Story Berry 10: ABOUT SUNDAYS, CHOIRS AND RANGES

The choir rendered their song, moving together from left to right and clapping their hands over their heads. Timothy Elegbede watched how their gowns flopped around them and he remembered what made him loathe being in the choir, the reason why he never succumbed to his mother’s frequent pleas for him to serve God with his silvery voice: choir robes. It was bad enough that he had to wear uniforms through pre-school, primary, secondary schools, and even Law school where he was bound by the white and black code, he would not throw away his chance to dress on whims and desire just for being in the choir.
He thought the lady leading out the choir had some potentials that needed to be tapped. Her voice had a unique texture: a thing like blending Sia and Meghan Trainor. But on closer examination, one could see that she didn’t have a firm hang of it. He heard her glitch twice when she tried to belt notes that were beyond her range. She could have avoided those by reefing through the notes.
Oh well, choir fellas don’t know these things, na only robe dem sabi
As if to counter his jibe, the lady ran down a scale gliding on honey. This time, her voice didn’t catch in her throat. He crossed his arms and leaned back.
Oh, okay. Looks like this one knows small something.
It was then she entered the church, coming from the adjoining Pastor’s office, she passed by the pulpit and went to take her seat in the front row. She wasn’t alone, but Timothy saw her alone. Her silk beige suit was matched with the same colour of hat; the hat, with a brim spread out in all directions like tentacles, was angled daintily on her head, its clear beads and stones flashing in the light of the church chandelier, its floral appendage as flamboyant as her smile.
The pastor mounted the podium. The church applauded. All through the service, Timothy kept staring at her, furtively, intermittently.
When the service was over, she walked beside the pastor, her arm in the crook of his. They greeted an aged couple, then a man in white shirt, then another man, then a lady with noisy heels. She hugged people warmly, shook hands, and made jokes. Timothy went over to greet her. She shook his hands briefly.
“Good to see you bro Timothy. How are you doing?” She asked.
It hurt Timothy that she didn’t notice his glittering shoes, his gelled hair, his scintillating cologne; that she didn’t notice him more than she did Sister Sade or Mummy Dare. He was just to her Bro Timothy, like every other brother. But it was only right for the pastor’s wife to see him as a brother, even if he felt such heady attraction for her that made his joints sublime.
“How are you?” The pastor nudged him back to the present, blending the words so that they sounded like one. Howayu.
“I’m doing well sir.”
The pastor gave him an avuncular hug, and he thought it was awkward and unnecessary until he heard him whisper softly into his ears:
The next time I find you staring at my wife like that, we would have an issue.
It was then he realized that like the lady who led the choir, he had been reaching beyond his range and he had messed up, except that the chorister’s glitches were a lot better.
The pastor pulled out of the hug. When he spoke again his voice was without the edge that slipped into Timothy’s right ear a few seconds before, it was now back to its pastoral state. “Do have a lovely week Bro Tim”
He hugged his wife around the waist and guided her away from his presence. He and his wife were greeting another couple when Pastor Anya cast a glance in Timothy’s direction; the glance was a not so friendly reminder. The next time I find you staring at my wife like that, we would have an issue.
****
You really can’t control who you love. When you love, you love. And all that hogwash people feed themselves, is nonsense. It’s true that we don’t have much control over who we get attracted to, but we have a brain and as believers, we also have the word of God and his Spirit within us. We can definitely control what we do with the attraction that bubbles into our mind.
When the needle of your crushometer –and yes, that’s a thing. I speak things that are not as though they were. I’m a true son of my father. *winks- starts deflecting in the wrong direction, you can redirect it.
How? You ask.
Pray about it. Someone is rolling their eyes. Lol. We can use God’s help on any matter and sincerity in relating with the Lord is priceless. Personally, I pray such naked prayers as, “Lord, help your boy, hormones are misbehaving” And guess what? Jehovah hears. Lol. And he sharply sends help to his homeboy. Yeah, technically I’m God’s homeboy. Cos I’m his child, i.e his boy, and heaven is my home. You feel me?
Stop feeding it! Attraction feeds on attention! Read that again. You know you like this man, you know his married or that the Lord is saying, ‘Nah, boo’, yet you spend every free time joking with him, chatting with him, thinking of him; like uncle Timo, staring at him. Aunty, what are we looking for? *inserts black moon face. This is the part that requires being deliberate. Turn your mind right. Set your affections on things above. Lool.
It would seem like I’m joking but really, when you starve useless crushes, the crush will crushoniown. You grab?
Do have an amazing week. And make sure you focus on the word in church not your crush. A little birdie tells me y’all go to church to see man or woman. Stop etttt. Be like Isaiah, see Jesus seated on the throne. You know I’m joking, raiiii? And I’m also not joking.
Please pardon all my ‘unseriousness’, it’s follow come. Na so dem born me.