Hindsight

  Troy began to shake and tears fell from his eyes as he recalled what had happened next. “When we finished praying and looked toward the sky, the darkness began to dissipate. It did not rain one single drop on our roof. I witnessed the hand of God.”

  Taylor, Austin, and I sat speechless—only for a minute, though.

  “Tell us more, Daddy! Tell us more!”

  Oh, my goodness, what if I had prevented him from going? I thought to myself. I sat and looked at my husband with new eyes. I knew I loved him, but never more than in that moment. My man now knew what it felt like to be the hands and feet of Jesus.

  A seed was planted in Troy’s heart that trip. It took root and blossomed. He traveled back to Guatemala two more times that year alone, always returning with God-sized stories to be shared.

  He also began to change as a man; he seemed more alive every time he returned from a trip. Before he would even unpack, he was already talking about the next one. Taylor and Austin began to get excited about his trips, too, as if little seeds had been planted inside each of them.

  Troy begged me to go with him. My reply was always the same: “God provided me with a career and bonuses to pay for these trips. You’re meant to go. Not me.”

  But as God would have it, He had plans for me, also.

  **********

  Large churches really have a hard time, generally speaking, getting people connected. One of the pastors I had become acquainted with asked if I would like to join a committee to start a campaign for small groups. I was interested; it sounded very similar to the little group that had met in our home for two years.

  There were six of us on the team that tried to organize the easiest way to form small gatherings of people from the church within their own subdivisions. We spent quite a bit of time together, which led to personal questions.

  They are going to ask me about my past. What do I say? Do I tell the truth? I can’t lie in church.

  “Rhonda, tell us your story. Where did you grow up?”

  My bottom lip started to quiver and it became obvious that I was nervous.

  The pastor spoke up. “It’s okay. Is there something you need to talk about? You are in a safe place.”

  Really? I know what it feels like to be judged. It hurts. I can’t do it. I know they will dismiss me from the committee, too.

  Tears. I couldn’t stop the flow. And so it happened.

  I told my story. I didn’t leave anything out, and to my surprise they embraced me. And I was flabbergasted when they said my story needed to be told to others.

  “You are kidding, right? You have to realize I have lived a lie the majority of my life. Now you are telling me I should tell others?”

  They explained people needed to understand the church is full of hurting people. They felt my story would illustrate the need of not only redemption, but teach what it means to trust others, as well. Ideas began to flow and it was suggested that on kickoff Sunday for small groups, I would share my testimony in front of the entire church.

  I didn’t know what to say.

  After I got home, I went straight to the closet.

  The kids don’t know the truth. What are they going to say when they find out about their mother?

  Lord, what do I do? I’m scared to tell Taylor and Austin the truth, and how in the world am I going to stand before thousands and do the same?

  **********

  Throughout my life I had often heard the saying, “The Lord works in mysterious ways.” I was beginning to understand the meaning, which slowly but surely was also mysteriously teaching me how to trust.

  It began when we walked into church the following Sunday and Pastor Rick preached on a passage from John 4 about a woman at a well. The story unfolded about a Samaritan woman who met Jesus by a well when she went to draw water. It was a beautiful passage about the living water He could offer her. My heart quivered as Pastor Rick revealed this dear woman had been divorced five times and was currently living with a man. She had more husbands than me. Is that really in the Bible? I questioned.

  He continued to read from verse 39, saying, “Many of the Samaritans from that town believed in Him because of the woman’s testimony: ‘He told me everything I ever did.’”

  It didn’t matter what this woman from the well had done. Jesus used her to tell others about Himself. I knew He was about to use me, too. This was the day the Word of God became personal.

  We went home after lunch and I whispered to Troy that I was going to talk to each of the children individually. It had never once dawned on me that I would have to one day sit with my children and tell them about their own mama’s mistakes.

  “Taylor, Sweetheart, Mama needs to talk to you. Let’s go upstairs to your room.”

  My precious seven-year-old daughter followed me upstairs, where I sat down in a white rocker nestled in the corner of her room. As she flopped down on the floor near my feet, her big brown eyes looked up at me with wonder while she lightly bit the corner of her lip. This child was the first to teach me the meaning of unconditional love. I silently prayed, “Lord, please don’t let me break her heart.”

  “This isn’t easy for Mama, Taylor, but I need to tell you some things about myself. After my daddy died, I made lots of mistakes.”

  She sat ever so quietly as I told her that I had been married two other times before meeting her daddy. I paused to let her ask questions, but I was greeted only by silence. After what seemed like hours, she innocently cocked her little head to the side and said, “Does that mean you have three wedding dresses?”

  “Well,” I stammered through my shock, “yes, I did, but I gave the other two away.”

  She crawled up in my lap. Nothing else needed to be said.

  Now I had to tell Austin. I decided to take him for a drive. Although he wasn’t supposed to, I let him sit in the front seat with me as I drove around in our neighborhood. He looked so different than his sissy, with his blonde hair and blue eyes. When they were together, though, there was no mistaking they were siblings, especially when they laughed.

  A memory flashed through my mind of when he decided to move away from home at age three. He had high-stepped into the kitchen, wearing a diaper and cowboy boots, holding tight to as many horses as he could carry. He announced, “I’m movin’, Mama.” I secretly hoped what I was about to tell him didn’t cause him to think about moving again.

  I started telling my second-born child that his mama had done some foolish things before meeting his daddy. Tears began to fall from my baby’s eyes after telling him the truth.

  Jesus, please help me, I thought to myself. “I’m so sorry, Austin. Please forgive Mama. I never intended to hurt you.”

  “But, Mama, that means I have two step-daddies.”

  “Is that why you are crying, son? No. No, you don’t. You only have one daddy who loves you very much.”

  I had to pull over. I couldn’t see to drive anymore.

  When we returned, I tried to explain to Troy the weight that had been lifted from my shoulders. I felt like I wanted to dance, so that’s what we did, all four of us in the kitchen. If this was a taste of freedom, I wanted more.

  NINETEEN

  “Whenever you stand praying, forgive, if you have anything against anyone…”

  Mark 11:25

  I awoke early to the sunshine peeking through the windows and the sound of birds singing a melody. My heart skipped a beat after realizing this was the day that I would stand before the church and share my testimony. I slid from the bed quietly, so as not to wake Troy. I needed some alone time in the closet to pray.

  Memorized note cards lay before me. I sat gazing at the words. I had given many presentations over the years at work; public speaking didn’t scare me very much. However, I had never stood in front of thousands and admitted to living a masquerade.

  “Lord, I’m scared. Yet I know this is what you are asking me to do. If someone comes closer to you because of my story, it will be worth it.”

 
; It seemed even the kids dressed quietly that morning. They knew it was a big day for their mama. We all hugged as we left the house.

  Troy whispered, “I’m proud of you.”

  I made it down to the front row where I awaited Pastor Rick to give me my cue to walk up to the stage. Sitting behind me in the audience were friends of mine who were about to be handed a bombshell. I feared everyone would think I was dishonest when I confessed my life had been a web of deceit.

  When I heard my name, I started toward the stairs, which felt like climbing Mt. Everest. I could hear my voice quiver as I began.

  “I was asked to speak today because my life has recently been radically changed. Shame and guilt has caused me to pretend to be someone I wasn’t for many years. There are some of you here today who have known me for a long time, yet you don’t know the truth. You see…”

  I looked out at people crying. Some bowed their heads with their own shame. Others stared into space, lost in thought. As I finished, a line of people formed thirty deep. I soon found out many of them were just like me, afraid of being judged.

  All of these years, I thought I was alone in my pain, only to find out that the church is full of withering souls.

  My friends questioned, “Why didn’t you tell me? Nothing would have changed the love I have for you.”

  Their hugs told me that they meant what they said.

  Leaving the church, hand in hand with my family, I pondered for a minute and thought about the Woman at the Well. Two thousand years separated our stories, yet we were very much alike—both divorced and ashamed. Yet after we met Jesus, we were never the same.

  **********

  After arriving home, I decided to depart from my beloved closet and move to the basement. I needed more space. Jesus and I had work to do. I felt like an onion that had just been peeled and I knew it was only the first layer. I wanted to get to the core of who I was designed to be.

  I sat in the corner with a single light by my side to illuminate my Bible. I wished I’d known the verses in the book of Psalms when I was growing up, which would have told me I was fearfully and wonderfully made, and how God put my tears in His bottle. It had to be a big bottle, for all my tears. Lord, do you actually know the number of hairs on my head? I questioned.

  Psalm 139:16 says, “Your eyes have seen my unformed substance; And in Your book were all written the days that were ordained for me, when as yet there was not one of them.”

  Lord, this means you knew me even before I was born.

  Jeremiah 29:11 says, “For I know the plans that I have for you, plans for welfare and not for calamity, to give you a future and a hope.”

  But, Lord, I had calamity.

  Amos Ingle shot my daddy.

  You could have prevented it.

  My head was spinning. I had just stood before thousands and experienced a freedom that was hard to explain. I didn’t want to think about Amos Ingle. I cried out, “I just want more of you, Lord.”

  Forgiveness.

  “God, how am I supposed to forgive the man who killed my daddy? Furthermore, why did you allow it to happen? You could have prevented it. Why didn’t you?” I questioned aloud.

  I knew in my heart that I might not ever know the answer to that question this side of heaven, for He is God. Did I really think I knew what was best for me?

  I turned off the light and laid in the dark, knowing it was time to deal with this matter. The bitterness of unforgiveness and all the times I questioned God was eating me alive, as though I was slowly drinking battery acid.

  I closed my eyes and thoughts flooded my mind about all the good things that had happened since Daddy died. My mother married Howard Lee and they had been married for over twenty years. Mother had accepted the Lord as her Savior. Two of my uncles had been saved right after that dreadful day. Why had I not thought about those things before?

  I remembered the story of Joseph from the book of Genesis. He had been left for dead by his brothers and then sold into slavery, later becoming an advisor to a king. Joseph learned that what was intended for evil, God used for good. Joseph trusted God.

  I said aloud, “That’s it, isn’t it, Lord? You want me to trust you, even if I don’t understand.

  I could taste salt on my lips as the tears streamed.

  I pulled my knees to my chest as I rolled on the floor. “Please, God! Oh please, God! Forgive me for questioning You.”

  I felt sick to my stomach as thoughts of Amos returned.

  “Lord, did Amos Ingle ask You to forgive him of murder?”

  Memories of when he sat beside me during the parole board meeting flashed through my mind. Amos had asked me if he could spend his dying days with his mother. He had been paroled shortly after by the governor and indeed been given the opportunity to be with his mother until he died.

  That was a picture of a loving God.

  I smiled at the thought. If Amos was indeed forgiven, he was in heaven with Jesus, leaving me here angry and wallowing in my own pain.

  I laid on the carpet with my Bible clutched to my chest and I whispered, “I forgive you, Amos.”

  With those words, I could imagine chains falling from me, exposing another layer of freedom.

  **********

  Later that week, I decided to drive to the cemetery where Amos was buried. I’m not sure why I felt the need, but I hoped it would increase the peace that was starting to invade my heart.

  It was a beautiful day and memories of my daddy flooded my thoughts. I laughed aloud, thinking about how much I had loved going to square dances with him and Mother. There would be a couple hundred people dancing yet all eyes seemed to be upon the two of them as he swung her around. Joy came from the times I got to be his partner as he taught me to tap and slide my foot. Beads of sweat dripped from his forehead, but all I noticed was the smile that occupied his face.

  Oh, I will never forget the night he took me out fox hunting with him. It was just the two of us, sitting by a roaring fire and listening for the dogs to catch the scent of a fox and start the chase. I couldn’t believe he could name the dogs by their bark.

  “That one is Loretta,” he said.

  “Daddy, why in the world did you name your dog Loretta?”

  “Because she has a good mouth on her like Loretta Lynn.”

  His laughter echoed in the woods as he pulled out his pocketknife to whittle.

  The sight of the white church on the Old Dover Road jerked me back to reality. The place Daddy took his last breath on this earth. I passed slowly, continuing to drive the curvy road that held so many memories, until I came upon the Ingle family cemetery.

  Hesitantly, I opened the car door, unsure of all the emotions I was feeling. I walked around the tombstones, looking for the name that had caused such a tragic collision in my world.

  Amos Ingle.

  The gray stone sat before me. To my surprise, it was a double monument. Amos had been buried with his mother, who had died a short time after him. Inscribed on it were the words, “Suffered on earth together, now we rest in heaven together.”

  I felt the cool ground beneath my knees and the flow of tears from my eyes. Only God.

  TWENTY

  “Cease Thriving and Know that I am God.”

  Psalm 46:10

  The definition of freedom is the state of not being imprisoned or enslaved. I had been in my own private bondage most of my life. The taste of freedom was sweet. To think that I had actually run from the One who had the keys to unlock the chains made no sense to me now. It’s as though I had been given new eyes to see with God; I could experience the one thing I desired all along. I had both peace of mind and peace at heart. The bitterness and anger were gone.

  Jesus Himself said, “Peace I leave with you; My peace I give to you; not as the world gives do I give to you. Do not let your heart be troubled, nor let it be fearful.”

  Forgiveness enabled me to receive what He offered.

  **********

  Troy arrived home from
a meeting at church just in time for dinner. I cherished the time around our table with the four of us. Conversations were always lively and this night was no exception.

  “I’m going to the Ukraine on a missions trip,” Troy announced happily.

  “Wow! No fair!” cried our two adventurous children. “Can we come, too?”

  I nipped that in the bud really quick. It was one thing for Troy to go halfway around the world, but to take my babies was a different story entirely.

  “What are you going to be doing there, build?” I asked.

  “Actually, no. There is a team of ten and we will be working in orphanages,” Troy answered. He shared with us what he had learned at the meeting. “Communism fell in 1992, leaving people without jobs to provide for their families. The government provided food to the orphanages; therefore, desperate parents left their children in these institutions in order to provide food for their starving kids. At one time, there were more than 500,000 orphans in Ukraine alone. Rhonda, do you want to go this time? You love children.”

  “Nope. I will stay here and take care of our own.”

  Before long, his bags were packed once again. We were very proud of him and with anxious hearts awaited his return.

  The two weeks passed quickly and it seemed Troy could not get his bags in the car fast enough. “I have so many things to share with you guys!” he exclaimed.

  For a man of few words, he certainly spewed upon us that night. He described the joy and excitement of the children when the team arrived at each orphanage.

  “We carried candy and stickers in our pockets and tried to communicate as best we could. Honestly, I think they just wanted to be held. Most were hungry for attention.”

  He described to Taylor and Austin how different their lives were from kids in America. Orphans shared clothes that were not washed. Their beds were all lined up in a row; no one had anything they could call their own. Food consisted mainly of potatoes and cabbage, and fruit was a special treat. He tried to explain the smells, but his emotions overcame him. The kids and I sat in silence.