Song of Solomon by Kendra Norman-Bellamy Read Free Book Online

doing, Neil made a mental note to reprimand him for defying his wishes. And if it were the leading of the Holy Spirit . . . well, Neil didn’t like that any better. Either way, he wasn’t pleased with the open bid, and his narrowed eyes did their best to relay that message to his pastor and friend.
    â€œSing, Brother Taylor, sing!”
    Without looking around, Neil knew that the loud coaxing came from his very own assistant, Margaret Dasher. She was easily his biggest fan when it came to just about anything, and he wondered if she were the perpetrator behind the request for him to sing today. When CJ ignored his silent protest and summoned him for the second time, Neil clenched and unclenched his jaws, then maneuvered his way past the other deacons and toward the front of the church, where the pastor met him at the foot of the pulpit with the microphone in hand. Neil took the mic, but not before giving CJ his best I’ll-get-you-for-this-later look.
    â€œWhen God Is In The Building” had at one time been one of Neil’s favorite songs, but it had been so long since he had heard it that while his mouth belted out the tune, his mind juggled to recall the proper words. If any of the original lyrics were missed or sung out of sequence, the audience never made the detection. Neil had come to the front fully determined to sing one chorus just to show obedience to leadership, and then sit down. But God wouldn’t allow it.
    The tempo of the early 1990s anthem was slow, but the more Neil sang it, the more the ushers were forced to evacuate their stations and attend to congregants who had been overcome by the moving of the Holy Spirit. Neil had started out standing flat-footed on the floor at the base of the speaker’s stand, directly in the middle of the church. By the time the song was over, he was leaning against the organ situated on the right end of the pulpit. Even Neil didn’t understand how he had climbed the steps to the platform without cringing from painful soreness.
    For a while, even after Neil ended the song, it was Sunday morning pandemonium.
    â€œSit down, sit down, sit down,” CJ instructed the crowd, motioning with his hands as Neil returned the microphone to him. “Y’all sit down before y’all take up all my preaching time.”
    Although the charge was given, it was no surprise when few, if any, of the church members complied. The musicians had stopped the music, but people were still in active worship, walking the floor, leaping for joy, and raising their voices in praise and thanksgiving.
    As Neil stood at his seat with his arms lifted in adulation, he felt hairs standing at attention beneath the sleeves of his shirt. It had been some time since God’s hand had moved in the manner that it did today. But then again, it had been some time since Deacon Neil Taylor had sung.
    For a long while, CJ stood in silence and allowed the voices of the people to fill the edifice. There was no music or singing, only sounds of worship that came from the lips of those who were allowing God to touch them. Moments turned into minutes, and there were no signs that the praises would end any time soon.
    â€œLook around you, people of God,” CJ finally said. “See Mother Turner over there? See Sister Marissa in the back? See this young man kneeling at the altar? See the choir members that have been slain under the anointing? That’s what happens when God is in the building!”
    Voices from the audience that had already been elevated got even louder. The noise level inside of KBCC was comparable to that of a basketball game wherein the home team was down by one point and had the last possession of the ball. CJ had approached the speaker’s stand with an open Bible, ready to start the day’s message, but with one motion of his hand, he reached forward and closed it, having not even taken his text.
    Holding the cordless microphone in his hand, he walked back