The First Lady's Choice

Chapter One

COMMENT, VOTE, SPREAD THE WORD...

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Sunday Morning Worship

Push rewind...

There was a chorus of Amen's that could be heard all over the church. Several other adlibs were thrown in for a more powerful effect. I have grown quite accustomed to enthusiasm of the faithful members in the congregation. Even in the rare times that the sermon is a repeat from a prior time, the people around still find it in their spirit to praise the word from the preacher.

In order to save face, I have to be one of the those constant amen's as if my enthusiasm isn't there, the world would halt on it's axis. Being married to the said preacher and all, really puts the spotlight on you as well. Surely people don't worry about what I say or do, how I act, and definitely what I choose to wear. Bull... That's all they seem to do. All around me are hypocrites and unholy people who judge my every waking step.

Honestly being first lady should not turn into a full time job. 'You shouldn't curse.' 'Never lose your temper.' 'Never dress down, always show professionalism.' 'Show you are a lady, never speak out of turn.' 'Mother board, all white on first Sunday, dress accordingly, befriend the other clergies wives, and never be yourself.'

The title first lady should not require me to give up so much of my own identity. Thankfully, I am a far cry from the over-the-top buffoonery but I am not this poised shell of a woman either. The title is held higher than necessary if you ask me but no one ever does. In my opinion, the added bonus to holding this dreadful title is learning to multi-task. Thanks to this job, I can say amen on cue, write a grocery list, and mull over my complaints in my head.

Lord knows I don't want to be ungrateful or just downright full of complaints but I'm only human. Everyone gets tired of the same old routine day in and day out. Prayerfully, he knows my heart or at least that is the line I constantly use. I smile to myself thinking about other things I could be doing right now besides sitting stiffly with this huge hat on my head. 'I hate hats,' I mentally rolled my eyes.

"Amen! Hallelujah! Thank you Father," Rang out around me, meaning I had almost missed the pinnacle of his closing out the sermon.

'Father God of all things holy, help me to understand my purpose.' I prayed constantly. It was an autopilot prayer. Although the word says to not let our prayers become rehearsed and redundant, it also states to speak what is on our hearts. Oddly enough, that is in my heart EVERY DAY. I question my purpose on this earth. 'Does that make me depressed?' Besides holding the heart of the prestigious Pastor William P. Foster, what more could a girl ask for?

Megan D. Foster, first lady of Grace and Favor United Missionary Baptist Church was the longest introduction I have ever heard. When I first met William ten years ago, I thought for sure the title of the church he originated from was a joke. No one would name their church that many names. Well fooled me because that is exactly what it was called. G.F.U for short, was founded by his father quite some years ago but it had come full swing when he was appointed head pastor.

The membership more than doubled over the last five years of him being the head of the church. Most think it was an easy, natural transition from father to son but alas it was not. Even with William being ten years my senior, he still had to prove himself worthy in his father's eyes to relinquish control. Although his father's health was deteriorating at a rapid speed at eighty years old, he still put William through a series of tests.

When the test switched its attention to me was when I knew this was a serious matter. I never knew being the lady of the church meant so much to an organization. Oftentimes I have caught myself wondering did the late Mrs. Beverly Foster suffer from extreme stress overload. Unfortunately, I was never fortunate enough to meet the woman face to face for she died fours years prior to our meeting. They say she passed away from complications of a severe stroke.