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She That Findeth: A Novel - Softcover

Brooks, Kim

 
9781476715339: She That Findeth: A Novel
Softcover
ISBN 10: 1476715335 ISBN 13: 9781476715339
Verlag: Atria, 2014

Inhaltsangabe

Bestselling author Kim Brooks shines in this inspiring and entertaining journey through life, love, and faith.

Ten years of believing, yet still no husband in sight for Shenita Love. The Bible does say “Wait on the Lord,” which, for Shenita, means waiting for God to deliver her a soul mate. Then again, God helps those who help themselves.

On her thirty-fifth birthday, Shenita’s fear of never starting a family has reached a fever pitch. Her trusty “rule book”—filled with guidelines for dating—simply isn’t cutting it. Soon Shenita is signing up for online dating sites, hitting on men at sporting events, and putting herself out there in ways she never imagined. When Shenita stops playing by the book and takes matters into her own hands, she finds anything can happen.

Meanwhile, her closest friends are struggling with their own issues of sexuality, acceptance, divorce, insecurity, and financial strain. Always the faithful shoulder to lean on, Shenita wants to be there for them, but her desire to find a man leads her to an unforeseeable circumstance. A place where she must examine her relationship with God and reconsider her priorities.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Kim Brooks is the award-winning author of the Black Expressions bestselling novel, He’s Fine…But is He Saved?; the Black Christian Book Distributors’ bestselling sequel, He’s Saved…But is He For Real?; and the highly acclaimed nonfiction books, The Little Black Survival Book for Single Saints and How to Date and Stay Saved. She is a native of Detroit and currently resides there. Visit her online at KimontheWeb.com.

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She That Findeth

Chapter 1

“Happy birthday to ya . . . Happy birthday to ya . . . Happy birthday!” sang and clapped my three closest girlfriends at a small table inside a quaint restaurant in downtown Detroit. Too bad it wasn’t karaoke night; that was Thursday. But I was still too excited that my birthday fell on a Saturday in September this year. That made up for the fact that it’s my thirty-fifth and here I am celebrating it with a bunch of females.

I love my girls and all, but sometimes a sister just wants the presence of a man. Here I am all decked out in my one-armed purple blouse, short gray skirt, silver stilettos, and matching Gucci bag—yet with no man to compliment me on how good I look. I had just gotten my hair cut and colored, with a light brown mohawk on top that faded to black in the back, and my makeup was flawless. I even wore hazel contacts, which I was hesitant to buy at first because of my brown complexion—but they actually looked kinda cute on me.

I was feeling this “new look” and new me, yet there was no man seated next to me to whisper in my ear how I was the finest thing in the room. Nope, at thirty-five, here I am with not a prospect in sight. No man, no boyfriend, not even a “special friend.”

Nobody.

Lord knows I just knew I would have been married with at least two kids by now.

I’ve been believing God for a husband for ten years now.

I keep my list of ten things I’m believing God for in a mate tucked away in the zipper part of my Bible cover and have done so for years. I guess I never really attached a timetable to my requests—maybe I should have said something to the tune of Before my eggs dry up and I have to believe God like Sarah and Abraham, Lord. Maybe then my prayer may have been granted a little earlier. At the rate I’m going, I’m going to have to take in vitro and believe God for twins. Thank God for technology.

“Haaaa-peeee-birthday . . . Happy birthday . . . Happy birthday . . .”

I could tell the waiters and waitresses, all of diverse hues, were getting a kick out of my friends’ rendition of the Stevie Wonder classic as they grinned from ear to ear, nodding their heads. I wondered if they had ever heard it before.

Or maybe they were laughing at my girl Danielle, also known as Dani, who swayed wildly with her Android taking pics in one hand and waving her glass of Sprite on the rocks in the other. If you didn’t know Danielle was saved you would think she was drunk, and at just two years shy of forty, one would never know by the way she carried herself. Always ready for a good time, Danielle took pics of herself showing off her fresh makeover, which brought out the peach undertones in her tan complexion, and her new black-and-gold minidress, which flattered her tall, curvy frame; and she also took pics of me and the rest of the crew and uploaded them to Facebook simultaneously, half of which I hadn’t even seen yet to approve. Lord, I hope she doesn’t tag me in any pics where I’m looking crazy. Candid shots get on my nerves.

“Make a wish, girl!” Danielle yelled while snapping her head and swerving her long, black layered weave to the other side, almost hitting Jackie in the face.

Jackie just looked at her and rolled her eyes as she proceeded to stir her black coffee. She wiped the cheek where Danielle’s hair almost smacked her, probably hoping it didn’t turn her fair skin pink, as Jackie bruises easily. She had stopped singing the song a while ago and looked ready to go home. At thirty-six, Jackie appeared as if she had had enough of all the many years of singing birthday songs and probably wanted to catch a rerun of her favorite show, Law & Order, again. With her being a prominent, well-­respected attorney in the city, she was greatly intrigued by that show. I wouldn’t be surprised if my birthday festivities weren’t ruining all her normal Saturday-night fun. Jackie ran her fingers through her short curly red hair, then rested her hand on her forehead.

“Yeah, Shenita,” sprang Pippa while scooting her chair in closer to the table and positioning her round frame just right as she pointed her light brown manicured finger toward me, matter-­of-fact. “The Word says in 3 John 1:2, Beloved, I wish above all things that thou mayest prosper and be in health, even as thy soul prospereth, so it’s okay to make a wish and blow out the candles.”

At thirty-two and the youngest of the crew, I wondered if Pippa really thought I needed her approval based on The Word on whether or not I should make a wish? I guess she didn’t know me as well as I thought she did, otherwise she would know I’ve been making wishes and blowing out candles ever since I got saved fifteen years ago. I wasn’t convicted about it then and I sholl ain’t convicted about it now.

Man, that birthday cake had so many candles on it that it looked like if I didn’t blow them out fast someone would have to call a fire truck.

Thirty-five candles—one for each year of my long, unfruitful life.

I take that back. As a public relations specialist for the Detroit chapter of a national nonprofit, One Love Initiative, from the outside looking in, I had all the makings of a success. I literally have had many approach me in tears and say how the nonprofit I work for, which provides housing options for single parents and low-income families, changed their lives. I love what I do, and thank God for the job that definitely keeps a sister’s condo association fees paid and Benz car payment up to date, but even still, I feel my life is lacking in one area. Love.

So, with a big inhale and then a huge blow over the strawberry shortcake with my favorite cream cheese icing, I silently made the same wish I’ve been making since I was twenty-five: “I wish to find true love and happiness.” Except this time I did something I had never done before with my wish. I added these four words, “This year, Lord . . . please.”

• • •

“So, girl, what you wanna do now that we’re done with dinner?” Danielle asked with a forkful of her second piece of cake, as we four ladies sat with full bellies and I with a nice stack of gifts and greeting cards by my side.

I really hadn’t made any plans for after dinner . . . what else was there to do? I didn’t feel like going to a movie; too boring. And with no guys with us it wouldn’t be that much fun. No one to play practical jokes on. I guess this is supposed to be ladies’ night out. Whoever invented that concept anyway? With all girls, who’s going to open the door for us when we leave? The waiter, I guess.

“What about heading over to my place to play Parcheesi, eat snickerdoodles, and have girl talk all night!” chimed Pippa.

Jackie, Danielle, and I looked at one another, then at Pippa, and said in unison, “Um, no.”

“How about we check out that new jazz joint on First Street?” Danielle suggested.

“Hmm,” I said. “Not a bad idea.”

Then again, I thought about the last jazz place I visited—nothing but old, bald-head, no-teeth-having sugar daddies over sixty-five wanting to “holla at ya girl” while showing me their Viagra pills. The thought of reliving that experience all over again...

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Verlag
Atria
Erscheinungsdatum
2014
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
1476715335
ISBN 13 
9781476715339
Einband
Taschenbuch
Anzahl der Seiten
368
Kontakt zum Hersteller
Nicht verfügbar
Verantwortliche Person
Simon and Schuster Netherlands BV
info@simonandschuster.nl

Herculesplein 96
Utrecht
3584 AA
Niederlande