Good to Me Read online

  Copyright © 2005 by LaTonya Michelle Mason

  All rights reserved.

  Warner Books

  Hachette Book Group

  237 Park Avenue, New York, NY 10017

  Visit our website at www.HachetteBookGroup.com.

  First eBook Edition: October 2005

  ISBN: 978-0-446-56026-9

  “THE WEAPON THE ENEMY HAS FORGED AGAINST YOU… AIN’T EVEN REAL,” PASTOR KING DECLARED.

  Charity listened intently to his sermon.

  “Quit getting upset when he throws something at you, quit getting distracted, quit giving up… When he throws a weapon at you, he’s giving you ammunition to use against him. Every time he messes with your children, your finances, your car, your spouse, and you speak the Word out of your mouth, it becomes as sharp as any two-edged sword.”

  Charity was pleased she had received a word of encouragement. She didn’t want to talk to anyone; she wanted to go home and reclaim her house. She realized she’d been living in fear and expecting something bad to happen since the incident with her patient. She directed her thoughts toward the devil. You want a fight, you just picked one, and I ain’t backing down this time . . .

  “Fiction for the faithful.”

  —Black Issues Book Review

  “Need a little good news in your novels? Look no futher.”

  —Essence

  This book is dedicated to my Heavenly Father as firstfruit, for being faithful to His promises. Thanks, Daddy.

  Contents

  Copyright Page

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Reading Group Guide

  Acknowledgments

  So many people to thank and so little space.

  I first thank my children, Floyd Jr., Isaiah, and Destiny for tolerating all of my “I’m sorry, Mommy’s working” shoo-aways and for taking care of one another. I thank God for each of you. What a great inheritance you are to me.

  I bless my parents Charles and Lorraine for accepting God’s assignment to raise me, and for pushing me to rise above my obstacles (and for permission to use their names in my book). Kiss, kiss. I honor my younger sisters and brother, Tasha, Charles, and Adrienne for humbly accepting me, always supporting me, and believing in me. I am proud of each of you. To my niece and nephew, Jasmine and Anthony, thanks for letting me aggravate the mess out of you. “Who wants some Auntie love?” To all of my aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents, thanks for your hand in raising me.

  To my biological parents, Gibran and Brenda, I wouldn’t be here without you. Thanks for genetically imparting your talents to me—writing, singing, drawing, and the ability to survive anything. Daddy, thanks for sending me a newspaper clipping on Walk Worthy Press years before I dared to write this novel. I love you both.

  Hugs and kisses to my church family at Chappell Memorial Baptist Church for all of your prayers and support. A big shout-out to the intercessory prayer team for putting thousands of demons to flight on my behalf—BJ, Wanda, Keila, Velma, Vonne, and Jeneen. I praise God for my spiritual father, Reverend Norman Kerry, for your spiritual leadership and guidance. May God pour back into you all you’ve poured into me. I send love to First Lady Phette, Mackenzie, Madison, Tre, and Mother Kerry.

  To the best girlfriends on this side of heaven, Lavonne Sadler, April Thompson, and Kim Mayhew. Y’all are the biggity bomb! What would I do without you? I love you.

  Blessings to Sha-Lai, Koren, Regina, Kim, and Lavonne for reading draft after draft of this book when it was in its infancy. Thanks Toots for letting me use your names.

  A big shout-out to my coworkers at Presbyterian Behavioral Health for picking up my slack on the days I left early to write. I found the greatest encouragement through your words and prayers.

  To Floyd Sr., Shirley, Tabitha, Jeremy, Jarvis, Madear, Geraldine, and Mel. Thanks for your unreserved support and love.

  I blow a kiss to Victoria Christopher Murray for encouraging me to write. If it wasn’t for your admonishment, this book would still be in my belly. I also thank Andrea Michele Bowen for encouragement at one of your book signings in Charlotte, NC.

  A hug to Tara Godfrey for allowing me to be your first client and taking my photographs for this book. May your photography business grow and grow.

  Denise Stinson, you’re a breath of fresh air to the book publishing industry. You’ve ministered to me in so many ways. I’ve learned a lot about writing, publishing, discipleship, and myself through you. One Scripture comes to mind when I think of you, He who wins souls is wise (Proverbs 11:30). Grace to you and everyone at Walk Worthy. Frances Jalet-Miller, you’re an awesome editor and teacher. You’ve been a blessing to me. Thanks for tirelessly editing my manuscript, even when I was tired of it.

  I bless each and every reader. May God make His grace abound unto you so that in all things, at all times, you’ll have all that you need and you’ll abound in every good work (2 Corinthians 9:8). Thanks.

  Prologue

  JOSEPH WAITED ANXIOUSLY FOR THE OLD MAN TO ARRIVE. Even though Chaplain Nesbit had become a father away from home to him, the chaplain was sometimes difficult to talk to. Joseph’s heart was heavy and he needed to talk without being judged. Not that Chaplain Nesbit was judgmental. He was such a “live by faith and not by sight” man that he refused to hear about feelings of discouragement, anger, or anything that sounded like lack of trust in God.

  They met more than two years earlier when the chaplain came to visit the prison’s inmates to do weekly Bible studies in the common area of their dormitories. During their first meeting, the chaplain embarrassed Joseph so bad that he considered not going to any more of his sessions. Out of all the men in the Bible study that day, the old man chose to pick on Joseph.

  “The third thang Hannah did is in chapter one, verse 12 of first Samuel,” Joseph remembered the chaplain preaching. “’Member the first thang she did was stood up. That means she changed her position. Secondly, she prayed. And the third thang is . . . she continued to pray. She didn’t stop prayin’ ’cause she didn’t see ’mediate results. She kept on prayin’. She didn’t get caught up in the rules and reg’lations of religion that say if you pray mo’ than once you don’t have faith in God. She kept on prayin’. But you wanna pray one time and if God doesn’t honor your lil’ microwaved prayer, you retta give up. But not Hannah, she pushed. You know what that means, don’t you?” he asked, looking over the top of his round gold-rimmed glasses that hung on the tip of his wide brown nose. The prisoners were attentive to the old man as he stood among them at the raggedy wooden podium. His small frame was a contradiction to the confidence he exuded. His gray mustache matched his small uncombed Afro and the tiny hairs that protruded from his ears. “Young man,” Chaplain Nesbit called to Joseph. “You know what it means to push, don’t you?”

  “Uhm, yes, sir,” he stammered. “Uhm, to push means to, uhm, apply pressure to something.”

  “You a dictionary or som
ething, boy?” Chaplain Nesbit laughed, and started a roar of laughter as the other men laughed too. Joseph had a reputation for being a know-it-all. It was not uncommon to find him somewhere studying the Bible with a dictionary, concordance, a commentary, and a Greek and Hebrew parallel Bible. His peers called him “Brother Word.” “Y’all young people thank you know everything. To push, p-u-s-h stands for praying till sumpin’ happens. Hannah pushed. When do a woman in labor starts pushin’, boy?”

  “When she feels contractions?” he asked, thinking this was another trick question.

  “That’s right, a woman in labor don’t start pushin’ till she feel contractions, some pain. That’s when you oughta start pushin’. When you feel some resistance, some pain, start pushin’. What’chu say, boy? Start ’plyin’ some pressure. That’s what Hannah did—she ’plied some pressure with the fervency of her prayer.”

  Before Chaplain Nesbit could give the benediction good, Joseph was already at the back door of the common area. He stopped in his tracks when he heard the chaplain yell, “Boy, I need to see you.” Joseph thought the night would never end, but he was pleasantly surprised when the chaplain formally introduced himself and carried on a decent conversation with Joseph.

  Ever since then they’d become good friends. Especially after Chaplain Nesbit’s wife died and he retired from visiting the men. Joseph reached out to him and became his biggest source of support. They’d become so close that when Joseph felt led to become a minister, Chaplain Nesbit arranged for the Virginia General Baptist Association to license him. Just reminiscing over how much of a blessing Chaplain Nesbit has been to him made Joseph smile. When he looked up and saw his spiritual father walking over to him, his smile broadened.

  “Hey, Pop, it’s good to see you,” he said, standing to hug him.

  “You looking good, boy,” the old man said, pushing his glasses up on his nose and stepping back to get a full view of Joseph’s almost six-foot, thin, but newly muscular frame. “I see you’ve been takin’ care of y’self. Liftin’ weights?”

  “Well,” Joseph said, blushing and flexing his right arm. “You never know when Jesus will show up in the flesh presenting Himself as my bride. And a brother gots to be ready.”

  “Boy, you just as crazy as you was the last time I seen you.”

  “What’d you expect? That was just six months ago.”

  “Seems like yesterday. Time flyin’ ain’t it?”

  Joseph looked down. “That’s kinda along the lines of what I wanted to talk to you about. I’m kinda getting weary here and I need your help in getting refocused.” He looked back up at his mentor. “Pop, I’ve been here for more than two years. Two years! I didn’t plan on being here this long. I just knew I would’ve been shipped back home by now. I feel like I’ve fulfilled my purpose here. I gave my life to God the very first day I walked up in here and I serve Him wholeheartedly. I humbly accept my calling as a minister of the Gospel. Why am I still here?”

  “Well, son—”

  “I mean, I’m not complaining,” Joseph said, remembering the last one-hour lecture he got the last time for complaining. “If God hadn’t orchestrated my coming here, I would’ve still been out there womanizing, drinking, and partying. I would’ve never taken the opportunity to sit at the feet of great men and women of God. My time here has been blessed, but I miss my parents and my daughter. I miss the civilian lifestyle. You understand?”

  “Yeah, I—”

  “I don’t mean to cut you off, but I’ve been holding this in for so long that if I don’t get it out I feel like I’mma get angry at God and I know good and well that He’s not the problem. I’ve done everything I know to do—I pray, I study, I fast, I confess the Word, I give sacrificially… I don’t know what else to do.” Joseph knew he was rambling on and on, but he figured he might as well finish what he’d already started.

  Joseph was glad to see the old man smile, and was surprised to see him nod for him to go on talking. “I know what you’re thinking, and you are right. I know God has a plan for me being here. I’m just ready to go home. I’m ready to settle down and remarry. I’m ready to be the father I should’ve been. I’m ready to pastor the church God will give me. I think ministering here has prepared me for that, don’t you?”

  “Is that a r’torical question or a cue for me to speak?” he chuckled. “Ever since I’ve known you, you’ve been tryin’ to tell God how to be God. He’s faithful to His promises, not yours.” The chaplain slowed his voice down, “I see—”

  “You see? See what?” Joseph asked, thinking he was about to receive a prophetic revelation of some sort.

  “I see that you becomin’ puffed up and proud. All you do is talk about yourself… about what you’ve done. You done fasted. You done prayed. You, you, you. Maybe that’s why you’re still here.”

  Joseph dropped his head.

  “Look, son. I’m trying to help you here. If I ain’t learned nothing else ’bout God in all my years, I’ve learned this one thang. If He ain’t answerin’ you, if He’s ignorin’ you, leave Him alone. It’s for your own good. Ever had somebody gettin’ on your nerves and you kept ignoring them ’cause you knew if you opened your mouth, you’d regret it?” Joseph nodded. “That’s what I’m talkin’ ’bout. God sees your work. The Bible says ‘be not weary in well doing.’ Don’t faint now. Keep doing well. Keep confessing, serving, praying, and fastin’. You gone be rewarded. You of all people should know that a miracle don’t happen based on what a situation looks like. Your change could come t’morrow. And if it did, you’d find that you ain’t as ready as you think you is.”

  Joseph returned the old man’s smile. “It’s tight but it’s right. What you’ve said is true. God doesn’t owe me anything and I need to quit acting like He does. I know I’m going home soon. I’mma just wait on the Lord and let Him renew my strength.”

  “Now that’s the man of God I know. Waitin’ is only hard when you need to ’velop patience. And as a pastor-to-be, believe you me, you gone need a lot of it. ’Velop it now. God know what He doin’. Just thank, God could’ve used anything to exercise your faith… financial troubles, troubled marriage… anything. I ain’t sayin’ He puts those thangs on us, but He does allow ’em to happen and He works ’em out for our good.”

  “I’ve never thought of it that way.” Joseph looked as if a lightbulb came on in his head. “I can count this one with all joy then.”

  “Absolutely. In due season, you’ll obtain favor if you faint not.”

  “You mean reap if I faint not.”

  “Same thang.”

  “Not quite. That Scripture says, ‘let us not be weary in well doing; for in due season we shall reap, if we faint not.’ Now over in Proverbs it says, ‘whoso findeth a wife findeth a good thing and obtaineth favor from the Lord.’ Now I’m looking to obtain favor in that way, are you speaking prophetically?”

  “Boy, you always lookin’ for a prophecy. Let’s finish this over lunch,” the old man chuckled. “One thang’s for sho.” He stood to face Joseph. “When He does send you a wife, you gonna be pleased. ’Cause you done gone from being a ladies’ man to a man after God’s own heart. Everything you learnin’ ’bout Him and ’speriencin’ with Him, He gone make sho you ’sperience it on earth through her. She gone be the ’stension of His arms, His heart, Himself. The moment God started working on you two years ago, He started working on her. She gone be a mighty woman of God.”

  Joseph confessed aloud, “I receive her in the name of Jesus,” and he walked with Chaplain Nesbit to the canteen.

  Chapter 1

  “MAGNIFIQUE! MAGNIFIQUE!” CHARITY EXCLAIMED, blowing kisses with both hands to her two staff people, Iesha and Harmony. “This place looks wonderful,” she said, looking around the suite and admiring the purple and black balloons, decorations, and the sign that read, WELCOME TO HORIZONS CHRISTIAN COUNSELING CENTER. “You guys have done a wonderful job setting up. This open house is going to be the bomb.”

  “The bomb?” Ies
ha, her administrative assistant, asked with her head cocked back and her hand on her hip. “Sistergirl, you need to leave the slang to me. It doesn’t become you at all. One minute you speaking French and the next you talking Westside. I believe they call that a faux pas.”

  Iesha and Harmony erupted in laughter. Charity laughed too.

  Imitating Iesha, Charity put her hand on her hip and swung her shoulder-length bobbed hair. “Excusez-moi, mademoiselle. Let’s get one thing straight. I might be your big sister, but in this place, I’m your boss. You’ll want to leave the shot-calling to me.”

  “My bad, Boss. Well since you handling things around here, tell me where you put the music so we can get this party started right.”

  “Oh shoot!” Charity said, stamping her foot on the carpet. “I knew I was forgetting something. Do either of you have music we can use?”

  “I have a sounds of nature CD in my office,” Harmony offered slowly.

  “Pst!” Iesha sucked her teeth. “Don’t nobody wanna listen to no birds or thunderstorms. Cherry, I got some Missy Elliott, Jay-Z, Nelly, R. Kelly—”

  “Iesha, sweetie, this is an open house for a Christian counseling center, not the grand opening for Club 2000.”

  “I was just trying to help you out.”

  “Good,” Charity said, walking toward her office to get her purse. “It’d help me out if you would go to my car and get the Fred Hammond, Kirk Franklin, and Israel and New Breed CDs.”

  “All right, then. I see how you want to be.”

  Charity handed her keys to her sister. “And please remember to call me Charity at work.”

  Iesha took the keys and playfully rolled her eyes as she spun around on her heels, away from Charity. Charity shook her head, trying to make light of the situation in front of Harmony, whom she’d met two years ago at a counselors’ workshop. Charity was excited about working with her, a woman in her fifties who was always patient with insightful things to say. But the most important quality to Charity was that Harmony was a born-again believer. She hoped that Harmony wasn’t offended by Iesha’s comment. “Harmony, you’ll have to pray for her. She’s not yet come in under the Blood.” Charity was glad to see Harmony smile. “Keep your CD on standby in case folks get tired of hearing mine, okay?”