Testimony

I spent part of my childhood in Burlington, North Carolina. In Burlington, there was no shortage of textile mills, tobacco fields or storefront churches. God must give out awards for the most original church name because there were names like Mount Zion Missionary Baptist Double Dipped in Baptismal Water church and Jesus was Resurrected Here-Church of God in Christ. The two largest churches in town were New Covenant and Beth Salem. My parents were members of Beth Salem; therefore, I was forced to attend.

And I hated it.

We sang tired, old hymnal tunes like, “Go Tell It On the Mountain,” and “Amazing Grace.” Children were ushered, like baby ducks, from the Sunday school rooms into the sanctuary while the congregation sang, “Jesus Loves the Little Children.” We huddled together on the front pew while a church mother, dressed in thick, soled nurse shoes and compression pantyhose told us about Jonah and Whale for the 155th time. At this point, I hoped that the whale would just bite Jonah in half so we could move along to something new.

Our pastor, Rev. Gates stuck to the tried and true scriptures of honoring parents and the Lord being our shepherd. Not once did he ever try implementing 90’s R&B songs into his sermons, like “Jesus Christ will make you Jump ,Jump” (to the tune of Kris Kross). Things like that only happened at New Covenant.

New Covenant was the young, hip church. Their choir swayed from side to side as they marched, donned in purple monogrammed robes, rocking the latest Kirk Franklin remix. Church ladies wore fluted hats with feathers that flared out like peacocks. Men wore spit shined, gold tipped shoes with matching fedoras. And after church, the entire congregation met at Golden Corral where they had tables partitioned off with red, velvet rope, like VIPs.

At Beth Salem we dined in the musty basement, eating macaroni & cheese and ham out of aluminum tins. I begged my father to go to New Covenant but it was always an adamant, “no.” We were to stay loyal to our home church.

During the summer that I turned 12 my parents went out of town for the funeral of distant relative. I bargained to stay with my friend, Reva for the weekend. The rules were- obey her parents and attend church on Sunday. Reva’s parents attended New Covenant and since my dad didn’t say “which” church, I took this as my one and possibly only, chance. Though it was the middle of June, I packed my velvet paneled, Christmas dress with red stockings and black patent leathers. Even if I died of heat stroke, I was determined to look my best.

After the choir selections but before the actual sermon, New Covenant had Testimony. My church did not have this so I was instantly intrigued. During testimony people were encouraged to stand in front of the congregation and share how God had done something miraculous in their life. The first person to offer testimony was a man, dressed in a dark brown pin stripe suit. His hair was slicked back like Billy Dee Williams on that Colt 45 commercial. He confessed that he was once a drug addict. He gave us accounts of how he’d stolen pearls from his wife’s jewelry box to fund his habit. I was both horrified and captivated. There weren’t any drug addicts at my church, not even recovering ones. The man went through scenario after scenario of drug stupors and petty theft. And then he shouted, “But let me tell you what God did!”

The organ player revved up a chord, while the women in feathered hats jumped up and waved their handkerchiefs, shouting the words, “tell it” and “preach.” The man confessed that the Lord had delivered him and the entire church broke out in shouts. Completely entranced, I was the only one still sitting but boy, I was in love with this church.

After a while the congregation calmed and the preacher asked, “Anyone else got a testimony?” No one moved. I sat very still trying to telepathically force someone get up to and speak. I was not ready for this end. The minister repeated, “Does anyone else want to tell about the goodness of God.” And just when I thought my secret, 12 year old, mind control had failed me, a lady stood. Could she have been a drug addict too? Or even better a prostitute?

She was a short, round woman with a French roll so big it was surely stuffed with a tube sock. She introduced herself as Miss Gayle and began her testimony,

“You all know, I’ve been doing hair out of my house for 10, long years. I just didn’t ever think I would pass my test to get my cosmetology license. But I took it to the Lord in prayer and went on and finished my classes. Every day I’d walk out to the mailbox expecting to see my license but every day there was nothing. I was starting to lose all hope. But Friday morning when I opened the mailbox, praise Jesus… “

And before she could finish her sentence or the organist could rev up the celebration music, her full set of dentures fell clean out of her mouth.

I laughed so hard I thought my lungs would burst. I was still laughing when the usher promptly escorted me out into the lobby and laughing all the more when I was asked to leave building…permanently.

I never returned to New Covenant. I stayed with my family at Beth Salem until I was an adult but whenever the sermon got stale or Jonah found himself in whale’s mouth, again, I’d just think of Miss Gayle and her testimony teeth.