by Chris Fabry
Clara held up a hand and Elizabeth stopped midsentence.
“Elizabeth, just so I know. How much of the one hour we got together today are you gonna spend whining about your husband, and how much are we gonna spend on what the Lord can do about it?”
Elizabeth felt her face grow warm. “I’m sorry, Miss Clara. I just get so wound up the more I think about it.”
“Your thoughts about your husband are almost entirely negative, aren’t they?”
Elizabeth digested the question and realized she was right. But there was a reason she was negative. Tony really did act that way toward her and Danielle. “He acts like an enemy to me,” she said.
Clara leaned forward. “See, you’re fighting the wrong enemy. Your husband certainly has issues, but he’s not your enemy.”
Elizabeth searched the woman’s eyes for some clue, some understanding of what she was saying.
“When I fought against my husband,” Clara continued, “I was fighting against my own marriage and my family. I tried for years to fix Leo, but I couldn’t do it.”
“Well, I’ve gotten nowhere with Tony.”
“’Cause it’s not your job! Who said it was your responsibility to fix Tony? It’s your job to love him, to respect him, and to pray for the man. God knows he needs it.” She raised her voice to a falsetto. “And men don’t like it when their woman’s always trying to fix them.”
Elizabeth chewed on that thought. If it wasn’t her job, who was going to do the fixing? Somebody sure needed to step in. . . .
“Elizabeth, you got to plead with God so that He can do what only He can do, and then you got to get out of the way and let Him do it.”
Elizabeth’s mind whirled. It was a helpless feeling not to try to change Tony. She had done it for years and the problems had only gotten worse. Now she could tell she was being drawn to answers born out of a life tested by time and circumstances. She felt the emotion welling and choked out the words “I don’t even know where to start.”
Clara handed a leather-covered journal to her. “You’ll find some of my favorite Scriptures in there. They were my battle plan to pray for my family. You can start with that.”
Elizabeth opened the journal to the beginning and saw pages filled with writing.
“You’re going to see that there are some verses I wrote out and made personal, plugged in names in different spots. I poured out my heart in those pages. You get your own journal and find your own war room.”
Elizabeth held the journal to her chest. “The house . . . I need to get the yard sign up and . . . so many details.”
Clara leaned forward. “This house is going to sell in God’s good timing. He’s preparing the right person to come along. I believe that with all my heart. But this is more important, Elizabeth. Focus on the battle ahead. And I’ll be right there with you.”
When Elizabeth reached home, she went to her room, passed through the sink area, and opened her closet door. The space would certainly be secluded, but it was much too small and claustrophobic. She had so many clothes, so many shoes. She gave up on the idea and sat at her desk to read through some of the verses Clara had written down. She wasn’t sure of the translation the woman used, but the words seemed to jump off the page at her. She quickly opened her own journal and like a scribe began to copy.
If we confess our sins, He is faithful and righteous to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.
—1 JOHN 1:9
The Lord is near all who call out to Him, all who call out to Him with integrity.
—PSALM 145:18
Rejoice always! Pray constantly. Give thanks in everything, for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.
—1 THESSALONIANS 5:16-18
As she read, she could hear Clara’s voice in her head, the way she said “God” so reverently and with a sense of awe. She would have emphasized the words cleanse and always and constantly.
Elizabeth came to Jeremiah 33:3, which nearly took her breath away.
Call to Me and I will answer you and tell you great and incomprehensible things you do not know.
That’s exactly what Elizabeth wanted. She wanted to know more about God, like Clara. She wanted to experience Him and talk with Him and have God speak to her. Her main concern was Tony, of course—that was the number one request, but she sensed there was more going on inside her than just wanting Tony to shape up. God was drawing her; it was clear to her now.
When she came to Matthew 6:6, it all seemed to come together.
But when you pray, go into your private room, shut your door, and pray to your Father who is in secret. And your Father who sees in secret will reward you.
Elizabeth looked at her closet again. There was something about that sacred space Clara had, a place where she was all alone, could shut the door and silence the rest of the world. And the walls. She could put up reminders in there. Of course God could hear her anywhere she prayed, but if she truly committed to a space like that, if she went to the trouble to clear it out and get on her knees, maybe God would see that and reward a willing heart.
She got up from the desk and walked into the closet, pushing the clothes hangers apart. She turned to the opposite wall and taped her list there, then knelt and looked at it. There were shoes in boxes stacked up before her, so she closed her eyes and began.
“Dear Lord, I don’t know how to do this. I mean, I know You want me to pray. You want me to spend time with You. And I’m going to bring my requests to You now.”
Her knees ached already. She sat back and crossed her legs in front of her.
“Lord, You know that Tony is not the man I want him to be. He’s not the man You want him to be. So I’m putting him right at the top here.”
Her legs started aching. Maybe if she found something to sit on. She retrieved a sturdy storage box with a lid and sat on it, closing her eyes and continuing.
“You know, O God, that he’s angry and doesn’t pay much attention to Danielle and me. He’s hurt her little heart so badly.”
She tipped back and almost hit her head against the built-in dresser behind her, so she sat forward and crossed her legs. She looked at the prayer list again. Where was she? Still on Tony.
Maybe if she brought in the white chair with arms, it would be easier. Yes, that would help. Something with a strong back to it. She put the box away and got the chair and set it next to the prayer list and sat.
She wasn’t sure if she needed to start over again or not. Did God want her to just jump in or did she need to ramp up? Clara had said something about beginning with praise to God rather than just rattling off a list.
“Lord, thanks for this chair. And the house You’ve provided for us. Thank You for my daughter and what You’ve taught me through her.” She paused a moment. “Thank You that You brought Tony and me together, Lord. I don’t think I’ve thought about that for a while. I believe You did bring us together all those years ago.”
Just the thought of thanking God for Tony was foreign to her, but there it was. It slipped out like a compliment she hadn’t intended for someone who didn’t deserve it. Maybe spending time with God like this would really help. She began to have a little hope, but then her backside started to grow numb from the hard seat, so she returned the white chair and found a bean bag in Danielle’s closet that she didn’t use anymore, plopped it on her closet floor, and sank into the beans.
“Lord, thank You for Jesus, for salvation, for the fact that I can be forgiven because of His sacrifice for me. . . .”
She glanced at the shoes in front of her. There was the pair she’d been looking for to go with that black dress. She picked up the shoe and studied it. Shoes held so many stories. She remembered the store where she’d seen this one. She and her friend Missy had been shopping that day and stumbled onto this cute little boutique. These shoes had called to Elizabeth, just whispered her name until she walked down the aisle and found them and tried them on.
She held the shoe close
and sniffed. What an awful smell. She really needed to do something about her foot odor. Maybe if she got online and looked that up, she could find some kind of natural remedy like rubbing orange peels on everything. She had heard of one remedy that was also used after a skunk had sprayed a dog, something about tomato sauce and . . .
Elizabeth glanced back at the prayer list. Where had her mind run? Why was it so hard to stick with the task at hand? She should put her feet up there on the list, but healing them seemed almost as far-fetched as healing her relationship with Tony.
She was amazed at how easily distracted she could be when praying. As soon as she began her conversation with God, something else would creep in. She thought of all the things left undone around the house and things at work. Bills that needed paying, the grocery list she should add to. When she managed to push those thoughts aside, she became hungry and there was no pushing that aside. She crept to the kitchen, listening to Danielle and Jennifer practicing jump rope in the front yard, then retreated again with her snacks.
The front door opened. She heard Danielle and Jennifer in the kitchen talking.
One of the drawbacks of this particular closet was that she could hear just about anything going on in the house. Maybe if she added some music? No, she wasn’t going that direction. Clara didn’t need music to pray. Did she need a sound track in order to get close to God?
“My parents said you could spend the night if your mom was okay with it. We can jump in the pool too.”
“Let me go ask her,” Danielle said.
Elizabeth’s stomach tightened. She had hoped to keep her war room a secret, but only a few minutes after she had finished setting it up, footsteps padded into the room.
“Mom?”
Elizabeth closed her eyes and spoke as if being in her closet were a natural thing. “I’m in here, Danielle.”
The door opened slowly and there was Danielle staring at her and the nearly empty soda bottle and the opened bag of tortilla chips. Danielle’s face told everything.
“Mom, are you okay?” her daughter finally said.
“Yes. What do you need?” She crunched another chip, sitting back on the bean bag chair.
“Why are you eating chips in the closet?”
The tortilla got stuck somewhere in her throat and Elizabeth swallowed hard. “I’m just having some private time, okay?”
The look on the girl’s face was priceless, but Elizabeth kept up the appearance that this was perfectly normal.
“Okay,” Danielle said, sounding unsure. “Jennifer wanted to know if I could spend the night. I already did my chores, and it’s okay with her parents.”
That last part came out a little whiny, but Elizabeth decided to let that go. “All right, but I want you home by lunch tomorrow.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Elizabeth crunched another chip, speaking with her mouth full as Danielle turned to leave. “And, Danielle, don’t tell anybody I was eating chips in this closet.”
Her daughter nodded, then said over her shoulder, “Don’t tell anyone my mom was eating chips in the closet, okay?”
Elizabeth sat up, mortified. “Who are you talking to?”
“Jennifer,” she said, deadpan.
Elizabeth sighed. “Jennifer?”
Jennifer stood beside Danielle now, her arms crossed in front of her and a sheepish look on her face. “Yes, ma’am?”
Elizabeth put the bag of chips beside her on the floor. She’d had no idea the girl was there listening. “I’m asking you not to tell anyone I was eating chips in my closet.”
Jennifer nodded. “Okay.”
“Thank you.”
The two stood there looking at her. Then Jennifer got a curious look on her face. “What’s that smell?”
“That would be my shoes, Jennifer,” Elizabeth said quickly, firmly. “And if you girls would kindly shut the door, you won’t have to smell them anymore.”
Danielle closed the door slowly, the hinges creaking. That was another thing Elizabeth had to do. Oil those hinges.
Elizabeth heard Jennifer whisper as they left, “Is she not allowed to eat chips?”
“I can have all the chips I want,” Elizabeth said loudly. “This is my house!”
She sighed and studied her list. Prayer was a lot more difficult than she thought. And it was a full-time job to hang on to your pride when you were downing a bag of tortilla chips in your war room.
Tony walked down the hall of the Brightwell corporate offices in Charlotte. It was an elegant complex with the best furniture, the best-dressed workers, and a bright future. He spotted a corner office and smiled. If things kept going the way they had been, he would make his home here someday, with a parking space in front as well.
Coleman Young’s secretary, Julia, welcomed him and showed him into the office. She was an older woman with graying hair and dark glasses that framed a kind face. She always seemed to have a smile. Kind but competent and jealous for her boss’s welfare.
“Coleman’s expecting you, and Tom’s in there too,” she said.
“Thanks for the heads-up,” he said.
She laughed. “You’re welcome.”
Coleman was in his late forties, Tony guessed, with thinning salt-and-pepper hair and a neatly trimmed beard. His office sitting area looked out over the city, a view you could expect for the president of such a successful company. Tony buttoned his top button as Coleman rose to meet him. Tom Bennett, one of a long line of Brightwell vice presidents, was slower to rise.
“Tony! How’s my favorite rep?” Coleman said with a smile.
“I’m real good. How are you doing?” Tony said, shaking his hand firmly.
A glint in the man’s eye. “Heard we got the Holcomb account.”
It felt good to hear his boss say the words. Seeing his face light up was icing on the cake. “Yes, we did.”
“That’s fantastic! You did it again.”
“I appreciate that—thank you.”
“Even Tom was impressed, and you know that’s hard to do.”
Tony hadn’t interacted much with Tom Bennett. The man’s demeanor was less than cordial and a little on the suspicious side. He was thin and wiry and always seemed a bit irritable. Was he prejudiced or just an introvert? Who knew? Frankly, Tony didn’t care. He just tried to steer clear of Tom as much as he could and keep selling, keep moving up the ladder at Brightwell.
Tom shook his hand and said, “Good work.” It was halfhearted at best. The handshake seemed like an obligation.
“Thank you.”
“Look, I know you’re on your way home, but we just wanted to say thanks. And you’ve got a nice bonus check coming your way.”
Tony couldn’t hold back the smile. “I like that.”
“Yeah, you do!” Coleman said, reaching out a hand again. “How’s Elizabeth?”
“She’s good.”
“Tell her I said hello.”
“I’ll do it,” Tony said.
“Good to see you,” Coleman said, turning back to Tom.
It was a brief encounter, one of a very few he’d had with the president of the company, but Tony could have floated to the car. It was the best feeling to land a deal and then have people at the company hear about his exploits. The drive home should have felt like a victory lap. It should have been his best day ever. But the prospect of seeing Elizabeth weighed on him. He didn’t want to go through the bickering and nagging he was sure he’d get when he walked in the door. And he didn’t want to tell her about the account and bonus. She’d just use it as another excuse to give money to her sister.
The only thing worse than Elizabeth’s nagging was what he wasn’t receiving. At the start of their marriage, Tony and Elizabeth had what he would call an equal desire for each other. She would initiate some romantic evening with the suggestion of a movie and dinner and everything that came after it. He couldn’t wait to get home from work to be with her, explore everything about her. She was a beautiful woman, inside and out.
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br /> But something had changed when Danielle was born. Elizabeth had become more guarded, and because of their work schedules they spent more time apart. Instead of that daily distance bringing them together when he returned, it kept them isolated. Tony couldn’t remember the last time they had been intimate. Was it a month ago? Two months?
He pulled into the garage and chewed on the inside of his cheek from the tension he felt. No wonder he was looking for action elsewhere. He knew it wasn’t right. He knew he’d made a vow to be faithful. But if it happened, it was her fault. She had pushed him away in so many ways. She had told him he wasn’t living up to her expectations. Couple that with all the fighting over money and how to raise Danielle and it was a miracle the two were still in the same house.
The more he thought about it as he had driven home, the more his stomach tied in knots, and as he turned off the ignition and hit the garage door button, he didn’t even want to go inside. What new complaint would she have? What was the latest thing he had done to scar his daughter? He was sure he’d hear about it at dinner. That and how much money her sister needed.
Elizabeth had entered her closet committed to prayer and exited committed to tackling her foot odor. That was the danger of spending time with God—most of the time you found something else to do. And if she couldn’t have success at prayer, at least she could accomplish something practical. She lined up a dozen pairs of shoes, found her foot spray, and began dealing with each one.
The phone rang and she recognized her sister’s number. It wasn’t long until Cynthia got to the crux of the matter: her husband. She complained about their situation, just like Elizabeth had complained to Clara about Tony. The financial pressure they were constantly under was overwhelming. Cynthia had tried to motivate Darren, but nothing was happening.
“Cynthia, it’s not going to do you any good to fight about it. You can’t get the job for him.”
“Don’t you think I know that?”
Elizabeth tried to calm herself. “Well, is he trying at all? Is he sending out résumés or making calls? Anything?”
“I think so. He leaves in the morning and comes back at night but I don’t know where he’s been or what he’s done. It’s just so hard, Elizabeth.”