Fiction

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Ray was restless. There he sat. Ramrod straight in an over-sized

blue Indiana Pacers sweatshirt at the kitchen table in front of a pile of

bills. The look on his face told the story. A worried sigh was all that

he could muster.

“I wish we could pay some of these bills. At least, those from the

hospital,“ said the 62-year-old. “Then they would know we’re trying.”

“I know,” said his wife, Dorothy. “They’ll just have to wait,” while

continuing to prepare supper. It had been eight months since the heart

attack. No pay check. Savings used up. No unemployment, but plenty of

bills.

Dorothy worked part-time as an administrative assistant, but it wasn’t

enough. Her salary covered the mortgage and food. Luckily, their red

2002 Camry was paid off. It still was dependable, in spite of its age. The

three-bed-room ranch that they lived in 17 years needed repairs, but they’d

have to wait.

“Ray,” said Dorothy, “I think we should tithe.” There’s was an old
fashioned relationship. Ray handled all the money.
Ray’s ears perked up and Dorothy braced for the storm that she thought
was coming. They had this conversation before. It usually ended with
Dorothy storing off and slamming the bedroom door.
But this time, he was silent. He didn’t want a fight. Dorothy sensed an
opening.
“Ray, it says in the Bible we should trust the Lord. It says in Malachi
3:10 "Bring the whole tithe into te storehouse, so that there may be
food in My house, and test Me now in this..." "It's the only place in the Bible
that it says test Him,” she added.
Still, he had doubts. Major doubts.
“Dothothy, for the last time,” in a voice that betrayed his annoyance.
“We need that money for the mortgage and food,” as his voice started
to rise. “What’s the matter? Does Rev. Coleman need a new Cadillac.”
“I just think we should test Him,” she said
Sunday came and Dorothy was in the pew. Left side, third row. Ray made
one of his infrequent visits, feeling a little uncomfortable. After all, it
wasn’t Mother’s Day or Easter Sunday. You could count on him those
days.

For Ray, the sermon, had been so many words. Still when the brass
collection plate came around, Ray put in a $50 bill. Dorothy noticed, but
she chocked back a smile. She hung extra tight on his arm for the walk to
the parking lot. She did say anything,

That night at dinner, between the mash potatoes, cole slaw, ad hamburger,
she threw her arms around him as he sat in the chair. “I saw you put that
$50 in church. That’s 10 percent of my pay check.”
“We’ll,” he said, “Let’s see if it makes a difference.”
The next month Ray attended again, and another $50. Ironically, the
sermon was on tithing and testing God.
"Bring all the tithes into the store house…," Rev. Coleman preached
in a style common of black clergy. "You can't beat God in giving," he
intoned.
Ray added $50 to the collection plate.

Still, they were living pay check to pay check. And the stack of bills grew

higher and higher.

It was the following Thursday when the telephone rang.
“Hello,” said Ray.
“Is this Ray Washington,” said the caller. “Yes,” said Ray.
“I’m with Diamond Star Industries. You put an application in with us two
years ago. You applied for a fork lift driver position. Are you working
now?”

By now Dorothy had entered the room and stood within ear shot.
“No,” Ray said. “I still not working,” Trying not to get his hopes up.
‘We’ll we’re adding warehouse space, and, of course, that requires more
people. Can you come in Tuesday for an interview?”

“Sure, what time?”
When he hung up the phone they were both elated. A break through.
Maybe. A potential job at Diamond Star, one of the area’s biggest
employers.

Tuesday came and Ray was hired at 10 percent more than his old job.
This even had a 401k and benefits. And their lives returned to normal,
except every Sunday Ray and Dorothy could be found on the left section,
third row back at church. And there was no more testing God on tithing, he
has delivered.
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