down the words that be coming out of your mouth.”

 

I said, “Well that’s original. You sound like that Tucker boy. Who writes your material? Milli Vanilli? Jessica Simpson’s sister?”

 

I can’t count with just my two old, dried-up, calloused hands how many times that hussie done called up Mrs. Weinstein’s daughter, what’s-her name, to come talk to me. Her daughter works for one of them big-time Hollywood publishers.

 

I told her I don’t want them funny cigarette smelling, hob-knobbing, pencil-pushers filling up my house with their non-church folk ideas on how I should relay my thoughts. Shoot, next thing I knew, after a few times of Mrs. Weinstein’s daughter, what’s"her-name coming over, I’m in a little bungalow in Malibu, with my big toe up, smiling at the sun, a little Jamaican maid running around washing my girdles and cooking my meals and this funny-looking little white boy named Jason, following me around with a tape recorder.

 

Child, I never talked so much in my life! If this is how they treat you in Hollywood, I can see how so many people forget who they really are and try to be something they’re not to make something out of themselves. They look in the mirror and the person they see is not the person they know.

 

But the person they see is the one they have to be if they want to be accepted by everyone else, who is doing the same tired thing; just like that song little Jason always singing, “Californication”. When I look in the mirror, all I want to see is my pretty, gray wig, cataract green eyes, full lips, and enough skin around my chin to help me comfortably sleep at night, when my pillow slips on the floor.

 

 

 

PREACHER’S WIFE

 

So miffed, I kissed his lips to fix the cist

That was growing, showing tolling risks

A night on the couch for him grew slim

Always depend, he knew when to say when

 

Then, again, the life of a wife, his wife

Evangelistic strife so tight, it ain’t right

Like a junkie who’s a flunky, here I go

Head high, mouth closed, what a show

 

To listen to him bicker, after dinner

And some liquor…quicker than a sinner’s

Confessions or questions of doubt

Coach bag on wrist, no time for this, I’m out

 

A lil’ praise, lil’ song, lil ‘pout, lotta shout

Eyes down south while my spirit reaches out

“Lord, keep my sword and this armor aboard

My frail lil’ body and at my heart’s door”

 

‘Cause preacher man, yeah my man

 

He’s a handful, maybe too full

Of himself sometimes, so I let him unwind,

Recline, lay on my bosom and cry

No risks when I kiss, he repents

Reinvents, new thoughts why I’d never dis-

Or trade my life for this time of bliss

So yes, I kissed his lips for peace

‘Cause the life of a preacher’s wife will

never cease

 

 

I met the honorable Reverend Humphries Percy Middleton

when he was just Fat Percy. “If it ain’t scripture, it’s lipture. An’ I ain’t following nobody’s lipture if they’re not with the scripture.” That was the thing he would say to anyone who would tell him he couldn’t eat no pork. It used to tickle me to death to watch him wrestle a beat up pocket Bible out of his back pocket and show people first Timothy verse four:

 

I Timothy 4: 3-5

 

3 Forbidding to marry, and commanding to abstain from meats, which God hath created to be received with thanksgiving of

them which believe and know the truth.

4 For every creature of God is good, and

nothing to be refused, if it be received with thanksgiving:

 

5 For it is sanctified by the word of God

and prayer.

 

Nobody would challenge him about eating pork again after seeing it for themselves. Honey, those were the days. But then again, there was my sister’s stupid ex-husband.

 

After all those years of us growing up eating momma’s ham hocks, greens, pork and beans, and buying pickled pig feet from Mr. Willie’s store, my sister had to stop eating pig cold turkey. Pun intended. Her husband wouldn’t allow it. He would catch her big, greedy behind eating it or find some bacon strips in the trash and beat her senseless.

 

One night he beat her so bad I didn’t recognize her; scared me nearly to Kingdom Kong. That’s when my baby Percy took off his robe and put on his ‘round the house, act like I’m doin’ chores so nobody won’t bother me overalls and spoke the word with his foot in that coward’s butt.

 

 

 

IF I WERE YOUR WOMAN

 

If I were your woman, 
I would celebrate your goodness. 
I would show you how to treat a woman,
Every day.
If I were your woman, 
you would choose to talk with patience, not anger. 
You would take time to see how I feel about everything, 
Every day.

If I were your woman, 
there wouldn't be any 911 calls. 
Mmm-mm, no, no.
My skin would not resemble the sky at a luminous spring sunset.
My skin would be lovingly warm, full of chill bumps,
Every day.
If I were your woman, 
you would not be coward reliving his abusive past.
You would be a soldier, marching to the pace of my heartbeat.

 

If I were your woman, 

we would bring out and rebuke your demons.
You wouldn't dare think of raising your hand up against me.
Mmm-mm. No, no.
You would be a different man; 
A man closer to his feminine side, just to be closer to me.

Sometimes,
I wish I were your woman.
I'd show you how I truly feel about you. I would take my time. 
Shoot, I would take your time.
GOD knows, I would make it worth your while.
You would get all that you deserve,
Every day.

You see, my sister was at one time, YOUR WOMAN.
In one way or another, I'm reminded of that,

Every day.
We deal with the scars you left in her near sight.
Mmm-mm. That’s right! In more ways than one, you would be a different man!
'Cause if I were your woman,
you would never have a reason to say…I'm sorry.

 

 

Hell, there ain’t no more else to say after that.

 

 

 

 

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