The Life God Meant for Me

By Pamela M. McClam

The author is excited to bring to life characters who portray everyday people living in a world that is often in spiritual conflict with them. Journey with her as each character transitions into the Christian world, seeking a better life for himself or herself and the people he or she loves. Enjoy the personality of each character as he or she opens himself or herself to you and find out how God changes his or her life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jul 11, 2018
• ISBN: 9781546248910

Pamela M. McClam

Pamela M. McClam writes in a laywomans voice that is familiar to the reader. As she develops her characters, they share their insights about their relationships and the transitions that happen in their lives as they grow closer to God. Ms. McClam is a native of Buffalo, New York. She graduated from Bryant and Stratton Business Institute, Strayer University, and Wesley Theological Seminary.

Book preview

chapter 1

My Name Is Sara

Sara Matthews was sitting in the pews of First Baptist Church once again. The church was located on the corner of Peacock and Windsor Avenues and had been there since she was a little girl.

Sara looked around the sanctuary, embracing the beautiful mahogany structure. The church was big enough to hold about four hundred people and was filled to the brim each Sunday morning. The burgundy carpet was freshly vacuumed before each service. Fresh roses and carnations decorated the altar. The pulpit contained a ration of orange juice and water for the pastor.

Sara wondered if the board of trustees discussed having two church services instead of one. She knew that, if there were two, she would attend the first one and then go home to bed. She knew that the pastor and many of the parishioners noticed that it was getting too crowded in the sanctuary and that having two church services could solve the problem. She also surmised that some of the people attending church didn’t come to worship, and she thought that was a damn shame. What were they thinking? she thought.

She watched as First Baptist Church filled up with regulars and a few new folks. Sara spotted Ms. Jackson heading her way. Damn, she thought. I hope she doesn’t sit next to me.

But it was too late. Ms. Jackson had maneuvered herself right next to Sara. It was like she had ESP and sat next to Sara on purpose.

Hello, Ms. Jackson. How are you doing? Sara asked.

I’m fine, thank you. How are you?

Blessed, Sara replied.

She tried to inch over a bit to give Ms. Jackson more hip room, but it was no use. Ms. Jackson had completely boxed in Sara. She could feel the heat from Ms. Jackson’s body through the silk dress she was wearing. It almost made her break out into a sweat. Sara wanted Ms. Jackson to move over so she could have some breathing room. But there was no space left in the pew.

She knew it was just a matter of time before Ms. Jackson would break out with the Holy Ghost. It was the same thing every Sunday. Ms. Jackson would start rocking and humming to herself quietly. Then she would get progressively louder and more physical. The previous Sunday, she had been so out of control by the third or fourth Hallelujah! that she had run up the center aisle and knocked over the flowers on the altar, causing dirt to fly everywhere. It was truly hilarious. Even the pastor held his head down to avoid laughing.

When Ms. Jackson finally calmed down, Ms. Cynthia Hunter and Mr. Brian Liars were brushing dirt out of their hair and off their clothes. They eyed Ms. Jackson but managed to hold their tongues since they were in God’s house. If the episode had happened anywhere else, Brian would have let her have it. He’d been known to beat up anyone who made him angry.

Sara looked around the church at all of the people clapping to the singing of the hymn of preparation. Some were shouting Hallelujah! and others sat quietly anticipating the sermon. Well, Sara thought. Let’s get this show on the road so I can make it home to go to bed.

The pastor began the sermon by talking about infidelity and fornication. What a crock, Sara thought as she listened to him go on and on about how sinful it was to cheat on a spouse or sleep with someone other than your spouse.

Everybody sitting in the pews knew that First Baptist Church had its share of trouble in that area. It was a known fact that Minister Nadine Hunter had had several affairs the previous year and that was why she was forced to leave the church. Where was the forgiveness? Sara thought. Not once did Sara hear anyone in the church bring up the subject of forgiving Minister Hunter for having affairs. But she heard plenty about how a man would be a man and that men cheat, so it was not a big deal. She guessed that was why the men who cheated with Nadine were still members of the church and Minister Hunter was doing street ministry, sometimes in horrible weather.

Sara knew that she was growing tired of being around the hypocritical congregation of First Baptist Church. She needed to separate herself from the liars and backstabbers, but she didn’t know where she could go. She was sure that every church had its share of the same.

Anyway, something kept her coming back to First Baptist Church every Sunday despite the people inside. She didn’t know what it was but decided she wasn’t going to worry about it. Sara checked her watch, looked at the pastor, and wished he would hurry up and make a relevant point. After all, it was time for her to get out of there and go home.

When Sara arrived home from church, the message light on her answering machine was blinking. She had three messages. The first one was from one of her clients, Mrs. Daily. She was inquiring about the status of her case and wanted Sara to return her call immediately. Sara wondered why Mrs. Daily did not request an appointment to discuss her case. Sara would never discuss anything over the phone because she did not want to risk anyone overhearing the conversation. Several years as a private investigator had taught Sara that anyone can put a wiretap on a telephone, especially cheating husbands who did not want to get caught.

The next message was from Genève Hunter, Nadine Hunter’s sister. Sara didn’t want to listen to Genève’s message, but she did anyway.

Sara, this is Genève. Did you get anything on that lying man of mine? I know Antonio is screwing around on me again. I went to the clinic last week and found out that he gave me an STD. Of course he denies it. He said I must have caught something because I wear my jeans too tight. Anyway, give me a call back when you get this message. I’ll talk to you later.

Sara knew she should not have agreed to check up on Genève’s boyfriend, Antonio Liars. However, she felt a little sorry for Genève and knew that she couldn’t afford to pay for Sara’s PI services. Genève was a daycare provider, and although she made good money, it was not enough to pay for all of Sara’s services.

Sara had met Genève a few years back in a hair salon about one block away from where she lived. Both of them were sitting in the waiting area for about an hour and had looked at most of the magazines and newspapers on the glass table in front of them. They introduced themselves while waiting for their hairstylists.

Hi, my name is Genève Hunter.

I’m Sara. Sara Matthews.

I was admiring your shoes. Genève smiled. They sure are nice, and they look really good on you.

Thank you, Sara replied.

Sara could tell that Genève didn’t know a thing about shopping for quality. She’d checked out Genève when she got up to go to the restroom. Genève was wearing a pair of faded jeans with a cheap white linen shirt and a pair of so-so strapless mules. Sara admitted that Genève looked nice even though her outfit was cheap. Sara also noticed that Genève’s makeup was impeccable. She could tell that the woman’s complexion was even-toned and blemish-free, even through the makeup she wore. Sara couldn’t understand why women with beautiful skin wore makeup to hide what God had given them naturally. Sara hated that she had to wear makeup to enhance her beauty.

Sara got to know Genève through their visits to the hair salon and later through their business relationship. Genève was the type of person who loved drama. She had a way about her that invited men to take advantage of her. She liked her men mean but wouldn’t admit to it. She craved the wrong type of attention from men. She wanted jealous, possessive, clingy, weak men by her side, and of course, they had to be handsome. Anything less than that would not do. If a man approached her and he had character and dignity but average looks, Genève would send him away immediately. But a man with an attractive body, above-average looks, and a simple mind was right up her alley. She avoided intelligent men, those Sara considered to be prime real estate.

Sara knew she had to talk to Genève sooner or later, but she didn’t want to deal with her at the moment. It was Sunday, Sara’s day to relax and enjoy a little television. She would touch base with Genève later in the week and give her all of the juicy details about her cheating man. Returning Mrs. Daily’s call wouldn’t be so cumbersome because their relationship was strictly business. Besides, Mrs. Daily was a wealthy woman, and she was paying Sara considerable cash to catch her freak of a husband with his pants down. Life is good, Sara thought.

The next message on Sara’s answering machine was from Nadine Hunter.

Hi, Sara. Nadine’s voice boomed from the machine. I was calling to see how you’re doing. I hope everything is going well for you and your business. If you ever need to talk and sort things out, just give me a call. Remember, Sara, the Lord loves you, and so do I.

Sara’s facial expression hardened immediately after hearing Nadine’s message. The nerve of her, Sara hissed out loud. Calling me and insinuating that I need to sort things out. What in the world is she talking about? She better stop worrying about me and hope that St. Peter opens up the pearly gate for her sinful soul.

Sara mentally dismissed the call from Nadine as she went into her bedroom and undressed to take a long, hot bath. Her bedroom was her sanctuary. She loved the way the incense made it smell and the way it was decorated. Her bedroom furniture was made of mahogany. She had a king-sized bed decorated with silk and cotton sheets. Her comforter was deeply embroidered with flowers and lace. It looked good against the deep, dark mahogany. A large, green-leafed tree with a mahogany wicker base was in the far right corner of the room, right next to the armoire. Plantation blinds covered her bedroom windows, allowing her to manage the early morning sunlight. The hardwood floors were polished. African art, mainly pictures of women doing chores covered her bedroom walls.

Sara studied herself in the mirror as she prepared her bath. She was naturally slim with short curly hair and medium brown skin. Sara considered herself to be fairly attractive even though she didn’t have a body like most of the women she’d seen on television or in music videos. She wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous, and her physical proportions weren’t plentiful in places that men seemed to admire. Sara didn’t have a lot of junk in her trunk, like most men described women with big booties. Yes, Sara thought to herself. I am built for speed.

With that thought in mind, Sara backed away from the mirror and climbed into the bathtub. She took a sip of tea from her cup and reclined in the tub, letting the warm water massage her thoughts away.

chapter 2

The Daily News

The next day Sara phoned Mrs. Daily and requested that she meet her at her office so she could fill her in on her husband’s latest escapades. Mrs. Daily agreed to meet Sara at ten in the morning.

Good, Sara thought. I’ll have time to grab some breakfast. She did not want to deal with Mrs. Daily or any of her clients on an empty stomach. Sara scarfed down some bacon, eggs, toast, and orange juice. She was trying to give up drinking coffee. It was her second week of not drinking coffee, and she was determined to succeed at kicking the habit.

When she arrived at the office, the message light on her answering machine was blinking. She had messages from Mrs. Daily, Genève, Nadine, and a few more of her clients.

Mrs. Daily arrived promptly at ten. She was a white woman in her midforties with light brown hair. She wore expensive jewelry but was average in every other way. Mrs. Daily had an annoying habit of squinting at Sara whenever she was giving her the latest details of her husband’s infidelity.

Every time she did it, Sara would ask her if she had something in her eyes, hoping the question would prompt her to stop the annoying habit. But it didn’t, and it didn’t matter to Sara because she was charging Mrs. Daily double since she had to put up with her facial tic.

Hello, Mrs. Daily. Please have a seat while I get your file. I hope everything has been going well for you these past few weeks.

Everything’s fine, but it will be even better once I have the evidence I need to hang him by his balls.

Well, let me assure you, Mrs. Daily. I’ve got enough information here to hang him by his balls, grow new ones, and hang those too!

Both laughed as Sara took a seat next to Mrs. Daily. The first photograph Sara showed Mrs. Daily’s husband and some young woman engaged in very intimate activity.

Mrs. Daily narrowed her eyes as she studied the photo. That’s my friend he’s with! Why that lowdown, dirty son of a gun. How dare he molest her! He must be out of his mind.

Molest? Sara thought to herself. She looks like she’s having a good time to me.

In the photo, Mrs. Daily’s friend held her head back, and her eyes were closed. Sara could almost hear breathing and panting through the picture. Mr. Daily was laying very close to her, and his eyes were also shut. Sara studied the photo along with Mrs. Daily and began to reminisce about when she was in the Daily’s home surveilling Mr. Daily and his wife’s friend. She remembered how they both seemed to be enjoying the encounter immensely. Mrs. Daily’s friend was moaning and groaning and taunting Mr. Daily with indiscriminate and intoxicating words. When she made the last statement, Mr. Daily appeared to be having a heart attack. He then collapsed on top of her, exhausted.

Sara continued to lay still in the room next to the master bedroom of the Daily’s home. She was waiting to see what they were going to do next. Sara knew it was risky being in the next room while Mr. Daily got his freak on, but Mrs. Daily convinced Sara that she was certain her husband was cheating on her with someone in their bedroom.

A few minutes later, Sara heard sounds coming from the master bedroom. It had been quite some time since she had experienced what she’d heard, but she remembered what it sounded like. When she viewed the surveillance equipment, she saw what Mrs. Daily told her she suspected. After a while, Sara made her way out of the house, undetected, with plenty of evidence of Mr. Daily’s infidelity.

Mrs. Daily looked at picture after picture and the surveillance video of her husband’s infidelity. When she was finished looking at the images, Sara placed them in an envelope and gave them to her. She looked at Mrs. Daily and felt very sorry for her. This was the part of her job that she did not like. She dreaded seeing her clients face the truth about what they had known or suspected about their significant other. The hurt Mr. Daily had caused his wife was quite evident in her eyes.

As she continued to watch Mrs. Daily, Sara could almost swear that she had aged since she became her client. Many more pronounced lines were around her eyes. Her annoying squint had just about dissipated at the sight of the pictures she held tightly in her hands.

Pictures are worth a thousand words, Mrs. Daily said softly to herself. It was evident that she understood everything Sara had been telling her about the case.

Thank you, Sara. Mrs. Daily handed over an envelope full of cash, $25,000 to be exact.

Sara locked the money in her safe after Mrs. Daily left.

chapter 3

Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire

Antonio looked at himself in the mirror and threw a kiss. He spun around three times and began to scrutinize his body.

Damn! he said out loud. Ain’t nothing wrong with me!

Antonio knew he was a very handsome man and he could have any woman he wanted. He was six-foot-six with a dark chocolate brown complexion, brown eyes, and black, wavy hair. He worked out religiously and didn’t have an ounce of fat on him. He sported a forty-six-inch chest, thirty-inch waist, superb thighs, and a tight, round butt. His abdomen was naturally rock hard. He was the proud owner of eight-pack abs. He had very large hands and big feet, which confirmed the myth about another part of his body. His lips were full and round, and he had the shoulders of a Greek god.

Antonio surveyed his closet, trying to decide what to wear to the club. He sifted through forty or fifty pair of trousers and sixty dress shirts but finally decided to wear an up-and-coming designer for the night. He put on an olive blazer with tan slacks, a beige gabardine tee shirt that accentuated his chest muscles, and a pair of suede dress shoes. He’d gone to his barber earlier that day so his hair was freshly cut. He sprayed on a new cologne he’d purchased at the mall called Delicious, and that he was.

Antonio made up his mind that he needed some new ground to cover because Genève’s stuff was getting old to him. He was growing tired of her questioning him about where he was all the time and the constant phone calls. Yeah, he thought to himself, it’s time to trade her in for a new model.

Just as he was about to leave his condo, the telephone rang. His gut told him not to answer it and let the answering machine get it. But he ignored his gut feeling and answered the phone.

Hello, he said in a rushed and agitated tone.

Hello, son, his father said.

Hi, Dad. What do you want?

I was calling to see how you’re doing, you know, just to talk for a while.

I don’t have time to talk to you right now. I was on my way out for the night.

Oh, I see. Going to another one of those clubs? Son, you know those places are nothing but trouble. They’re full of people just looking for something to get into, if you know what I mean. You ought to go to church, son, and find yourself a good Christian woman. Get married and start a family.

Most of the clubs are filled with good Christian women, Dad, so you don’t have anything to worry about. I’ll be settling down with one of them sometime tonight or maybe two if I’m lucky. Antonio could hear his father sighing heavily over the phone at his last comment. Dad, I’ve got to go. I’ll talk to you later, okay?

Yeah, all right, son. Be careful out there. The devil’s lurking at every corner.

Bye, Dad.

Antonio thought about his dad as he was driving to the club. He remembered how his mother would cry over his father because of all of the women he messed around with. His mother would be up in the wee hours of the morning, sitting at the kitchen table with tears running down her cheeks, waiting for husband to come home. Antonio could hear the soft whimpering from his room. He’d sneak downstairs, stand in the doorway, and watch his mother cry.

During those moments, he hated his father and wished him dead. When his father finally came home, he could hear his parents arguing about him being out all the time and sleeping with different women. Some of them lived in the neighborhood and had husbands and children as well.

Antonio remembered vividly one of the women his father had an affair with. She was a very attractive woman in her twenties with two children. At the time of that particular affair, Antonio’s dad was about forty-five years old. He was at the woman’s house every chance he got.

One day, Antonio rode his bike to the woman’s house after his father made another run to the store for a pack of cigarettes. Antonio thought that was strange because he could not recall ever seeing his father smoke.

Antonio pedaled his bike as fast as he could to the woman’s house, about three blocks from where he lived. When he got there, he saw his father’s car parked a few houses away from the woman’s house. Antonio rode his bike onto her driveway, stopping close to the side of the house. He put the kickstand down on the bike, crept up the back steps, and peered through the window.

The window was open, so he lifted it up and climbed through it into the house. He looked around the dimly lit room and summarized that he was in the kitchen. The house was very quiet except for the faint sound of jazz coming from the floor above him. He remembered that the house smelled really nice. It was a mixture of sweet musk and some other unfamiliar scent. It