Not Church as Usual

By Felicia Hamer

LaJune Daricious Greenfield is down on her luck. A few months ago she had the most wonderful lifeor so she thought. From being a lawyer to enjoying time with her children, suddenly everything changes. Her husband leaves her and takes all the savings. Shes left jobless and with two young kids to feed, no food in the refrigerator, and not a dime in her bank account. So where does she go from here?

Not Church as Usual is the touching and sincere chronicle of a woman trying to put everything back togetherwith a lot of help from God. A story based on faith, hope, and some hard work, it illustrates how even with good moral character, bad things can still happen. But by living life according to Christian values and principles, LaJune shows us how we can overcome these challenges and discover a new life that is full of joy, peace, and love.

Good still triumphs over evil in this story, and even though the world can test our faith, God will always be there to show us the path forward through the darkness and the valleys in life. Because in the end we all deserve a new beginning, and God will provide it for uswe just have to trust in his ways.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Dec 1, 2017
• ISBN: 9781973609230

Felicia Hamer

Felicia Hamer was born in Richmond, Virginia, and today she lives in Texas. She is known as a creative storyteller, and her inspiration comes from her spiritual leaders and her family. Felicia hopes and desires that her writings can encourage, motivate, and educate others.

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Copyright © 2017 Felicia Hamer.

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 any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

WestBow Press

A Division of Thomas Nelson & Zondervan

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Bloomington, IN 47403

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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 this 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.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

ISBN: 978-1-9736-0921-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-9736-0922-3 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-9736-0923-0 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2017918193

WestBow Press rev. date: 12/1/2017

DEDICATION

First, I want to acknowledge The Almighty God who has given me creativity and inspiration and without Him I am nothing. He has been my advocate, my biggest supporter and the one who I owe the gift of storytelling.

This book is dedicated to my beloved maternal grandmother Carrie Granny Hamer. She always encouraged me to write and wanted me to publish before her passing. So, to honor her, this is the first of many books dedicated in her honor.

I also want to thank all of those who encouraged me to do this for a time. Here’s to Mr. Craig Robinson who spoke this into existence over 20 years ago at Virginia State University when he said I would write at least 13 books.

This book is a fictional characterization and not based on factual events or persons. Some may find this to have humor, satire and even relevance to their own personal lives. I just want everyone who reads Not Church as Usual to enjoy it as it was meant to be.

Submitted in Love,

Felicia

CONTENTS

Chapter 1:   How Did I Get Here?

Chapter 2:   In The Beginning

Chapter 3:   Up, Up and Away

Chapter 4:   How Did YOU Get Here???

Chapter 5:   I Now Pronounce You Man and Wife …

Chapter 6:   What in Da World!!

Chapter 7:   The Plot Thickens

Chapter 8:   NEW BEGINNINGS

CHAPTER 1

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How Did I Get Here?

"L AJUNE DARICIOUS GREENFIELD!" said a raspy, snarling voice. I heard my name being called, but I couldn’t even respond.

A middle-aged woman sitting next to me had the nerve to utter, Who would name their child something like that? and began to laugh.

I gave her a smirk and started gathering my things.

I said, is there a LaJune Daricious Greenfield here? stammered the gray-haired lady at the counter again.

Looking at her, I thought, Why someone who looks like she’s one hundred years old still be working? Maybe the reason she sounds so nasty is because her old tail is bitter because she still has to work at her ancient age.

Aside from my thoughts about the social worker, I often wondered what my mother was thinking when she named me. She claimed that she and my dad both wanted to name me and were at a standstill. So, they eventually compromised and came up with LaJune. My father’s name is Lawrence, hence the La portion of my name, and June is the name my mother wanted to give me because I was born on June 1. I could probably handle my first name being LaJune, but to add insult to injury, they gave me Daricious as a middle name! Around age five or six, I asked my mother about the origins of my middle name, and I got that look that said, If you ask me one more thang, I’m gonna smack you! I couldn’t understand what would make this normally calm and gentle woman get such an attitude, but in the south, you learned to mind your manners and stay in your place. Wouldn’t be no smacking going on if I could help it.

The lady was watching me gather my things, and I could tell she wanted me to hurry. As I looked around the room, I was instantly reminded that I wasn’t in a position to talk about anyone. How did I, an esteemed attorney, end up in the waiting room of the Cooks County Department of Social Services? Yes, the welfare office!

Coming! I said as I clumsily grabbed my purse and cell phone that I had charging nearby. I began walking to the counter, and with each step I took, reality was setting in. I was almost in tears.

As I continued walking across the large waiting area, I glanced at the people waiting. Some had shabby clothes, but surprisingly, some were well-dressed with Louis Vuitton handbags and such. I was curious as to what tragic life event or hardship warranted their need for assistance.

Just to think, a few months ago I had the most wonderful life—so I thought. Where exactly did things go wrong? What was I doing marrying him? Why do I have children? Ooohhhhh! heaven knows this is not the lifestyle I wanted for my kids. I didn’t want them to have to be exposed to poverty. You know what it is like to be in a system that doesn’t care about you progressing but only keeping people at a certain level? You know the old saying: The rich get richer, and the poor get poorer.

As a lawyer, I know how the welfare institution preys on the less fortunate to keep their jobs and lifestyle. Just think: if there were no misfortunes, then these high-level government officials would not have jobs. Calm down, LaJune. Apparently, I got lost in my thoughts. But I couldn’t help but think about why I was here in the first place. After all, it wasn’t truly all my fault. I mean, my husband was the epitome of a true godly man. Maybe I lusted after this man when I first met him. So yeah, that’s probably where I went wrong. If I would have just denied the request to meet him. But how could I resist? He was charming, charismatic, spiritual, and oh so fine. I loved guys that looked like Morris Chestnut, with the tall, muscular, and caramel-mocha-latte complexion. He was well dressed, always wearing clothes that fit and didn’t sag. Just smooth and neat. He could take a thrift store suit and make it look like he got it from Saks!

Mrs. Greenfield! yelled the woman.

Huh? Oh, my apologies, ma’am. I am just trying to comprehend everything that you are saying, I responded quickly. My thoughts had preoccupied me from listening to this lady. LaJune, get yourself together! You cannot let your thoughts keep you from getting your children their next meal, so pay attention before this lady puts you out.

"Umm hmm. Now that I have your full attention, please complete these forms, and I will need to copy your driver’s license and social security card and your kids’ birth certificates and social security cards," the lady said.

I started pulling out the documents as she continued speaking. "Also, because you are still married, I need your husband’s information."

What? Why did I need his information? After all, he was the reason I was here!

"And after I have all of these things, a social worker will be assigned and call you within forty-eight hours," the old woman said. She stood there with a smirk like she was pleased at reciting her speech. It was like she had won the Nobel Peace Prize or something.

Ma’am, I don’t know where that man is, and if I did, I would call the police! Tears just started rolling down my cheeks. I’m sorry, ma’am, I stammered. He has ruined my life, and now I am left with three kids and no money.

I regained my composure and realized something. Wait a minute, ma’am. You mean to tell me that a worker is going to call me? I can’t get help today? I can’t leave here without anything. Me and my kids are going to starve and— I just broke down. My words were muffled, and I felt incoherent. The room was beginning to spin and I slid to the floor.

The old lady, by now I knew her name was Ms. Graves, came from behind the counter, motioned for the security guard to assist, and brought me a tissue and some water.

I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. This is not me. I’m not a basket case. I’m so sorry. Really I am, I managed to say quietly and solemnly.

Ms. Graves told the security guard to go back to his position and she could handle things. She then walked me to another waiting area and said, Mrs. Greenfield, I understand you are upset and that how we do things is just not what you expect. I will do what I can to get everything processed, but I am not the social worker, just the intake person. The social worker actually assigns your benefits.

I nodded in agreement and sat there with my head down, sipping the water and wiping my tears. I understood that this was the pre-evaluation to determine your needs. After all, I was a college-educated person. I knew how much government red tape there is for assistance. To think, the girls at the church who hadn’t even finished high school could understand all this gibberish and paperwork and deal with this all the time. It’s their norm, and they complained about the lengthy process, but I didn’t understand why they were complaining until now.

I stood up and grabbed my purse, and Ms. Graves gave me some papers to complete. I headed to the crowded waiting room to complete the paperwork. It was the middle of summer, and of course the air conditioning was barely working. There were several window units trying their best to cool the room. With so many people in there, I prayed that it didn’t go out!

Ms. Graves came over to me and told me that she asked her supervisor if I was eligible to receive emergency assistance, but there were a lot of people ahead of me and it would be a long wait. I told Ms. Graves that I was out of options and would wait, no matter how long it took.

I must have been waiting for about two hours when someone finally called my name. A young blonde lady escorted me to a cubicle in a room full of other small and cramped cubicles. It looked like the retail catalog call center that I’d worked at while in college. There were no real offices for what I could see. I imagined nicer furnishings than this, since the government took so much of my hard-earned money for taxes.

Sit here, please. Mrs. Rosemary Brown will be your worker. She is finishing up with another client, said the young woman.

This was the most pleasant person I’d seen here so far.

I heard some footsteps and turned in the direction they were coming from. There, coming toward me, was a large, shapely woman. As she got closer, I could see that her face had a menacing look as if to say, "Not another one! What are you doing here?"

Mrs. Greenfield, I am Mrs. Rosemary Brown, your case worker. Let’s just get to it. Looking at your paperwork, it appears that you are not eligible for services.

"What do you mean ‘not eligible’? I am jobless, have two young kids with no food in my refrigerator and not a dime in my bank account. What do I have to do to prove to you that I am as destitute as the others here getting benefits?" I said sharply, not wincing and looking this Mrs. Rosemary Brown straight in the eye. I was not going to break down again. I was going to stand my ground for what I believed I deserved, after working all these years and taxes being taking out of my paycheck.

Mrs. Brown looked at me even more menacing and repeated that I was not eligible. She went over the requirements, and apparently since my home was worth a lot and I still had my BMW, I was disqualified. Also, I was still married even though my husband was absent, he was technically still employed with his great job. Tears began to roll down my cheeks as I clinched my purse in my lap and gritted my teeth. Evidently Mrs. Brown felt compassion towards me because she motioned for someone else to come to her desk. I look up and it was a nicely dressed chocolate brown young man. Darrell, this lady is not eligible for traditional services. However please process an emergency relief check and food stamps for 90 days. Yes ma’am Darrell said and looked down at me with the cutest smile and reached for my hand to get up and follow him. Mrs. Brown then said, "Just know that this is the only assistance you will receive. I suggest you go to a temp agency and see if you can find a job that fits your experience. I can’t help you any more