Bad Boy meets Church Girl – Part 1

In the beginning there was God, who without a doubt was fully clothed in majestic robes and clouds to cover any sections the robes couldn’t. Why he decided that his human creations would roam the earth in bare nakedness I will never understand. Thanks to the so called Original Sin, you and I can now adorn the latest in fashion wear. I guess everything happens for a reason.

Like I mentioned in my last post, I dared to rediscover the tenets of my spirituality which Ma had so ardently instilled into me. This was back in the day when my lower half seemed to dwell on the pre-original sin period, and thus preferred to go bare. Being a Roman Catholic did not seem to be yielding the desired results in my soul, and having watched a few of those high powered Protestant Sunday morning sessions on TV, I figured why not try out these folks? So I called Tim.

He and his wife (her name is Christine by the way) are now devout members of a nearby church named Church of the Living God. I will not dwell on the implication this name has on other churches and the gods they serve. Let me also add that I use the word devout very loosely considering Tim would not be caught dead in a church if it wasn’t for Christine. To sustain this new found obligation, he has grown a disturbing liking for Gospel Music. During the worst part of these services i.e. the sermon, he goes into a temporary trance and replays the songs in his head. Those two hours fly by like a kite. If Christine knew this she would flip.

Tim was ecstatic at my proposition to join them for the next Sunday’s service. The thought of having me sitting next to him in a Church was far too amusing. But I was serious. I was going to give Salvation a shot, get me a Saved girl, preferably one of those fine mamacitas who I see leading Praise and Worship on TV, take her home to Ma, get this marriage issue out of the family discussions, get a couple of little Lawrenzoninos and consider that chapter closed. What could possibly go wrong?

Two Sundays went by. Two Sundays in which I woke up earlier than my body is designed to, took shots of really strong coffee to postpone the hangover for 3 hours, and waited upon Tim and his beloved Christine to pick me up. Two Sundays in which I had to watch two Pastors subjecting their Voice boxes to inexplicable atrocities. If you have a microphone, why feel the need to shout your voice box hoarse?

Two Sundays in which I had to part with Six rounds worth of mulla thanks to the watchful eye of a prowling usher, and the accompaniment of some Junior Pastor proclaiming doom for those of us who did not dig deeper into our pockets. Two Sundays in which I watched the rest of humanity feeling things I could not feel, speaking languages I could not understand and ranting ‘Yes!’ and ‘Jesus!’ over and over so many times I can still hear them in my sleep. It was torture.

I have to admit though that the musical spin doctors in this Church can give the DJ at Kamau’s a serious run for his money. I also got to watch some popular local Gospel artists perform live which was quite a treat. On this note I made peace with my departed 6 rounds worth.

On the Third Sunday I said a silent prayer to God before heading out to meet Tim. The Bible says that Three is a symbol of perfection, completion and fulfillment. Something about the Holy Trinity being a three in one situation. Being the third Sunday, all I asked God to do was be a sport and show me the girl who would fulfill my life long search. And he did! Can I get an Amen?

Stella was an Usher. I think she still is.

In a vintage beige flowery dress, complete with black leggings and a pink scarf draped around a slender neck, with hair so dark, so rich and modestly brushed down without the slightest effort to style it up, this Girl was a sight to behold. The only out of place thing about this girl’s style was the ugly usher’s sash that hung over her shoulder.

Now folks, I have never picked up a girl at a church before. Tim said all I had to do was offer a warm smile. But my smile is the kind that says ‘Your mirror does not do justice to the true magnificence that is the beauty that I now gaze upon’. Stella did not seem to acknowledge this tacit complement, as she ambled on to the next pew without offering even the slightest hint that I had made any effect whatsoever.

It was so on.

 

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Lawrence is the guy next door; A young, aspirational Kenyan gentleman; But most of all, a romantic soul in search of true love.

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