From Chapter One
I've been playing organ since I could reach the pedals, and I don't wear the heavy shoes some organists
wear. My fat feet are heavy enough. And I never had any lessons. When I hear a tune, I can play it. That's my gift. God blessed
me with a musical ear. Don't show me no notes, don't show me no hymnal, and leave the sheet music at the store. You hum it
or sing it, and I can play it.
"You have a gift," Grandma told me when I was very young. "And gifts get given. No need to get paid for
having a gift from the Lord."
As a result, I have never gotten paid for all those services, baptisms, and receptions. When I was younger,
I didn't care. I just liked to play. I loved to be heard. I loved all the compliments I got, loved the attention. But later
I learned that Grandma was wrong about the payment part. Grandma never had to hold the same note or play the same sad chord
for ten minutes till Reverend Hamlin, Antioch's preacher before Jonas, was satisfied that enough folks had fallen out, come
forward, or felt guilty enough for being one-day-a-week Christians. Grandma never had to repeat the choruses of "I Prayed
About It," "He's Able," or "Hallelujah" forty times because those were the only songs anyone seemed to know. Grandma never
had to play "The Wedding March," "Always," and "Endless Love" several dozen times a summer. At least at a wedding
I sometimes got some form of payment, usually a crummy corsage or maybe a ten-dollar bill in one of those tiny thank you note
cards.
Though I can't sing (trust me), I know all the words. "I Want To See Him," "His Eye Is on the Sparrow,"
"I Still Have Joy," "No Ways Tired," "That's Love"--just a few of my favorites. Till the divorce. The Sunday after
the divorce became final, I played "It's Over Now" instead of "Take It to the Lord in Prayer" during Jonas's altar call. I
wonder if anyone even noticed the significance. Now the only song that can get me through the day is "My Life Is in Your Hands." And
it is. It has to be. I've been praying non-stop for something, anything good to come out of all this, and when I play the
organ, I feel good. I don't feel the glory I once did, but at least I feel something. It surprised me that the church board
at Antioch let me keep my unpaid "job" at the organ, and at first I took it for a sign from the Lord. God was still letting
me give my gift.
Fact is, the cheap folks at Antioch just didn't want to have to pay anyone to replace me.
Antioch Church. Where do I begin? Antioch is a male-dominated, y'all-womens-better-stay-at-home, and y'all-working-womens-better-keep-quiet
kind of place. Jonas, of course, has used this defect in our church to his advantage, telling his version of the divorce which
is about as close to the truth as white is to black. "She has become mentally unbalanced," he told the deacons, "and, sadly,
anything the poor woman says is a lie." And being the big-lipped, thimble-brained carp that they are, the deacons swallowed
his story hook, line, and sinker. They then passed the story on to their ignorant stay-at-home wives who care only about decorations
for the next "Ladies' Social." That makes about two-thirds of our church population who no longer know how to or even want
to speak to me. In a church of five hundred, I have never felt so isolated. If it weren't for Tonya Lewis and Naomi Baker,
two of the dearest friends that I've ever had in my life and my need to be a weekly object lesson to Jonas's flock of ignorant
sheep--I'd be gone from this persecution.
But where could I go? Calhoun is a small Southern city with a gossip streak as long and wide and shallow
as the muddy Calhoun River. Can't nothin' happen in Calhoun without someone knowing about it and puttin' their mouth in it.
Small minds, large mouths, houses too close together, too many folks fanning themselves on porches putting more hot air into
the humid sky, and ain't nobody got cable. Naturally, everybody knows about the woman who divorced the preacher, and I can't
even set them straight because everything I say must be a lie because the great Reverend Borum said so. Tonya and Naomi know
the truth, and that's all that matters to me. To the rest of them, I say, "BAAAA! Go on and be good sheep while your good
shepherd takes out his rod and plows many a valley. Surely goodness and mercy ain't gonna follow none of you--Dr. Bone-'em's
bad ways is gonna haunt y'all all the days of your lives."
Right now, I'm just trying to keep my head above water.
