Free Fool and Her Honey (9781622860791) by Kimberly T. Matthews Page A

am.” They didn’t walk in purpose and destiny and all that crap.
    And even for people that had an idea of what they wanted to do and what they wanted to become, that didn’t always work out. “I tried my best to be a business owner from the time I was sixteen, but it just didn’t work out for me.” So I got right irritated when I was sitting in church, minding my own spiritual business, trying to keep my deal with God—although I felt like He played me with that whole Hamilton thing—and the woman on the platform with a wig bigger than her head pointed her finger at me and yelled into the microphone, “You confused because you don’t know your purpose!”
    I looked around, not realizing who she was talking to, but then she said, “You. Yes, you. Stop looking around, woman in the red blouse.” Oh, snap. That was indeed me. “You’ve got to understand your purpose and what you’re here for!” she chided. “Stop trying to be in control and do things the way you think they should be done. God knows what He’s doing!” she yelled at me in front of the whole congregation. “You sitting up there, trying to direct God in what to do and what to send you, instead of just doing what He’s called you to do.”
    Maybe I would do what He’s “called” me to do if I knew what it was. But I didn’t know, and how would I know? How does anybody know? I wanted to yell that back up there to her, but I knew that wasn’t proper church protocol. It kind of made me angry, not so much at her, but at God, because I had been praying and asking Him all kinds of questions about why things weren’t working out for me, and He wasn’t saying anything. Not a single word. So how was He gonna put me on blast like this in front of all these people, like I hadn’t asked Him about this stuff privately?
    â€œCome on up here,” the woman demanded. “I’m gonna lay hands on you right now and pray that your eyes be opened and your purpose be revealed!”
    People all around me started clapping their hands like I had won some kind of award. I was embarrassed, but I found myself following her instructions and heading for the altar.
    â€œWhat’s your name, sweetheart?”
    â€œCandis,” I stated, darting my eyes around me, feeling a thousand pairs of eyeballs burning a hole in the back of my head.
    â€œLift your hands to the Lord,” she instructed further. Before I had a chance to do that, two female ushers came rushing toward me and stood at my back, I guess preparing to catch me and guide me to the floor if I should happen to faint. They could have kept right on tending to whatever they were doing before I was called up there to be publicly humiliated, because I wasn’t about to lie on this floor.
    I lifted my hands, and the big-wigged lady slapped my forehead with a greasy hand. As she yelled out some instructions for God to carry out, like, “Open her understanding, Lord,” “Show her the way, Lord,” “Let the scales fall from her eyes, Lord,” her hand violently shook my head back and forth, like she was trying to hurry up and shake salt onto some food. Then she started pushing me backward—I guess to get me to fall back—but like I said, that wasn’t gonna happen. I took a step back, and she stepped forward to maintain the pressure on my head. I stepped back again. Then she started yelling, “Don’t fight it! Don’t fight it! Yield unto the Lord!” The people around me seemed to get louder and louder, praying along with her. This time I stepped back twice, but she pushed harder, charging forth, determined not to let me go.
    That was when I decided to pray for myself.
    God, if you love me at all, even a little bit, please get this woman off my head. Let her go pick on someone else. Please, I’m begging you.
    I must have taken about four more steps