Chapter 1 : Part 3

Farther Than I Meant To Go, Longer Than I Meant To Stay
by Tiffany L. Warren

(Page 3 of 3)

As if she could read my mind, Dr. King said, "The oil is symbolic, Charmayne. It reminds us of God's anointing that is present when we come together in prayer. I want us to pray for your healing, and I want you to believe that prayer."

I nodded and bowed my head. Dr. King prayed in a soothing voice that calmed me. I heard her send up on my behalf words that I had been afraid to utter. She squeezed my hands - willing me to feel God's Spirit in the room. After saying "amen" I left Dr. King's office. I was still filled with doubt, but I felt uplifted. That had to be a step in the right direction.

I walked into my home after my session with Dr. King, and it was strangely quiet. I suppose that it had always been that way, especially before I met Travis, but it was the first time I'd truly noticed. Everything was in place, but still I felt uneasy. I went through every room turning on lamps, even though it wasn't yet dark outside. The light helped to quell the unexplained panic that I felt rising in my belly.

I went into the kitchen to prepare my dinner - a protein shake and a garden salad. It wasn't a meal that I could get excited about, but a picture of my plus-size self in a bathing suit was taped to the refrigerator as incentive. I lost my appetite every single last time I got a glimpse of the photo - which was, of course, the desired effect. I remembered taking the picture. The women's ministry at my church had gone on a cruise retreat. I'd reluctantly worn a swimsuit at the urgings of my thin friends Lynette and Ebony. We'd gone to the ship's deck, wearing our suits, to get a little bit of sun. When I heard a little boy say to his mother, "Look at the fat lady!" I changed back into my sundress and hadn't looked at a bathing suit since.

Aside from my weight issues, everyone was always telling me how pretty I was. I could look in the mirror and see my caramel-colored skin and hazel eyes, but I didn't see the beauty there. I couldn't get past how round my cheeks were or that fleshy layer beneath my chin. The one feature that I did take pride in was my hair. It was thick, long, and healthy. I never went more than two weeks without getting it styled, and I spared no expense doing so. My stylist, Unique, worked in a shop in the "hood" area of Cleveland. She was so good that I traveled forty-five minutes from my condo in the suburbs and waited all day in the salon to have her lay my perm just right.

I listlessly chewed what was left of my salad greens, and then quickly moved from my kitchen bar stool to the living room sofa. I picked up my Bible from the coffee table and made myself comfortable on the soft leather. If the Lord had a word for me from the story of Rizpah, I wanted it right away.

I read aloud from 2 Samuel 21.

But the king took the two sons of Rizpah the daughter of Aiah, whom she bare unto Saul, Armoni and Mephibosheth; and the five sons of Michal the daughter of Saul, whom she brought up for Adriel the son of Barzillai the Meholathite:

And he delivered them into the hands of the Gibeonites, and they hanged them in the hill before the LORD: and they fell all seven together, and were put to death in the days of harvest, in the first days, in the beginning of barley harvest.

And Rizpah the daughter of Aiah took sackcloth, and spread it for her upon the rock, from the beginning of harvest until water dropped upon them out of heaven, and suffered neither the birds of the air to rest on them by day, nor the beasts of the field by night.

And it was told David what Rizpah the daughter of Aiah, the concubine of Saul, had done.

And David went and took the bones of Saul and the bones of Jonathan his son from the men of Jabeshgilead, which had stolen them from the street of Bethshan, where the Philistines had hanged them, when the Philistines had slain Saul in Gilboa:

And he brought up from thence the bones of Saul and the bones of Jonathan his son; and they gathered the bones of them that were hanged.

And the bones of Saul and Jonathan his son buried they in the country of Benjamin in Zelah, in the sepulchre of Kish his father: and they performed all that the king commanded. And after that God was intreated for the land.

It was just seven verses, but immediately I felt saddened by Rizpah's grief. I placed myself in her shoes, sitting out in the elements, mourning, grieving and lamenting. To passersby she probably looked quite pitiful - something like how I'd seemed to all of my family and friends. Her tears, however, masked an inner strength. I wondered if I would discover fortitude on the inside of me.

I understood the loneliness Rizpah felt when her sons were stripped from her so soon after she'd lost her husband. For my entire life I'd been surrounded by people, but I was no stranger to feeling alone.

As a girl, I was blessed to have the stability of a mother and father under one roof. I cherished the evenings that my mother, Claudette, baked cookies with me and my sister, Dayna. Mama would let us stay up late on Fridays to meet Daddy when he came home from his second-shift job.

Daddy always came in the house and scooped me up in his arms as if I weighed a feather. I didn't realize I was a chubby child; I just knew that my Daddy loved me and thought I was beautiful.

When I started going to school, and the teasing began, I didn't know how to take it. I ran home crying every day because of the cruel jokes and embarrassing pranks. Even worse, my own sister Dayna, a year younger than me, had become ashamed of sitting near me on the school bus.

Mama's solution to my weight problems was to berate me and deprive me of sweets and desserts. Gone were the nights of cookie baking. I sat alone in my room with tears in my eyes, reading books, while the aroma of the fresh-baked goodies wafted into my nostrils. Unbeknownst to Mama, I would sneak Little Debbie snack cakes from the store and guiltily munch on them while waiting for Daddy to come home.

Rizpah, a woman who had been dead for centuries, sparked new tears from decades-old hurts. I just sat on my couch crying for Rizpah . . . or maybe I was crying for me. Her despair reminded me of my own, and her loneliness of what I was experiencing right before I met the man who would change my life.

Copyright ©l 2006 by Tiffany Warren

About the Author

Tiffany L. Warren lives in suburban Cleveland, Ohio.