Free When It All Falls Down by Dijorn Moss

dedication to do ministry in the wee hours of the morning,” I say and Minister Blackwell does not answer; he just continues to drive. I know what may get his goat. “I’m sure you and your wife have had a lot of fallings-out as a result.”
    â€œLorraine died of ovarian cancer four years ago. No children and nothing else you need to know about me.”
    Wow, and I thought I was tight. Minister Blackwell is a no-nonsense person. He is different from when we met in Los Angeles. People wear different faces at different times for different people. Minister Blackwell is probably all smiles and jokes and encouraging words on Sunday, but on a Tuesday night in a car with a problem solver, I get to see the real Minister Blackwell.
    â€œWe will be there in a few minutes, Minister Dungy,” Black says.
    We ride along the 80 freeway and it is unnerving to travel along a poorly lit highway, especially when I am unsure of the destination.
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    The Sunset Inn is a motel located off of the 80 freeway. The motel is perfect for a slasher film but what I discover when I arrive is not a psycho serial killer running loose but women in short skirts and revealing clothes escorting desperate men into one of their rooms. I can only imagine why I or anyone a part of Jubilee ministry is here at 2:30 A.M. Minister Blackwell seems comfortable in this element.
    â€œThis way, Minister.” The minister marches onto the grounds without the slightest hesitation. I follow him with my eyes wide open.
    It is a shame to see women so dejected that the only way they can get by is by using their body as a scheme. I feel equally appalled by the clientele. What can cause a man with a good job and family to seek comfort with a desperate woman?
    â€œHey, handsome, you want to party?” a woman says to me. The woman’s hair is a carrot orange and her skin-tight black skirt is way too short in the front. I ignore the woman’s advances and follow Minister Blackwell to the room door.
    Minister Blackwell knocks on the door and a young woman opens the door. She puts one finger over her mouth for us to be silent. She then uses the other hand to bring us in.
    â€œThank you, Father.” A heavyset woman says as she holds the hands of one of the prostitutes in a hot pink spandex dress with splits along the side.
    The heavyset woman has tears flowing down her face and words of fire flow from her tongue. I felt the omnipresence of God fill the room, and only an eternal being could transform a hotel room used for turning tricks into a holy place of worship.
    I bow my head and begin to pray to God. Not only for the sins of the hookers and johns, but for my sins as well. The prayer concludes and the heavyset woman hands the girl about three twenty dollar bills from what I observe.
    â€œGo and get you something to eat, honey. And listen, God loves you. Don’t let the devil make you think that this is all that life has for you. You are beautiful and God has a beautiful plan for your life.”
    The girl in the skin-tight pink spandex skirt takes the money and wipes the tears from her eyes. The young woman who opens the door also escorts the girl out of the door. I am left alone with Minister Blackwell and my client, Pastor Robinson.
    I can tell Pastor Robinson has a beautiful personality. She can make any man happy who doesn’t mind a woman with a little extra weight.
    â€œOne night a month I come here. I rent a room and my people pretend to be clients and lure the girls in. Anyone who doesn’t want to stay can leave, but those who want to hear the good news, well, I pay them for their time and I pray for them.” Pastor Robinson takes a seat on the bed and crosses her legs. “There are at least twenty women who go to the church that was walking the track when I met them.”
    I give Pastor Robinson a lot of credit. She is a maverick by most religious circles. I like her because she had tremendous confidence