From Sinner to Saint
From Sinner to Saint
Janice Jones
www.urbanchristianonline.net
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Epilogue
Readers’ Group Guide Questions
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WHAT WE BELIEVE:
Copyright Page
Dedication
I dedicate From Sinner to Saint to the First Institutional Baptist Church of Phoenix, Arizona, where Dr. Warren H. Stewart, Sr. is our Senior Pastor. Words cannot fully express how much I love you all. You have embraced and supported me and my literary works, His Woman, His Wife, His Widow and Still Standing. You have promoted, given glowing recommendations, kept the bookstores sold out, and shared with your families and friends all across the country the books I have written. I just pray that I continue to live up to the standards you have all set for me with this work, From Sinner to Saint. And thanks again for the tremendous pressure you have put on me to put out a sequel to His Woman, His Wife, His Widow. (HUGE SMILE)!
Acknowledgments
I can never start an acknowledgment of thanks without first starting with God, who makes all things possible. Lord, I give you all the thanks, honor, and praise. I worship and adore your name. John 15:5 says, “I am the vine, you are the branches. If a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing.” This is the scripture by which I write. Not a single word could be written without you, and it is all done to bear fruit and win souls for Christ.
To my husband, David Jones: It was mistakenly printed on the back of His Woman, His Wife, His Widow that we were still married at the time of its release. I guess we can look at the error as prophecy because here we are married again. You are my soul mate and the love of my life.
To my children and grandchild respectively, Jessica Jones, Jerrick Parker, Chalise Jones, Derrick Parker, and Jevon Parker: I thank God every day for your very lives. You all are my greatest blessings. I love you.
My father, Harold Bumpers: Thank you again for always being there wearing your proud Daddy smile as I continue to do my thing. I love you and I am blessed that God chose you to be my father.
My siblings, Sherrie Roberts, Darrius Bumpers, Linda Gardner, Darrin Bumpers (Main) and Darnella Bumpers: You all made growing up wonderful. You make being grown exciting. Thank you with much love for all of my nieces and nephews.
To Denise Franklin and Monique Gaskin: You two are the greatest friends and fans I could ever have. You are so loyal that some would probably think I pay you all to help me the way that you do. But you are both wonderful to do it for free. Thank you for your love.
When mentioning friends, I can’t forget Sonya Allen and Georgia Harris. You both are my sisters here in Arizona. You are proof of how awesome the God we serve is, because He made sure that I am covered with love no matter where I live. Thank you for serving Him proudly.
To Janell Walden Agyeman, my agent: Thank you for your loyalty, advice, and hard work. I can see us working together for many, many years to come.
To my editor, Joylynn Jossel: You are wonderful and wise beyond what I believe you even know. I love the way you can disagree with me and do it without animosity. That takes true talent.
To my readers and burgeoning fan base: Thank you for the wonderful words of praise and encouragement. I do this all for you. I just pray that God will continue to allow me to make you proud. You all are the best.
Prologue
Thirteen-year-old Antonyo, or Tony, as he was dubbed by everyone but his mother, sat at the kitchen table, constantly checking the window to see if his father had arrived. He was scheduled to pick up Antonyo at 3:00 P.M. That was forty-five minutes ago.
“Boy, I don’t know why you get yourself so worked up over something your silly daddy has told you. How many times has he said he would come and get you, then never bother to show up?” Antonyo’s mother, Trina, asked with little concern. She was baffled by and tired of her son’s confidence in his father.
“But, Mama, he knows I really need to get new gym shoes to play in my first basketball game tomorrow. Daddy said he would take me to get them and that he couldn’t wait to see me play.”
In the thirteen years since Antonyo’s birth, Trina could probably count the number of times Sheldon had actually come through for his son.
“So what you gon’ do, sit there in the window until he shows up? If you do, your butt is going to be as stiff as my ironing board.”
“He’ll be here. You’ll see.” In spite of his mother’s lack of faith, Antonyo still believed his father would keep his word . . . this time.
“No I won’t. I’m leaving for work in five minutes. So, if by some miracle that deadbeat does show up, make sure you lock my doors and take your key. I’ll see you when I get home tonight. Hopefully you won’t still be glued to that chair like you waiting for Jesus,” Trina said as she kissed Antonyo’s forehead and walked away.
Antonyo did indeed sit in that chair by the window for six consecutive hours, moving only to answer the ringing telephone on the kitchen wall, hoping the caller was his dad saying he was on his way. Being that it was Sunday and the stores closed at six, one would think the boy would have given up by then, but no. He stayed put, holding fast to his faith in his father to not let him down this time.
Antonyo wondered if perhaps Sheldon had somehow gotten hung up and couldn’t pick him up. Maybe he went to get the shoes himself. He would arrive any minute with the brand new shoes in hand.
However, by 9:00 P.M., Antonyo had lost all hope of seeing his dad or his new shoes that day. At around ten-thirty, he fixed himself a sandwich, watched a little television, and then put himself to bed. It would be sixteen days later before he heard his father’s voice again. Not once would Sheldon mention the shoes.
Antonyo did not bother showing up for the game after school the following day. He refused to play in the beat-down shoes he owned. Instead, he ducked out after sixth period, skipping his last hour class, which was gym. He knew he could not show up at home early, so he headed for one of his favorite hangouts, Auntie Treecie’s, a place where anything went.
Trina left for work worried about her son and his state of mind as it related to what she knew would end up being a no-show visit from Sheldon. Time and time again, Sheldon had led Antonyo to believe that he would do something for him or come by to visit him, only to leave him sad and disappointed at the end of the day. Each time she learned of Sheldon’s pending promises, she tried to warn Antonyo not to put too much faith in his actually coming through for him. Each time, her warnings had gone unheeded. She felt so powerless to protect her son from the ensuing pain of each disappointing let-down; her powerlessness, in turn, left her defeated.
As she stood at the bus stop waiting for her chariot to arrive, she reflected on how the state of defeat had been a constant companion in her life. Though she did not have a fancy college degree or even a high school diploma, she was smart enough to know that life just had to have mor
e to offer than the hopelessness she felt now and, quite frankly, more often than not.
Just as the bus pulled to a stop in front of her and the one other waiting passenger, she was, for some reason, drawn to a beautiful white Cadillac as it passed in front of the bus. She continued to watch as the car passed the bus stop, and just before she boarded the freight, she read the personalized license plate that said TRY GOD.
Chapter 1
LaTrina and LaTreece Simms were beautiful, identical twins. They were tall, five feet seven inches, slim and curvy. They were medium brown in complexion, with big brown eyes. The only difference in their appearance was their hair. LaTrina kept her sandy brown locks long and naturally wavy, while LaTreece wore hers cut short and chemically straightened. The women’s looks, however, were where the similarities ended.
Antonyo was LaTrina’s only child. She worked very hard to raise him by herself. Sheldon, Antonyo’s sometimes to mostly-no-time daddy, barely put in an appearance. His financial efforts were laughable. Trina did the best she could, at times working up to three low-paying, menial jobs to support herself and her son, leaving very little personal time for the two of them to spend together.
LaTreece, on the other hand, had nothing but time. Even though she had three children to support, she had never worked a real job in her twenty-nine years. Treecie was a hustler. She sold marijuana from her home, styled hair in her basement without a license, was a welfare recipient, and always had a man or two on standby. Treecie had no earthly idea who fathered her youngest child, and there was no shame in her game about it.
LaTreece was all about the good time. Her small, rarely clean, but always crowded home was known as the party house. This was where Antonyo loved to be.
Since his mom worked so much, Antonyo often found himself in Treecie’s care. Trina was well aware of her sister’s derelict lifestyle, but daycare choices were limited for the impoverished single mother. The twins lived only three blocks from each other, one on Bentler and the other on Trinity, nestled in the Brightmoor Area, one of the worst neighborhoods in Detroit.
The mean streets of Detroit had not yielded any kindness to these ladies. The sisters had no one other than each other. Their mother had been beaten to death by a man who was fifteen years her junior, four days prior to Antonyo’s fourth birthday. The girls never knew their biological father, only a series of “uncles” that flitted in and out of their mother’s life.
Linda Simms, their mother, had been far from a shining example of motherhood. The twins practically raised themselves while their mother traveled from bar to bar searching for a sponsor for her and her daughters. And while there was never a shortage of men in her bed, Linda’s home had lacked everything else but roaches. At least two or three times a year the electricity and/or gas were shut off, the telephone stayed disconnected about half the year, and Trina and Treecie were lucky to receive one square meal a day.
Childhood was harsh and brief for these girls. By age fifteen, both girls had become pregnant and were forced to grow up quickly. School became a hindrance, as they needed the time allotted for class to figure out a way to make money to feed their babies. Welfare was their primary support system. Babysitting, braiding hair, delivering newspapers, working fast food, and seducing older men were secondary sources of income.
Trina eventually tired of the going-nowhere lifestyle after having her third abortion. Recognizing that she could barely take care of Antonyo, having another child was out of the question for her. While she was smart enough to identify her limitations as far as raising children, she was not as crafty about preventing the pregnancies from occurring.
When they left the clinic, she cried on the shoulder of her sister, older than her by seven minutes, who had accompanied her to her appointment. “Treecie, I can’t believe I just did this again. What kind of horrible person am I to kill three babies?”
“It’s okay, Trina. We all make mistakes and have problems. Just be glad God offers us solutions to help us fix our problems,” Treecie crooned as she rubbed her sister’s shoulder.
“Girl, you better stop. We may not be all holy and spiritual, but we both know that God does not want us to have abortions. No, Treecie. It is not that simple and I know it. Other women have normal lives, with normal families. They have husbands, good jobs, and they get excited when they find out they’re pregnant. I believe that is what God is about.”
“How would you know? You ain’t never set foot inside a church one day in your life. Mama’s funeral wasn’t even at a church, it was at the mortuary.” Treecie sucked her teeth and rolled her eyes at her naïve sister.
Becoming annoyed with her cynical sister, Trina lifted her head from Treecie’s shoulder and dried her eyes. “Well, that could be part of the problem. Maybe we should start going to church. Maybe somebody in there could teach us how to do life better than we are right now.”
At age nineteen, the day after she left the clinic following abortion number three, Trina enrolled herself in G.E.D classes and began trying to better her life. After obtaining her certificate, she was able to get work in the small factories that paid a little more than the fast food establishments. She found welfare demeaning, seeing as how it was never enough when she was a child, so she got off the system and instead worked her tail off to support herself and her son.
Approximately one year after receiving her G.E.D., Trina went to work at a video manufacturing plant, where she met a woman named Louise Fletcher. Ms. Louise was one of the kindest people Trina had ever encountered. No matter how bad the circumstances of her life, Ms. Louise never frowned, never seemed sad, never had a cross word for anyone. Even when her grandson was killed in a drive-by shooting, Ms. Louise managed to handle his death with courage and great strength.
Louise Fletcher was a confident child of God’s Kingdom. There was no shame in her game. While she was not pushy or preachy, she would tell anyone willing to listen how wonderful her Savior had been to her. During her work breaks and at lunchtime, people could always find Ms. Louise reading her Bible, some other spiritually educational material, or a Christian novel.
Trina found Ms. Louise’s pleasantness to be such a contrast to the world in which she lived and interacted; so much so that Trina’s curiosity was piqued. She found herself often wondering if being a Christian truly offered the contentment she saw in Ms. Louise.
While Trina admired the older woman’s confidence and strength from afar, she never had the nerve to inquire of her how she could go about achieving these qualities for herself. She did, however, purchase a King James Bible for herself at a dollar store, and tried reading it at home with the intention of starting at the beginning and working her way through. Unfortunately, she found the language hard to understand, so she quickly grew disinterested in what she was trying to accomplish. Trina assumed her inability to relate to what she read stemmed from her only having a G.E.D. versus having completed high school in the normal manner.
One afternoon during their shared break, Trina took a look at the Bible Ms. Louise was reading, finding a difference between her own and her co-worker’s. This she was bold enough to ask about.
“Ms. Louise, I bought a Bible the other day that says King James Version on it. I notice that your Bible says New International Version. Is there a difference between the two books?” Trina asked timidly.
“Both Bibles have the same information,” Ms. Louise told her, “but mine has been translated into a simpler language to read, is all. I would recommend all beginning Bible readers to start with a version other than the King James. It is good to have the original translation handy, but it sure is tough to understand sometimes.”
Ms. Louise was thrilled to hear that the young woman had begun reading the Bible, and she felt compelled to help her. “Here, you take my Bible. I have plenty more at home. This one is a little marked up, but you should find it much easier to read than the one you have.”
“I can’t take your Bible, Ms. Louise,” Trina stated, trying to refu
se the generous offer.
“Oh, yes, you can. I insist. God wants us to help others to learn about Him. This is the best way I know for you to start and for me to help. I will also suggest you read the book of Proverbs first, then move on to the Psalms, which is right before the book of Proverbs. I think this is where all new learners should begin.”
Trina felt it would now be disrespectful not to accept Ms. Louise’s offer of assistance. She took the book and began studying in the exact manner Ms. Louise had recommended. Approximately two weeks later, Trina had left the video manufacturing plant for a better paying job at a different facility, but she took the memory of Ms. Louise’s disposition, as well as her advice on beginning Bible study, right along with her.
Her twin sister was less ambitious on both the career and spiritual levels, however. Treecie had her second child by age eighteen; number three by age twenty. These children were born in addition to three abortions of her own.
Darnell, her oldest and only son, was the same age as Antonyo. His father, Darryl, was about as supportive as Sheldon. Taraija (Ta-ray-ja) was ten. Her dad, Marcus, was a good man, a constant fixture in his daughter’s life. Eight-year-old Tianca was the baby and had no man laying claim to her as his child. Oddly, Treecie found this aspect of her and her daughter’s life amusing.
“Girl, I can’t tell you which one of them trifling Negroes I was dealing with at the time is my baby’s sorry daddy. That was a particularly busy time in a young pimpstress’s life. I was juggling three or four of them fools back then.” This was the reply she would give with a laugh to anyone who inquired about Tianca’s paternity.
Treecie would drink and smoke weed on any given day, but not every day. Despite her obviously rowdy lifestyle and her questionable ways of providing, she loved her children and her nephew. They were her first priority.
Treecie temporarily lost custody of her children as a result of a Child Protective Services investigation. The kids were placed in the care of their aunt Trina for three days while Treecie awaited a hearing with a judge regarding the incident that led to the children’s removal.