For the Love of God: In the Midst of Trials, Tribulations, & Temptations

By Bishop Ray Washington

“In the world you shall have tribulations, but be of good cheer for I have overcome the world.”

It’s easy to say you love God when all is well in your life. But God never promised us that life in this world would be a bed of roses. The word of God tells us that many are the afflictions of the righteous, but God r

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stratton Press
• Release date: Jan 30, 2020
• ISBN: 9781643458427

Bishop Ray Washington

Bishop Ray Washington received Jesus as his Lord and Savior in November 1975, and he immediately developed a love for the word of God, devoting his time to studying it so that it might dwell richly within him. Bishop Washington was called into the ministry in 1977, and many who sat under his teaching considered him to be an anointed master teacher in the word of God. He received his master of theology degree from the Sacramento Theological Seminary and Bible College. Under the Kingdom of God Apostolic & Prophetic Ministries Bible Institute in San Bernardino, California, he received a doctor of divinity degree and taught Principles of Theology at the same college. For the Love of God is his first novel.

Book preview

Bishop Ray Washington

[e-mail]

FOR THE LOVE OF GOD

Copyright © 2019 Bishop Ray Washington

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Stratton Press Publishing

831 N Tatnall Street Suite M #188,

Wilmington, DE 19801

www.stratton-press.com

1-888-323-7009

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in the work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

ISBN (Paperback): 978-1-64345-605-8

ISBN (Ebook): 978-1-64345-842-7

Printed in the United States of America

Contents

Chapter I: Homecoming

Chapter II: The Deacon’s Daughter

Chapter III: Inner Healing

Chapter IV: The Troublemakers

Chapter V: A Redeemed Heart

Chapter VI: Date with an Angel

Chapter VII: A Mother’s Woe

Chapter VIII: How’s Life Treating You?

Chapter IX: Bloodstone

Chapter X: A Time to Be Born, a Time to Die

Chapter XI: Lost and Found

Chapter XII: Lead Me Not into Temptation

Chapter XIII: God’s Love, Forgiveness

I dedicate this book to my beloved wife, Zella,

who is not only the love of my life but the inspiration that inspired me to write this book.

Chapter I:

Homecoming

We pulled up to the driveway of a beautiful little house situated in a remote area of west LA. Wow! Los Angeles, also known as the city of angels, located on the southwestern coast of California.

I never thought I would hear myself say this, but after five years of traveling around the country with my father, it felt good to gaze upon my grandparents’ humble abode, a place that I also refer to as home.

Before my father could come to a complete stop, the door to the house sprang open, and out, like Jesse Owens, flew my grandmother.

Man, I never knew she could move so fast. Her eyes glistened with tears of joy as she came with arms open wide, and I knew the smothering smooches and breathtaking hugs and squeezes were about to commence, as I would be the main object of all that affection.

Lorise Lynn Taylor was the sweetest, most God-fearing woman I know. Most of the young people in the neighborhood called her Mama Lorise, for she was like a pillar of motherhood unto all with whom she came into contact. To put it mildly, to know her was to love her.

She grabbed and pulled me close to her, and with a bear-like grip, Mama Lorise started rocking me back and forth while kissing me on my forehead and cheeks.

Sobbing, she said, Keith, I’ve missed you so much. Praise be to God my baby is back home to stay.

Mama Lorise looked over her shoulder toward the front porch and cried with a voice of anticipation, Theo! Hurry up and get dressed. The boys are here! They finally made it home.

My dad, knowing the crippling effects of a Mama Lorise love hug, figured she was so preoccupied with me that he could easily sneak by with a casual, Hello, Mama, and safely and soundly make it to the front door without experiencing the torturous death hold of love.

Well, this wasn’t exactly his lucky day. Like a Pop-Tart out of a toaster, she pounced on him and grabbed him around the waist.

James Harrison, she said, you know me well enough to know that there is no way that I’m letting you creep by me without giving you some sugar and a great big hug.

Mama Lorise was James’s mother-in-law, whom he loved dearly. As she held him, he looked at her and said, Mama, I have no problems with the sugar. It’s that great big hug you’re talking about that scares me.

Oh, James, stop your joking. Saying that, my grandmother embedded her head in his chest, closed her watery eyes, and squeezed.

Suitcases dropping from his hands, my dad looked like a quarterback who had just been sacked and was wondering what in heaven’s name happened to his defense. He glanced at me with an expression of Help me, son on his face. All I could do was gasp for air and hold back the laughter. You probably guessed by now that Mama Lorise wasn’t exactly what you might call a petite little woman. She was not fat but, as she would put it, pleasantly big-boned and attractively healthy. Standing five feet eleven and a half inches (she never would tell anyone her weight), she towered over my grandfather, who was a man of short stature. Often he would proclaim, That woman is as strong as an ox. If she weren’t saved, sanctified, and filled with the Holy Ghost, I wouldn’t know how to deal with her.

Suddenly as if he was an answer to a dying man’s prayer, a rough yet dignified voice was heard.

Lorise Lynn! Have mercy on the boy and let him go before his eyes pop out of his head. Last thing we need is for you to break James’s back before we officially make him pastor of the church.

Theo Nathaniel Taylor was pastor and founder of God’s Love Community Christian Center, a church located upon a steep incline of a hill about seven miles from where we stood. He’s my grandfather, and I can honestly say that I owe a great deal of my earlier upbringing to him. Mama Lorise, and even my father, who did his best to raise me without a mother, would spoil me half to death and let me get away with just about anything. On the other hand, my grandfather kept the balance. He’s a firm believer in Proverbs 22:15, where it is written, "Foolishness is bound in the heart of a child; but the rod of correction shall drive it far from him." He told me, according to the Bible, if a person spared the rod and never spanked their children when they really deserved it, that person wasn’t showing those children any love. I know my grandfather loved me more than words can say because he showed me a whole lot of love—sometimes two or three times a week he would genuinely express that love.

He stood in the doorway, dark blue towel draped around his shoulders. Beads of water were still flowing down the sides of his face and dripping from his distinguished well-trimmed gray beard. Apparently, he’d just stepped out of the shower and been so eager to greet us that he neglected to put on a shirt and came out wearing a pair of soaking wet house slippers. I tried not to notice the slushy, flip-flopping sound of his slippers as he approached, glancing me up and down from head to toe. I hoped that I would meet with his approval, especially since out of all the men in the world, the one that I admired and respected the most (next to my father, of course) was my grandfather. I consider him to be highly anointed of God and an excellent teacher and preacher of God’s Word.

I remember back when I was younger, I read in the Bible where Jesus went about teaching and preaching in the synagogues. Before reading this, it never dawned on me that there was a difference between the two. I asked my grandfather if one was better than the other. Glad that I was inquisitive enough to ask, he was more than willing to impart some words of spiritual wisdom to my feeble, carnal little mind.

He said, Both preaching and teaching was equally important to the body of Christ. Preaching is a proclamation of the Gospel of Christ. It has to be proclaimed in order for a person to get saved and come into the presence of God. While teaching is an explanation of the Word of God. When the Word of God is explained, it encourages a person to stay in the presence of God and maintain their salvation.

Pastor Taylor now walked around me as I stood at attention for his inspection.

Well, look at you. You’ve grown quite a bit since the last time I’ve seen you, Keith. Bet you think you’re a man now, don’t you?

If you knew my grandfather the way that I do, you would recognize immediately that this was a dangerous question. Therefore, I needed to be wise as a serpent and, according to James 1:19, slow to speak before spreading my lips and revealing my inner thoughts.

Although my mind was saying, Yeah, that’s right, I’m a man, my mouth knew better and kept tightly shut. At fifteen years old, confronting Pastor Taylor face-to-face and expressing to him that I thought I was a man would do nothing more than open up a whole can of worms that would lead to a long, drawn-out conversation (him speaking and me unobjectively listening). I knew that with a wrong statement, I would spend the next few hours regretting that I ever opened that big gap that God placed between my nose and chin.

It is written in Proverbs 6:2, "Thou art snared with the words of thy mouth, thou art taken with the words of thy mouth."

This being my first day back, I wasn’t about to fall into anybody’s trap no matter how subtly it might have been laid. I said a silent prayer and reminded the Lord that he said if a man lacks wisdom, to let him ask.

Well, Lord, I need a quick answer that will not welcome a rebuttal from my grandfather (which most likely would be aired on the ten o’clock news).

Peering out the corner of my eye, I noticed my father standing there with all his teeth showing, grinning like that bigheaded cat in the story of Alice in Wonderland. Going by past experience, he figured that once again I was about to put my foot in my mouth with no way of getting it out.

Briefly meditating, I took a short deep breath and said, No, Granddad, I’m not a man yet, but slowly and surely, I’m becoming one.

My father’s mouth hung open in amazement. My grandfather smiled, and if I wasn’t mistaken, there was a glimpse of pride in his eyes as he nodded.

That you are, Keith, indeed you are.

The theme song to the movie Rocky went off in my mind.

Although I kept my composure, I felt like running up the front porch stairs, jumping up and down with arms in the air, and yelling, Yo, Adrian, I did it! Fighting the urge, I remained cool, calm, and collected, knowing the kid just hit a three-pointer in the last two seconds of the game. I was on a roll, and it felt good to be home.

Walking into the house, Mama Lorise whispered into my ear, Keith, as far as I’m concerned, you’ve grown up to be a fine young man. Hope you have a man-sized appetite because I’m going to fix you a man-sized dinner that will rock your world.

Mama Lorise always had a way of getting an amen or a hallelujah out of you. Eat your heart out, Burger King and Taco Bell. After five years of being a major contributor to every fast-food place you can think of, we were about to start eating a well-prepared home-cooked meals on a regular basis. To God be the glory.

Later that evening, I loosened my belt as I leaned back with a smile of contentment on my face. I had just finished a scrumptious meal of fried chicken, collard greens, mashed potatoes, macaroni with three types of cheese, mouthwateringly sweet cornbread, and an extra large slice of Mama Lorise’s famous peach cobbler pie that always sold like hotcakes at church functions and events. I know we should not give in to gluttony, especially since Proverbs 23:21 plainly states: For the drunkard and the glutton shall come to poverty: and drowsiness shall clothe a man with rags. But in my present condition, I knew I fitted into that proverb somewhere. There I sat, stuffed as could be, just one bite away from a couple of tablespoons of Pepto-Bismol.

If you operated in the spiritual gift of discerning of spirits and could see into the spiritual realm, you most likely would have heard and seen a short pudgy little spirit of gluttony sitting across the table from me. Burping and rubbing his rotund stuffed belly, he pointed to the pie that was next to the chicken on the stove. With enticing words, he looked at me and said, Boy, look at it. Don’t it look good? You know you need it. You know you got to have it.

Shaking my head, I tried to convince myself that I was full, and if I ate another bite, I would get sick. Then I heard him say, Don’t be such a wimp! You’re not going to get sick. You’re a long way from being full. If you don’t dig into this pie tonight, I’ll see to it that someone else eats it, and there’ll be none left for you in the morning.

The very thought of someone else coming in and eating the rest of the pie was more than I could bear. As I kept staring at the pie, I knew I was in denial and needed to repent. I didn’t want a life that was destined to poverty and rags, but when it came to Mama Lorise’s peach cobbler, that little demon had a stronghold on me that was hard to resist.

In the living room, my dad and grandfather sat discussing the main reason we came back to Los Angeles. Grandpa Taylor sipped on a cup of blended coffee that he made himself, the aroma of which was so strong it literally saturated the whole house with its unique fragrance.

He liked his coffee extra, extra strong. I figured all the years of burning the midnight oil studying the Bible and the late nights of counseling and ministering to people caused his body to develop immunity to a normal cup of coffee. Not thinking about the consequences, James picked up his cup of the dark brew and took a big swallow. Eyes blinking wildly, his head spasmodically jerked back. If you didn’t know better, you would have sworn he was demon possessed with all the different facial expressions he made with that one big gulp.

Whoa! Dad Taylor, exclaimed James. How in the world could you drink something like this?

Oh yeah, great cup of coffee, isn’t it, James? said Pastor Taylor as he laughed out loud. Takes a real man to appreciate a good strong cup of coffee like this.

Shaking his head in disagreement, James looked at his father-in-law.

It takes a crazy man to drink your coffee. You need to patent this stuff. You could make a fortune killing roaches with it.

Smiling at James, Pastor Taylor confessed that his coffee might have a slight mean streak to it.

Although I can forgive you for not having much love for my coffee, I’m glad that you have enough love for the church that you accepted our offer to pastor God’s Love Community Christian Center in my declining years.

There was a few seconds of silence as Pastor Taylor hung his head and stared at the floor. James reached out and put a caring hand upon the old respected preacher’s shoulder. Until he met this humble man of God, James never knew what the love of a father was like.

Jake Harrison, the man that gave birth to James, could not be referred to as a father in any sense of the word. He treated James like a cursed child that was never wanted. Drugs and alcohol ruled and controlled Jake Harrison’s life to the point that the love of a father and husband were nowhere to be found in him. The marks and bruises on James’s mother’s face and body told silent tales of the spousal abuse that was often afflicted upon her. The only memories James had of his biological father was as a drug addict and wife beater. Blaming them for his inability to hold down a job and his constant failures in life, this poor excuse for a man would slap James and his mother around just to make himself feel like one. They say sooner or later all things good or bad must come to an end. The breaking point that brought the abuse of a sadistic husband and cruel father to an end came when James was fourteen. His mother, five months pregnant at the time, was beaten so badly by Jake that she had a miscarriage. Terrified of what her husband would do, she lied to the doctors and told them she fell down a flight of stairs.

That night when he was awakened from a drunken sleep, the last thing Jake Harrison expected to see was his son standing over him holding a butcher knife tightly against his throat. The blade began to pierce the skin, and drops of warm sticky blood started oozing down his neck. The wet moisture upon his neck sent shock waves of panic throughout the man’s whole body, and for the first time he saw his son, James, for who he really was.

With an insane, sinister look in his eyes, James stared deeply without blinking into the face of this man whom he dreaded to call his dad. Drunk on the power he felt from the fear that was present in his father’s eyes, James cursed at him and said with a cold, callous voice, If you ever lay your filthy hands on my mother or even touch me again, I swear to God that I’ll kill you without giving it a second thought.

Those were the last words he spoke to his father. As his fourteen-year-old son released him, the drunken Jake Harrison froze. He tried to evaluate the current situation while holding his neck and looking at the strange demon from hell who relentlessly pointed a butcher knife dripping with blood at him. Letting go of his neck, he noticed the blood that now stained his hand. Panic struck him again, and he stormed out of the house screaming like a wild man.

You cut me, y-you crazy little punk! You need to be put away and locked up before you kill somebody. You and your mother can both stay away from me and go to hell as far as I’m concerned!

Jake echoed his words of animosity and hatred and James felt only relief to see him go. With James, as fate would have it, that relief was brief and soon filled with mixed emotions as, two days later, Jake Harrison was found in a crack house, lying facedown in his own vomit, dead of a drug overdose.

James learned how to be a loving father to his own son from the love he received from God and the genuine love that his father-in-law imparted into his life. He loved and admired the elderly pastor Taylor, who had been a pastor of one church or another most of his adult life.

It was his calling, and he enjoyed it more than anything in the world.

Understanding how he was feeling, James said, Dad Taylor, I know your love for the church and its members and that your life exists and revolves around God’s Love Community Center. I also know that the decision to relinquish the church into the hands of another is a difficult one for you to make. In my opinion, you’re giving up the church too prematurely. I don’t know if I’m qualified to just step in and take over the great work you have established in the community over all these years.

While he was yet speaking, Mama Lorise nonchalantly walked into the room and went directly to the window that was facing the street. Looking out, she glanced from one end of the street to the other. Turning around, she looked at the clock that was centered in a background picture of the Last Supper, which hung beautifully over the fireplace. It was a quarter to six. She winked at Pastor Taylor, and they sheepishly smiled at one another.

Waving her right hand, Mama Lorise said, Oh, don’t you fellows mind me. Carry on your conversation. I’m just passing through.

Then as quickly as she walked in, she walked out, leaving a gigantic question mark floating around in James’s mind.

Smacking his lips as he took another sip of what he considered a perfect cup of coffee, Pastor Taylor said to James, You’re right. I do enjoy the calling that God placed upon my life, and I love ministering to God’s children. I love seeing the captives set free, and it brings delight to my heart when the power and mercy of God is manifested. It thrills my soul when a man or a woman turn from their wicked ways and give their hearts to God as he breaks the yokes and delivers them from the bondage that the devil placed upon their lives.

Then don’t give it up, said James. I’ll stay and assist you in any way that I can.

"Hold on now, James. I never will completely stop functioning in the capacity of a pastor. It’s a part of my life that will always be there, but I’m getting old, and my health is not as good as it could be. Therefore, the doctors have strongly advised me to slow down and take it easy. I’ll still be around to give advice and to help if you ever need it. Besides, now your mother-in-law and I can take that long-awaited vacation that we wanted to take for so many years but, for one reason or another, were never able to.

As for your qualifications, I’ve received letters and phone calls from bishops, pastors, and even members from many of the churches you have visited within the last five years. They told of how mightily God has been using you and what a blessing your ministry has been to them. You helped establish three churches back east and trained qualified people to pastor and govern over those churches. I also know that you received offers to pastor other churches. That is why the members and I were extremely happy that you accepted our offer to come home to God’s Love and pastor. In the process of grooming you, God permitted you to go out into the evangelistic field for a season. You always had a pastor’s heart and calling upon your life. That I recognized in you years ago. James, there’s a lot of young people at the church that will be motivated and inspired by your zeal and enthusiasm for the Word of God. I’m proud of your achievements, and I’m not just saying that because you married my daughter.

Taking another sip of the warm brew that he had made, my grandfather turned his attention toward a picture of a beautiful young woman that sat on the coffee table.

If she were still with us, Tracy would be proud of you as well.

Tracy La Tanya Taylor—there were pictures of her in just about every room of the house. She was my mother; every now and then I would sit for hours staring at her picture, wishing for an embrace that I could never have and warmth that I could never feel. She died the day I was born. Although they tried to convince me that childbirth was not the cause of her death, to this day when I look at her picture and see the purity and innocence in her eyes, I have to fight the temptation to hate and despise God, because I can’t understand or get a satisfactory answer as to why he would permit someone so God-fearing and beautiful to die at such a young age, leaving me without