CHAPTER ONE ~ An Excerpt from Beautiful In Every Moment
It was another endless, steamy, Saturday afternoon inside the little church called St. Stephens Seventh day Adventist Church just off Route 52 in St. Stephens, South Carolina where the very air seemed on fire with the “Oh help me, Jee-sus!” kind of heat that makes you contemplate cutting a deal with Beelzebub himself, were he to suddenly materialize in a bang of brimstone and slither up next to your pew and offer a little A/C action. I was wearing my standard issue kiddy church gear (or was it wearing me?). The Sunday best uniform was a blue polyester suit from Sears and a clip on tie that choked whenever you looked in any direction that was not straight ahead.
Nanoseconds after suiting up, rivulets of sweat began to pour from my forehead non-stop, despite my best efforts to keep cool with the paper fan my grandmother would hand over to me. The exertion alone caused more perspiration than abating it. There I sat trapped in that little box-shaped church, fidgety and hating life. As time wore slowly on and on, the preacher seemed to get more fervently absorbed in his sermonizing…like Jack Johnson, slugging it out in the 15th round of a title fight. The preacher’s excitement and unrelenting passion did little for my miserable dilemma. Still to this day, I’m amazed that people could sit in that hot box attentively, singing praises, dripping wet in the humidity and smiling while the very skin on their backs clung to their stuffy shirts. Maybe someone thought the congregation could just sweat all the sin out!
Don’t get me wrong, I loved going to church services with my southern relatives because it was so much more exciting and fun than anything going on during the services held back home in Washington, D.C. The preachers who came through South Carolina were energized with the Word as they went through a marathon jumping up and down, while invoking sinister tales of fire and brimstone raining down from the throne of The Most High in the Heavens down onto the rooftops of the unfaithful. Tirelessly, they’d spread the Gospel truth. Occasionally, the only respite for him or us was a few intermittent moments of calm when the preacher’s hand rested gracefully on the edge of the pulpit. Like a domino effect, the whole room dabbed at the froth on their foreheads with impeccably white handkerchiefs. Theatrical, yes, but it sure kept your mind off the sweltering furnace for a room. Small enclosures packed with people wearing polyester never works out for the better.