Before I Was a Saint

It’s a hot Sunday morning and I’m rushing to get ready for church.  It’s the First Sunday and I don’t want to be late, especially since I spent three days during the week to put this ensemble together.  Three days spent on the clothes, a day shopping for matching shoes &bag and five hours with my hair and nails.  Oh there’s no way the congregation’s not gonna see me!

I know it may sound bad, but I intentionally drive slow passing the church.  I circle the block and parking lot in my freshly washed and waxed black BMW waving at all the church members.  I think it’s good for them to see me.  It’s good for them (less fortunate) to see that some of us do prosper.  I usually take two parking spaces to keep someone from scratching my car, but today, I’m parking next to Brother Davis, and his white Lexus.  Brother Davis is a deacon, and fine too.  Only one drawback, he’s married.  Brother is educated, has a career, not just a job, and a hard chiseled body.  I just can’t stress enough how fine this brother is. Every woman in church has her eye on him waiting for this marriage to break up!  Most of us can’t believe he married sister Lynn anyway.  We sit around and scratch our heads wondering what he ever saw in her.  The girl must have money or something, because looks and figure are two things she’s lacking.  This girl’s about 5'8, 300-350 pounds, two shades darker than ink, and in desperate need of a super strength perm.  Her hair is so tight and nappy, she could leave the perm in overnight and it still would not take.  She wears excessively long nails.  The nails makes her hands look like bear claws.  Oh somebody needs to take her to the side and talk to her.  Her clothes are four sizes too small, hugging every roll of fat and making every cellulite dimple visible.  It’s disgusting and pathetic watching this fine man that could be a centerfold, walk in with her on his arm.

I take my time strolling down the enter isle of the church to get my usual seat.  Everyone in the church knows exactly which seat is mine.  No , we don’t have assigned seats, but I think I tithe enough to deserve a seat in the front.

The choir starts to sing and their sounding good.  The church is rocking.  Now you know I’ve got to be one of the first ones on my feet clapping and rocking from side to side.  Then, when the pastor’s giving his sermon, oh, I’m looking attentive, taking notes, and saying the occasional Amen, Preach pastor, just loud enough to be heard, but not too loud to be embarrassing or inappropriate.  Now it’s show-time.  The choir’s singing and the pastor starts laying hands on people. I never go up there.  It would never happen to me anyway.  Furthermore, I wouldn’t want to embarrass myself by hitting the floor, especially in these clothes.  I watch week after week.  The same people catching the holy ghost.  I’m sorry, I’m just a little skeptical.  Finally church is over and it’s time to congregate, excuse me, fellowship, which translates to catching up on the weeks gossip, exchanging complements, and just wasting time.  Sometimes I wonder why I go through this ritual every week.  Then I’m reminded when someone comes up to tell me how good I look, or asks me about my clothes.  Oh of course I return the compliments because I am a good Christian.  As I turn to walk toward the door, an announcement on the bulletin board gets my attention.  I stop to read it.  Oh my goodness, Brother Davis is gonna be teaching a bible class.  He’s also offering computer classes.  I’ve got to sign up.  I wasn’t the only one looking at the announcement.  Half of the female church population had already signed up.  The only women that hadn’t were over 50 years old.

I went home, and went thru my ritual; picked up my carry out dinner, wrapped my hair, set my clothes aside for work and proceeded to entertain myself by calling my friends to gossip, or listen to their problems.  Currently I don’t have man problems because I’m single by choice.  I choose to remain single than to settle for a man that is not my equal.  I just can’t imagine living my life with a man that I have o passion for and is so unattractive, that I can’t tolerate looking at his face whether the lights are on or not.  Most of the men I’ve dated have lacked something, mostly a good paying job.  A few came close to being a total package, but somehow fell short.  I have it all.  I’m a good woman and all I want is a good man to accentuate me.  Someone of the same caliber and status as myself.  What’s wrong with that?  Why should I settle for a mailman, garbage man or store clerk.  If I have to settle, then why not reach down to the fast food burger flipper or the guy trying to extend his unemployment.  I refuse.  I refuse to settle for anything less than what I want, what I need, and what I know would make me happy.  I’ll just be as patient as I can while the Lord is preparing him for me.