Slow Sips from Hot Cups

by Rev. Fran A. Times-Mack

ISBN 1-891429-32-9

Fiction, 179-pages

$10.95

Slow Sips from Hot Cups

by Rev. Fran A. Times-Mack

ISBN 1-891429-32-9

Fiction, 179-pages

$10.95

Chapter 1

On a gray November morning, mildly cold by New England’s standards, a devout group of men of varied ages, races, and backgrounds, sat in a semi-organized circle in the sparsely adorned living room of a two story Colonial house. It was located in a so-so neighborhood of White Plains, NY. For the past 4 years it had become the Tuesday night and Saturday morning gathering place of thirty or so devout Christian men, many of whom were reformed substance abusers who attended spiritual discipline fellowships led by Reverend Tim Pullock.

Amongst this bunch, everyone made a concerted effort towards good grooming. Not only was it encouraged, but for some, it was worn as a banner signifying continued sobriety and esteem. On that morning a sea of colorful designer and bargain sweaters, and the mixture of expensive and drugstore cologne would more than compensate for the small group of men amongst them who didn’t quite have it together with aftershave and fashion. This plethora of masculinity would have tickled the senses of any sistah looking for a good man, had their attendance been allowed. But alas, these fellowships were “men only”. Even so, you’d be hard-pressed to find a hint of anti-women sentiment in the place. Most of these men had completely transformed their lives with the help of Reverend Tim, a middle-aged recovered addict of twelve years. He firmly believed that men who had fallen into addictions and caused irreconcilable damage to their families had dropped the ball to such a degree that rigorous re-programming was needed. And he believed his tenacious and inexorable approach sometimes amassed emotions some men wouldn’t, couldn’t, or shouldn’t express in the presence of women.

Up-stairs was an area they all reverenced, and they sacrificed their time and energy towards its meticulous upkeep. Each bedroom was furnished with two twin-sized beds that were made up military style, and donated desks and chairs that were thoughtfully placed next to windows so that the sunlight would accompany mandatory reading times. The bookshelves in the study had no end of literature from the most devout spiritual leaders. And the prayer room, which would have been a TV room in any other place remotely like this one, was sparingly decorated with inspirational plaques, and a picture of a multi-ethnic Christ. There was a feeling of sacredness in this room, and it became the most frequented by the men who lived in the house.

The makeup of the attendees for that Saturday’s meeting were three recruits who were battling their addictions and presently staying upstairs, fifteen committed Christian men who were members of Reverend Pullock’s church, and twelve who had called the house “home” at one time or another.

At some point in their lives, the twelve had completed a rigorous yearlong series of fellowships known as TBTF, Tried by The Fire. And without missing a session, most of them had remained sober and without drug use more than 2 years after completing the program. Consistently drilled on Godly principles, they had learned to set aside differences, and to share a camaraderie and singularity of purpose that fostered their ability to stay focused. But what they shared most was a fundamental belief in God and His ability to give what they needed to battle the demons they faced. And it was this faith that energized their commitment in spite of the rigors of everyday life.

Fully believing in their mission, they became elders of Faith Standards Fellowship, a non-denominational church founded by Reverend Pullock. Aside from 2 paid counselors, those out of the twelve without families would be assigned to steward the men who were residing in the house. They were nicknamed “watchmen” cause’ they just about followed the housemates’ every move. The watchmen attended the fellowships year after year to fully extend to neophytes the same unwavering support they had received themselves.

Free of drugs longest, Nathaniel Cornelius Warrington was a devout watchman and supporter of the Reverend’s mission. The Reverend had prayed a long time for God to send him a faithful man to help carry out his ministry. He knew within his spirit, he said, that Nathaniel was the one God had chosen when he found him lying on the doorsteps of the fellowship house over 5 years ago, shaking profusely and half starved to death. After his recovery, he worked tirelessly out of gratitude for Reverend Pullock’s dedication to helping him get on his feet. Together, they scoured abandoned buildings and anywhere else they were lead to go until the wee hours of the morning, looking for those they believed to be predestined by God, and would benefit most from their kind of help. It was some pretty miraculously stuff Nathaniel had witnessed and it humbled the ex-pro football player in a way he never thought possible.

Although finding jobs and becoming self-sufficient was difficult, it was strictly enforced. Failure would mean an inadequate belief in God’s ability, and 24-7 watchman on your tail. No excuses were tolerated. After getting on their feet, some of them started businesses of their own, two of them became substance abuse counselors, and others were able to get their old jobs back. No one broke rank, and sooner or later they all managed to find work. But the intricacy of dating and marriage was a horse of a different color. Most of them had experienced difficulty at one time or another, learning to slowly rebuild or cultivate mutually fulfilling relationships with women according to the biblical doctrine the Reverend taught. There was no end of questions and discussions on this subject, and whenever the topic came up, the sessions usually ran over the scheduled time.

It was already half passed eleven o’clock a.m. that Saturday, and the class should have dismissed at the hour. Street savvy Eduardo Medina was the latest recruit and one of the three men living in the house. He was a hustler who had one foot half in the door and one out. He was reared in the boroughs of New Haven, and with all the stuff he was into, one would think he would have been dead by now. But the voice of his grandmother, a devout catholic, was always in the back of his mind beckoning him to do right. She was the reason for the few good choices he had made. There was no way, he thought, that the Jesus talking brothers in that class could be hip enough to recognize the game he played. But these were not the vulnerable young ladies he had conned and schemed into bed with his smooth tanned skin and jet black wavy hair. He was only fooling himself, pretending to be committed when he had hardly a notion of what real commitment is. And even a remote suspicion that he might be uncovered wouldn’t stop him from playing the game just the same.

He sat with his legs stretched out under the desk, and his upper body slightly hovered over, just the way he did in high school. Eduardo’s posture and almost cocky confidence reminded Nathan of his college years. A shoe-in for the NFL draft, he remembered that he thought he was the “bomb” back then. Women languishing over his muscular chiseled body, his long eyelashes, caramel skin, and perfectly formed lips. And to top that off, he had a dimple in his left cheek that only appeared when he smiled a little. He could have mastered the art of mackin’ had he chose to, but he was much too discerning for that. He wouldn’t even step to a girl unless he had an inkling that she was his kind of special. She had to possess a certain compassion and verve. A woman who would so spiritually move him that he’d be left wondering if she was from this planet. His selective approach was sometimes misunderstood, and branded as egotism. But if indeed it was, it had little or nothing at all to do with his physicality. Exceeding his own expectations on many levels, with a glorious capacity to love intensely, at his best, he was a culmination of everything a woman wanted. He knew he was an extraordinary man, and he wanted to be loved by an extraordinary woman.

Nathan was the middle child of two other brothers and they were known throughout all of Chattahochee County as those Warrington boys. “My boys this……” and “My boys that……” was always a topic of conversation on Reverend Joseph P. Warrington’s lips, and the subject of many a sermon. His father was the presiding pastor of the Greater Missionary Baptist Church in Columbus, Georgia. Some folks are just born with a sense of do-rightness, and Reverend Warrington was one of them. A Renaissance man if ever there was one, he built an exceptional military career only to leave it for the three jobs he took to care for his family, and to start the church he believed he was called by God to build. An extremely dignified man, he taught his boys many lessons about character and perseverance. He had the highest respect for their mother and lovingly adored her. From that, Nathan and his brothers learned to be gentleman with impeccable manners, and when they did not behave as such, the punishment was swift and painful. But it was rarely used. They knew unequivocally that their father was a great man, and that he loved them unmercifully, so much so that they would do just about anything to gain his admiration.

As Nathan approached manhood, his mother grew concerned. She believed him to have the most compassionate heart of anyone she had ever known and it scared her to think of him falling in love, fearing he’d fall too hard. But amazingly enough, he never did. As far as she knew, no one had ever gotten to his heart like that.

The stars in his universe must have been perfectly aligned in those years. Until the end of his football career, success had chased him down in all of his endeavors. That’s not to say he didn’t work hard; he was able to keep his grades up and finish college with honors, a goal his parents had sternly encouraged. And there was no greater triumph for him than that of being considered a success in his father’s eyes.

He enjoyed the fame and fortune of playing pro-ball, and was thankful for having had those years. But when he thought of them, it was as though they had been lived by someone else. The world that he knew then had been shredded piece by piece. He was given another chance though. He had walked through death, and was restored; something that he felt was more than he had a right to ask for.

The screeching noise of Eduardo’s desk jolted Nathan back to reality. Eduardo had sprung to attention having heard the word “abstinence” from Reverend Pullock. The other recruits were also sitting with newfound attention.

“Reverend Tim,” Eduardo addressed somewhat seriously, “ how you gon’ say that dating should never lead to sex? I mean ahhh, I’ve read some of the bible and I ain’t seen too much in there about dating.” Some of them chuckle, empathizing with the prowess of a 25-year-old.

Reverend Pullock chuckled too, but he felt the question was well intended. “Well——— dating, as well as anything else, has to be placed in its proper context. Before you boil an egg you gotta put it in water. There is a certain order to everything. God worked it out that way. And the purpose of this class is to hopefully teach us how to be men of God who understand that principle. I mean there’s a whole gamut of subjects we still need to explore before putting dating in perspective, but fundamentally, you have to have an appreciation of a Godly partnership of equal standing. Then you’ll understand how dating fits in. The goal is to become better acquainted.”

“Reverend, that’s just not the real world.”

“You’re right! But the real world isn’t our goal.”

“So you’re saying we shouldn’t be concerned with the honeys’ right now? Cause that’s kinda’ hard to do, Rev.”

“Well let’s open that one up for discussion. Brother Lewis? Anybody?”

...

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Teachings of the Spirit: Iroquois Legends

by Kent D. Bocook

ISBN 1-891429-11-6

Legends/Youth, 152-pages

$12.95

The Boy Who Lived with the Bears

There was once a boy whose father and mother had died and he was left all alone. The only person he had to take care of him was his uncle, but his was not a kind man. The uncle thought that the boy was too much trouble and fed him only scrapes from the table and dressed him in torn clothing and moccasins with soles that were worn away. When the boy slept at night, he had to sleep outside his uncle’s lodge far away from the fire. But the boy never complained because his parents had told him always to respect people older than himself.

One day the uncle decided to get rid of the boy. “Come with me. We are going hunting.”

The boy was very happy. His uncle has never taken him hunting before. He followed him into the woods. First his uncle killed a rabbit. The boy picked it up to carry it for the uncle and was ready to turn back to the lodge, but his uncle shook his head. “We will go on. I am not done hunting.”

They went further and the uncle killed a fat goose. The boy was very happy, for they would have so much to eat that surely his uncle would feed him well that night and he began to turn back, but the uncle shook his head again. “No,” he said, “we must go on.”

Finally, they came to a place very far in the forest where the boy had not been before. There was a great cliff and at its base a cave led into the rock. The opening to the cave was large enough only for a small person to go into. “There are animals hiding in there,” the uncle said. “You must crawl in and chase them out so that I can shoot them with my arrows.”

The cave was very dark and it looked cold inside, but the boy remembered what his parents had taught him. He crawled into the cave. There were leaves and stones, but there were no animals. He reached the very end of the cave and turned back, ashamed that he had not fulfilled his uncle’s expectations. And do you know what he saw? He saw his uncle rolling a great stone in front of the opening of the cave. And then everything was dark.

The boy tried to move the stone, but it was no use. He was trapped! At first he was afraid, but then he remembered what his parents had told him. Those who are good at heart are very strong. If you do well and have faith, good things will come to you. This made the boy happy and he began to sing a song. The song was about himself, a boy who had no parents and needed friends. As he sang, his song grew louder, until he forgot he was trapped in a cave. But then he heard a scratching noise outside and stopped singing, thinking his uncle had come back to let him out of the cave.

However, as soon as he heard the first of many voices outside his cave, he knew that he was wrong. That high squeaking voice was not the voice of his uncle. “We...

Teachings of the Spirit: Iroquois Legends

by Kent D. Bocook

ISBN 1-891429-11-6

Legends/Youth, 152-pages

$12.95