Faith Alone Read online

  My village showed up for Faith’s dedication; even Keisha sauntered down the aisle with a skirt that met her knee and a jacket to cover her chest. As I looked at the faces of my co- workers, extended family from out of town, and my church family, there was one face missing.

  John had traveled to Dallas to deliver Easter Baskets on behalf of his foundation. He scheduled an early flight back this morning so that he’d make Faith’s dedication. I reached in my bag and pulled my phone from my purse, no message.

  “Can the Jackson family come up and join me?” As Pastor walked down the steps from the pulpit he continued speaking into his lapel microphone. “Today we’ll dedicate Little Miss Faith Jackson. It would be a bittersweet day but since we’re celebrating what Christ did for us on the cross, we know that Faith’s earthly father is in heaven rejoicing on this day, too.”

  Before we stood, I smoothed the multiple ruffles on Faith’s dress. A lilac sash adorned it at the waist with a matching flower on the side. Tracy untied the bonnet to make it easier for Pastor when it was time to anoint her head with oil. “She doesn’t like this thing anyway,” Tracy said hoping to give Faith some relief.

  Over the past four months, I pondered who would be the godparents. I couldn’t choose between Tracy and Vanessa. They would both be aunties to Faith anyway. Lady Kendra and I developed an unbreakable bond. When I thought about Pastor Smith, I knew that he would guide Faith’s Christian walk and that Brian would approve of them. I asked them to be Faith’s godparents and they humbly accepted.

  “Everybody come on up, don’t be shy.”

  After we assembled below the pulpit, Tracy handed Faith to First Lady Kendra who immediately broke out in baby talk, cooing to Faith who shared a big smile in return.

  As Pastor began to speak, the chill of the early April morning wind blew through the church since the doors between the sanctuary and the foyer were propped open. Everyone looked back as John entered trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. But how could he be at six feet seven inches?

  Tracy waved him down to the front and he stood with my village next to Aunt Louise who had kept her promise to be there for us. She traveled from Philly to D.C. twice a month to help me with the baby.

  During one of our late night talks, I shared with her the ‘John story’. She told me, “Chile, there is no shame or guilt in that. Do what God leads you to do. My nephew loved you, but he is gone now.”

  So she felt comfortable prodding him to move closer to us.

  “Go on over there boy. Take your place.”

  Before moving, he looked at me with a ‘Can I?’ expression etched on his face. With a look of approval, I waved him over and he stood right next to Tracy and Vanessa.

  Pastor Smith shook John’s hand which meant a lot to me. It was as if Pastor gave John his approval to become a part of my village. Lady Kendra sensed my emotions and rubbed my back to get me through.

  “Now that we are all here we can dedicate little Miss Faith.”

  Everyone seemed to straighten up in their seats.

  “As you know in the Baptist tradition we don’t baptize babies. We allow them to grow older to make their public profession of faith.”

  Pastor turned to pick up a small bowl from the altar.

  “Lachelle, what name have you given your baby girl?” “I have named her Faith Briana Jackson.”

  “And what do those names mean?”

  Faith alone.

  “Faith means a strong belief in God and Briana means strong.”

  “It is important that we understand what we are calling our children. They need to know and understand the strength and power that lies in their names.” He paused through a flurry of, “Amens.” He continued. “Our Father in heaven, ordained baptism to signify our union with Christ and our cleansing from sin. Today we dedicate Faith and anoint and pray over her with a commitment from parents, godparents, and the village to share our faith and guide her life using Christian precepts and principles. We ask the Holy Spirit to guide and protect her throughout her development and allow her to become a Proverb thirty-one woman.”

  This was really happening. God is faithful.

  “An old African proverb says that it takes a village to raise a child. Faith has a village here at her church, with her blood family and aunties and uncles who will care for her.” As Pastor Smith anointed us with oil, he continued. “We ask that you bless Faith today so that she is safe from all harm and danger.”

  Looking over my entire village he asked, “Can I get an Amen?”

  We all gave a resounding “Amen.”

  “Everyone may be seated and I’ll deliver this Easter morning message from on high.”

  As we walked to our seats I couldn’t help but notice the stream of light filtering through the multi-colored stained glass window right above our seats. It warmed my face once I sat.

  I looked over my village and knew that Faith and I had made it through the storm. As her head rested on my shoulder I stroked her back and knew that God’s grace and mercy would continue to bring us through, with faith alone.

  I hope you enjoyed Lachelle’s story.

  Please tell a friend and leave a reveiw.

  Coming soon,

  The Switch.

  Read an excerpt July 1, 2017

  “Today was a good day.”

  Ice Cube’s vibrato bounced through the speakers of my SUV as I watched Lachelle enter the lobby of her ten story condominium. Once she stepped inside and waved bye, I gave her the peace sign and hit the gas pedal. The windshield wipers automatically cleaned the early morning dew from the glass. Even though Ice Cube’s declaration was in past tense, I felt that I’d have a good day and it was only nine-thirty in the morning.

  Today marked what would have been the twenty-fourth birthday of our son, Christian. Gravesite visits were my way of atoning for not being present on the day of his birth which was also the day of his death. That’s the least a father could do.

  But this year was different. Christian’s mother, Lachelle, and I visited him together. We were high school sweethearts who lost touch after our baby was born. I shouldn’t even say lost touch. That’s a cop out. I’ll re-phrase. I had just left for college.

  And after my mother told me that Lachelle lost our baby I wasn’t mature enough to come home and check on her. But I never stopped thinking about her.

  Days turned to months and months turned into years. I graduated from college and was drafted into the NBA. Lachelle completed her degree a year after I did and got married a few years later. Lachelle’s husband was murdered last year. I’ve been nothing but a gentleman as she grieved.

  After twenty-four years, Lachelle and I had our own baggage but were lightening our loads. I was feeling her and she was feeling me.

  People thought luck brought Lachelle and I together at Christian’s gravesite a year ago today. But I knew it was divine intervention.

  The ring from my cell phone through the car speakers diverted my attention to my dash board. It was Smitty, my agent, probably calling to press me about the ESPN interview on Monday morning. This brotha could be worse than a nagging woman sometimes.

  I pressed the green phone button on my dash. “What’s up, Smitty?” I’d known William Smith, hence Smitty, since my sophomore year at University of Kentucky. I was the athlete and he was the scholar. In the hood you got girls one of two ways: athletics or money. Smitty kept it real. He knew he’d never get girls by balling. And he was an average looking dude with an average sense of humor. So he set his sights on earning his law degree to get the attention of the ladies. And he succeeded.

  “My man, fifty grand.” Smitty’s southern drawl echoed through my truck as I dashed through the yellow light five minutes from home. “Did you handle your business this morning?”

  I knew he wouldn’t go straight into the business of the day.

  But, it was coming soon.

  “I made my annual pilgrimage. But Lachelle and I went together. It was a good visit.�
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  “Yo dog, you smash yet?”

  His filter was nonexistent. “Dog, I’m really into her, don’t ask me that. And besides we’re Christians.”

  He was quiet for a moment. I knew that meant trouble. He finally responded. “Don’t Christians smash?”

  I thought about pushing the red phone button on the dash board to end this conversation. But instead, I waved at the guard as I entered my gated community and continued talking. “Dude, what was the purpose of your call? I’m walking into the house now. I’d like to shower and grab some grub before I leave for New York.”

  I hadn’t gotten to the front door yet, but I needed to hurry him off the phone before I lost it.

  “So you’re ready? Packed and everything? We’re meeting a few of the ESPN head honchos tonight for dinner. It’ll be a non-interview, interview.”

  This was the epitome of our friendship, Smitty feeling like he had to water everything down for me.

  “Yes, Smitty. You’ve told me that, a few times. And before you ask, I have the itinerary and the tickets your assistant sent.”

  “Okay, dude. I’ll let you go get to it.” He responded.

  After removing the audio from the blue tooth, I pulled the phone to my ear and jumped out of the truck. “I’ll get up wit’ you later.”

  He ended the call with our customary sign-off. “Holla back.”

  As I jogged up the sidewalk, the sprinklers ignited. Note to self: contact the landscapers to lower the sensitivity.

  “Hel-lo.” I had this habit of coming into my empty house, announcing my entrance. The echo bounced. Boxes lined the walls. If I was gonna live between DC and NYC, I might rent this house out and lease a downtown condo . Of course it would need to have a state of the art gym. But first things first, I had to land this gig. ESPN approached me to work as a sports analyst/commentator. Talking about the game of basketball…heaven.

  I grabbed an apple out of the fridge and ran up the stairs to the master bedroom. The view overlooked the Potomac River. God blessed me with a skill and a career that allowed me to travel the world. Determining where to retire wasn’t a hard decision. My daughter, Hope, lived here with my ex-wife and bonding with her was the major reason I knew I’d settle here. The other reasons were Lachelle and her baby girl, Faith. But again, first things first.

  My Acela train rolled out of Union Station at 1:30pm. I still had time to get there. Before showering I turned on the TV and the local news blared.

  After showering, I went into my walk-in closet. Comfortable khakis and a polo shirt would do. While sitting on the edge of my bed, I heard the music that accompanied the breaking news segments. It drew my attention to the TV.

  The reporter delved right into the story. “We have breaking news regarding baby switching allegations at the Sibley Memorial Hospital here in Washington, D.C. This, allegedly, took place in 1993 during the months of May through July. It has not been reported how many babies were switched but as one family stated, ‘even one baby is too many.’ There are reports of bribery from families to switch infants due to known illnesses of their babies or even stillborn babies.”

  My shirt that I was about to throw over my head dropped to the floor.

  Summer 1993. Sibley Hospital. Baby switching.

  Dumbfounded, I sat on the edge of the bed for a minute. Christian was born at Sibley Hospital during the summer of 1993 but I needed to confirm that with Lachelle because maybe I was trippn’. I picked up the phone to call her but it slipped from my trembling hand.

  Before I picked up the phone I snatched the remote off the pillow next to me. I replayed the breaking news segment.

  Summer 1993. Sibley Hospital. Baby switching.

  I couldn’t call her, she’d detect the anxiety in my voice. I picked up the phone and sent a simple text to ask a simple question. Where was Christian born? The answer might prove to alter the trajectory of our lives.

  The delivered prompt popped up on the phone.

  I picked my shirt up and continued getting dressed. Lachelle typically answered right back.

  As I rubbed oil on my hands to run through my hair, I heard the text alert.

  I oiled my hair and viewed her response.

  Did we just visit our son or someone else’s?

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