Hindsight

by Rhonda Taylor Madge

  Holding onto the Gideon, I waited for answers, but nothing came until I awoke the next morning. My first lucid thought was of going to church. I needed answers and surely a church would help. Would a church accept a girl like me?

  TEN

  “…For the one who doubts is like the surf of the sea, driven and tossed by the wind.”

  James 1:6

  The word church was not new to me. After all, it was a place I’d spent every Sunday as a little girl with Mama Dora. I had walked the aisle to accept Jesus with Paul by my side, and it was where I had vowed to be a good wife to Bruce.

  However, I was a different person by that point in my life. I wasn’t sure how the people would welcome someone like me, a divorcee who didn’t trust God.

  I walked into a local house of worship that Sunday morning with my head lowered. It was a large church with enough seats for a thousand people, much different from the small country church in Bumpus Mills I was used to. I listened as the choir sang some familiar hymns and soaked in the sounds of God’s Word from the pulpit. After the service, the preacher, Brother James, greeted everyone as they left the sanctuary. I introduced myself and asked him if it were possible to meet with him privately.

  A few days later, Brother James came to my apartment. I had made up my mind I wasn’t going to tell him about Daddy’s death and the fact that I blamed God. That could wait for another day.

  “I need help. I feel like God could never forgive me for some of the things I have done. I got married when I was eighteen and divorced my husband a year later. Since then I have filled my life with stuff I know is not pleasing to God. Will He forgive me?” I asked.

  “Rhonda, have you ever asked Jesus into your heart?” Brother James asked.

  “Yes, when I was sixteen, but I really haven’t been to church since then,” I replied.

  “Well then, all you need to do is ask Him to forgive you and He will,” Brother James assured me.

  It can’t be that simple. Brother James doesn’t know everything. He doesn’t know the whole truth. I repeated out loud the words of Brother James. “Jesus, will You forgive me for all my sins?”

  Matter-of-factly, Brother James told me I was indeed forgiven and asked if I wanted to join the church.

  I was a bit perplexed. “It’s that easy?”

  “Yep,” he nodded. “On Sunday, come forward to the front of the church when I ask if anyone in the room would like to join.”

  Brother James prayed, shook my hand, and left me alone with my thoughts.

  **********

  While I agreed I would join the church that weekend, I forgot that I was a bridesmaid in a wedding that Saturday night. As the weekend approached, feelings of exhilaration overcame me. I couldn’t determine if they were because of the wedding or because I had committed to join the church.

  All the bridesmaids met early Saturday morning to have our hair and nails done, followed by a bridal luncheon. My French twist was sprayed stiffly into place. As the time for the ceremony drew near, we gathered at the church, adorned in pink dresses and magnolia flowers in hand, ready to descend down the aisle.

  The reception soon followed, and the wedding party hit the dance floor to celebrate our friends’ nuptials. After we’d finished off the last of the champagne, the bride and groom drove away in their limo, leaving the rest of us not quite ready to end the night. Someone suggested we move the party to a place called the Wine Cellar.

  Live music on the weekends packed the house with folks looking for a good time. We arrived around midnight and I immediately met a guy who knew how to shake a leg, as Mama would say. I was completely disappointed when he said his buddies were leaving and he didn’t have a ride home.

  “No! You can’t leave yet. It’s only two o’clock. We can dance for two more hours. I’ll take you home.”

  “You will?” he asked. “I live out in the country, so it’s not easy.”

  “I don’t care at all,” I replied. And so the dancing continued until four o’clock in the morning. We chatted the entire thirty-minute drive to his house.

  He got out of my car and I pulled out of his driveway, the warmth of the heater at my feet. My eyes grew heavy and blurry. I could barely see the road.

  “Jesus, if You are here, You are going to have to take this wheel and get me home,” I prayed loudly.

  I guess He heard me. I awoke on Sunday morning not remembering the drive home, but smelling like a putrid blend of alcohol and cigarettes. Then it hit me—I was joining the church that same morning. I had just enough time to shower and generously spray perfume on Saturday’s French twist. Brushing my teeth seemed pointless; I couldn’t remove the stale taste from my mouth.

  I made my way into the sanctuary and took a seat close to the front. For the next hour I fought to keep my eyes open during the service. Failing once, I nodded off and jerked back awake at the sound of the organ pipes bellowing.

  Finally, the invitation to join the church was offered and I slipped from my seat and walked slowly to the altar. Thankfully, I remembered to pop gum in my mouth before going up in front of everyone. Brother James announced to the congregation that I was officially a new member. He then made a request for each person of the congregation to welcome me one by one.

  When the sweet church people smelled the combination of my strong perfume and mint gum I’m sure they wanted to turn around and run in the opposite direction. I looked and smelled like the poster child for a lost soul. I’m not saved. How could I be?

  I drove home, thinking about the joy I had hoped to receive but instead feeling that familiar sense of emptiness. Temporary satisfaction is exactly that—temporary.

  Does God talk to people? I wondered. I went back to church the following Sunday and the one after that. I was going through all the motions, but the attendance card at church wasn’t filling me up with the happiness I desired.

  Going to church just didn’t seem to be enough. I’d often wonder, Isn’t there someone who could talk to me and encourage me? I just feel so alone.

  **********

  Work kept me busy—actually, extremely busy. One day, my boss Bill approached me about becoming a field trainer. This meant new hires would come to work with me in my territory during their first three weeks with the company.

  He said, “Rhonda, your enthusiasm is contagious. It’s exactly what we need for new reps to learn. Do you think you can teach others how to build rapport with customers?”

  “Bill, you are the one who taught me that the last four letters of enthusiasm are iasm, meaning, I am sold myself. I would love to be a trainer.”

  I had every reason to be content and fulfilled, but it seemed I was in a continual search for the one thing that would satisfy my desires.

  I’d purchased a new home and that brought some excitement that lasted a few months. When I signed the deed as an owner I felt so accomplished. However, that faded, too.

  I’d achieved a mental list of achievements: homeowner, wonderful career, recent promotion, and best of all, church member. The only thing I needed was a husband—or so I thought.

  ELEVEN

  “It is better to take refuge in the Lord than to trust in man.”

  Psalm 118:8

  Pharmaceutical reps were required to work conventions on average of about three times per year. A large cardiovascular meeting was held in Little Rock in the fall of 1987. Any company that sold a drug pertaining to the heart came to display their information and studies regarding their products. All the cardiologists attended, so it was a great time to visit with them outside of the office setting.

  I had bought a new suit for the occasion, dark green with a rather long skirt and fitted jacket to match. I stood at my booth organizing the product brochures, pens, and notepads to give to anyone who stopped by.

  I turned around and saw standing before me a handsome man with deep brown eyes.

  He asked, “What’s your name?”

  I extended my hand to shake his and said, “Rhonda
Taylor. And you are?”

  “Joe. Joe Blackman,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “I just happened to stop by to meet a doctor about some investments. You caught my eye and I wondered if you would like to have dinner tonight.”

  Again with the twinkle. An invitation such as this had not happened outside of the bar scene in quite some time.

  “Dinner would be great.”

  When my day at the convention ended, I met Joe at a nearby restaurant.

  The conversation was easy as I learned more about this Joe who had just walked into my life. He had recently started working in the stock market following three years of service in the military.

  He was a man’s man who didn’t seem to care for small talk. Joe had a stocky build and thick black hair. It was the perpetual smile that highlighted the twinkle, causing my heart to skip a beat. I was smitten.

  Things moved rather quickly after that, and a whirlwind romance started. Dinners with good wine and a ski trip to Colorado won me over.

  I learned Joe didn’t attend church because he didn’t believe in God. I was hopeful I could change that. After all, I was the girl who had just sauntered up to the altar and joined a church; surely I was equipped to change this man.

  I also realized he didn’t have many friends. However, I thought with all of mine, this problem would rectify itself, as well. Still, I was concerned that his only real friend was someone by the name of Sherri who was married to a man named Greg.

  We spent a lot of time with Sherri and Greg, going to dinner and dancing. We all shared a lot in common, so the inattention to my friends didn’t concern me.

  As our relationship became more serious, I took Joe home with me to meet Mother and Howard Lee. The first words from Mother’s mouth were, “You’re a good-looking devil. I’ll say that.” Of course, Joe liked the compliment. What man wouldn’t?

  Later that same night, after Joe went to bed, Mother cornered me in the kitchen. “So tell me, do you think he’s the one?” she asked.

  “I think he might be, Mother,” I replied.

  “Give it time, Rhonda. You have only known him for six months.”

  “Mother, I’ve learned a lot since being married to Bruce. I think I’m a good judge of character.”

  “Ok,” she replied with those raised eyebrows that suggested she knew something I didn’t.

  Shortly after our visit, Joe proposed over dinner back in Little Rock. There didn’t seem to be any reason to wait to marry, so we set the date for Valentine’s weekend, just four weeks away.

  The call home to announce the news was received halfheartedly. I knew Mother wanted me to be happy, but in her heart of hearts something worried her.

  My second call was to Brother James to ask if he would marry us. He agreed, but thought it would be a good idea to have a couple of premarital counseling sessions first.

  I was actually surprised when Joe agreed to counseling, but the level of surprise wasn’t as great as when Brother James found out we weren’t living together.

  “You two live in separate homes and do not plan to move in together until after the wedding?” he asked, shocked.

  “That’s correct, Brother James,” we replied.

  He said, “Well, praise God. Most couples today live together first, and I will tell you, it starts marriages off with a disadvantage, oftentimes ending in divorce.”

  Interestingly, it never came up that I hadn’t attended church since I’d met Joe, nor the small detail that Joe didn’t believe in God.

  He doesn’t need to know. What does it matter?

  We made the necessary plans to marry in the sanctuary in front of our families and a couple of friends. There wasn’t any need for a rehearsal. We were just going to show up.

  I wore a tea-length, pale-pink dress with a scalloped hem. It was modest, but perfect for our quaint little wedding. I had my hair cut that day and my hairdresser cut my bangs in the style a two-year-old would wear. Otherwise, I was ready to become a wife again.

  This time Howard Lee walked me down the aisle. He asked, “Are you sure this time?”

  “I think so. I hope so, anyway.”

  “Sweetheart, you better know for sure,” he told me.

  “I promise I am, Howard Lee,” I replied as my foot took the first step down the aisle toward the man with the twinkle in his eye.

  For the second time in my young life I said, “I do,” and Brother James pronounced us man and wife. Joe took my face in his hands and looked into my eyes before he kissed me.

  Afterward, we all went back to my house, which would now be our house. Champagne was poured and toasts were made as our life began together.

  The following morning came early, and we raced to catch our flight to Las Vegas for our honeymoon. I was not aware there would be hundreds of couples marrying in Vegas over Valentine’s weekend, but I saw girls everywhere, walking the streets in their wedding dresses after exchanging vows at the local chapels.

  I wasn’t crazy about Vegas. I had been there many times for various pharmaceutical meetings. It had been Joe’s choice to go, and he convinced me that we would have fun.

  We only stayed for a long weekend before heading home to settle into married life. After that, Joe worked at home most mornings and I rarely had early appointments, which offered us time to linger over our coffee. We found the weekdays to be fairly routine and longed for Fridays to quickly arrive. Our Friday happy hours were always happy.

  We started out inviting my friends to join us, but for some reason everyone seemed uncomfortable, including me. I couldn’t put my finger on the reason why, but it meant Sherri and Greg, Joe’s best friends, became the only people we’d spend time with on the weekends. My intentions of expanding Joe’s circle of friends weren’t really working, and neither was my plan to bring him to a belief in God.

  **********

  Over drinks one night, Joe, Greg, Sherri, and I talked about planning a trip to the beach. “Let’s do it!” Joe exclaimed. We desired the glimpse of a palm tree and the smell of salt water and simply couldn’t wait to get our hands on little umbrella-garnished cocktails.

  When we arrived at our destination we raced to dig our toes in the sand and grab our beach chairs. It was then I discovered how insecure I was around Sherri. She always looked so put together, with her slender build and perky blonde hair. Today was no different. The four of us were sunbathing when Sherri jumped up from her chair, offering to purchase the next round of drinks.

  “I’m good,” I answered as I turned over to even out my tan.

  “No, thanks,” answered the guys.

  “Okay, party poopers. I’ll be right back,” Sherri said with a wink. As she turned away, she quickly flashed us all, showing much more than necessary—and all in good fun, of course.

  Greg and I burst into laughter, but Joe didn’t seem nearly as surprised and shocked at her unexpected exposure. My stomach dropped as my laughter quickly turned into a forced smile.

  Later that evening, Greg asked me if I thought Joe’s reaction to Sherri’s flash was odd. We both agreed that they each seemed a little too comfortable with the situation, but there was really no reason to be concerned. Or was there? I was comforted, knowing I wasn’t the only one who thought their reactions were unusual. I went to the restroom and examined my thoughts. Can he be trusted? We’d only been married a few months; he wouldn’t have an affair. Or would he? They have known each other a long time. I have to stop thinking about this, I thought to myself. I pulled it together and rejoined the group.

  Joe and Sherri were involved in a conversation, leaving Greg and me on the sidelines. Greg glanced at me and raised his eyebrow. Oh please, not the eyebrow. I immediately thought of Mother as my vacation fun fizzled out.

  I laid in bed that night determined to remain positive, even if it meant turning a blind eye to the red flags waving in front of me. Why try to fix something I’m not even sure is broken, right?

  Joe and I returned home and the memory of sand between my t
oes faded quickly as we pulled into our driveway in Little Rock. When any of my friends asked about our trip, I pretended that I had fun, even though I couldn’t shake the lingering questions in the back of my mind.

  Joe and I went through the motions of life with little vigor. Conversations seemed forced and the twinkle had left his eye.

  The next Friday rolled around. In the past, before happy hour on Friday afternoons, I’d race home to report my sales calls and do expense reports. It always felt good to have a clean desk before starting the weekend. Joe would leave work a little early to come and pick me up before heading out for the night. But this Friday was different. Five o’clock approached. Then six o’clock, then finally at seven I saw his car lights pull into the driveway.

  “Where have you been?” I asked as I looked up from my computer.

  “I met Sherri for a drink at Buster’s,” he replied.

  Something pulled at my heartstrings as I said, “I would have joined you. Why didn’t you call me?”

  “Well, she and Greg have been having a tough time lately and she needed someone to talk to,” he said.

  The strings twisted a little tighter. He has been alone with her. “It doesn’t seem right that she would have just asked you and not me. I am her friend, too.”

  “Rhonda, you know we have been friends far longer.”

  I bit the inside of my lip and lowered my head, pretending to work again and hoping to indicate that I wasn’t pleased with the situation. He got up and went to the kitchen. We spent the rest of the night at home, quietly to ourselves.

  The distance between us grew.

  **********

  In the fall of 1988, one year after Joe and I first met and seven months after our wedding, I walked into the house after a day of work. Joe was sitting on the sofa, sipping a gin and tonic. The awkward silence appealed more than the words he was about to say.

  “I’m leaving,” Joe announced without emotion. He sat the drink on the table and rose to leave.

  I stopped, dumbfounded. “I don’t understand. I know things haven’t been that great lately, but can’t we work on this?” I cried.