Choosing to SEE

by Mary Beth Chapman

  My tidy, forward-motion plans just weren’t coming true.

  We were young. We had never heard of renters’ insurance. The man who owned the building had insurance, of course, for the actual building itself, but he decided to sue us for damages to see if he could get anything from us. The fire happened on April 13, and the only money we had, all $2,200 of it, went to the IRS on April 15 to pay our taxes.

  So when our landlord sent us a bill for $13,000 in damages, Steven and I just stared at each other, devastated. We had always prided ourselves on living within our means and staying debt free. All we had at this point was Emily and a paid-off Honda Civic. I’m not sure what this man thought he was going to get from us.

  Again, friends came to the rescue. Someone in our church connected us with a great lawyer. He got the landlord to agree to a $2,000 settlement. We would pay the guy $50 a month – interest free – for what seemed like a very long time.

  My parents were worn out. They were cleaning, painting, repairing, helping to take care of baby Emily, and going the extra mile for us. Unfortunately, I could see their resentment building up. I felt it too: where in the world were Steven’s parents? They knew about our need, of course, but they hadn’t come.

  On the Sunday afternoon after the fire, we were at our friends’ house doing more laundry, weary and frazzled. Our friends had gone out of town. We looked out the window to see Steven’s mother and grandmother driving up to the house. They were both dressed up in their Sunday church clothes, while my parents were in work clothes, sweaty from toiling away on yet another fire-related project.

  Steven’s mom and grandmother came in, and conversation flowed awkwardly for a little while. There was obvious tension. My mom was exhausted from working so hard and taking care of me. She felt pretty teary and on the verge of a breakdown.

  For my part, I was with my mom, feeling tired, teary, and hormonal. I had been letting bad feelings build up in me without talking with Steven about it all. It felt natural to gravitate toward my parents’ side of things rather than my husband’s. It didn’t help that there stood my mother-in-law in her Sunday best like she was out for a Sunday drive – all the way from Paducah – just stopping by to give hugs and see her new grandbaby.

  All this came to a head and went from tense to loud when someone asked where Steven’s dad, Herb, was. Steven’s mom, Judy, explained that Herb assumed that “no news was good news,” and because he hadn’t heard from Steven, they thought everything was taken care of. It caught her off guard that my mom, dad, and I might have wondered why they hadn’t been here to help.

  My mom was crying and talking, I was “commenting,” Judy felt attacked and got mad at the absent Herb . . . it was a fiasco. My dad stood quietly behind my mom as if to support her, and he definitely didn’t like how the whole thing was coming down. At one point, someone from my side of the family suggested they just take Emily and me and head back to Ohio. It felt as if Steven and I were being split right down the middle.

  The Enemy was having a field day.

  As the conversation escalated, Judy became more and more angry with her own husband. She began to think that Herb really should be with us all. She called him . . . and he said he’d buy us a new refrigerator! It was crazy.

  Suddenly Steven walked into the middle of the room where all the fussing and feuding was spiraling out of control. He flung his hands in the air and shouted at the very top of his lungs, “Satan will not have my family!”

  Absolute silence. We all just stopped and stared at him.

  Well, we all eventually apologized and set things right. But there were issues at hand that should have served as warning flags for my future. I was having a hard time trusting, really trusting, my husband. I looked more to my dad to ride in on his white horse and save the day. I resented disorder and chaos in my life – and I blamed it on Steven.

  Still, we had a lot going for us. We really loved each other, we really wanted Christ at the center of our marriage, and we were young and resilient. So we were able to recover from the fire, though perhaps we didn’t really deal with some of the stuff we discovered in the midst of it. But we moved on to the next thing . . . which, happily, was the opportunity to buy our first home of our own.

  It was the very property we had gone to look at on the day of the fire . . . and this princely estate was ours for the sum of $48,000. It was dingy, sort of creepy, had peeling paint, mold, and rot, and needed a huge hug.

  I went to Lorenz Creative Services, the publishing company, EMI/ Sparrow Records, the publishing and record company, BMI, the performance royalty company, and had letters written predicting the amount of income Steven would generate in the next few years.

  Much to our surprise, the bank gave us the loan based on this forecasted income and our character. This was a huge compliment to Steven, demonstrating how hard he was working and how much promise he was showing to the companies that had invested in him.

  Once we got settled in our little nest, I loved the routines I established. I did laundry on certain days, went to the grocery on certain days, did my cleaning on certain days, worked to promote Steven on certain days . . . it was wonderful.

  The structure gave me a false sense of control that would not hold once our dreams eventually started coming true. As our family grew and Steven’s success took off like a rocket, the wheels started coming off this nice illusion. So, ironically, even as everything in our lives would be spiraling up, my state of mind would spiral down.

  But I’m getting a little ahead of my story.

  7 “Ladies and Gentlemen,

  Please Welcome . . . Caleb!”

  The father of a righteous man has great joy;

  he who has a wise son delights in him.

  May your father and mother be glad;

  may she who gave you birth rejoice!

  My son, give me your heart

  and let your eyes keep to my ways.

  Proverbs 23:24–26

  On the days I had designated as “office” days, I would sit on the end of our bed as my chair. My desk was a piece of linoleum stapled to a rough old gardening table given to us by Steven’s Grandpa Rudd. I’d contact churches to ask – well, beg – for them to have Steven for a concert, saying I was calling from “the office of Steven Curtis Chapman.” And for all they knew, we were a pretty slick operation.

  Steven’s first record – yes, it was released in vinyl – came out in May of ’87. It was called First Hand. His song “Weak Days” went to number two on the Contemporary Christian Music chart. We were optimistic that his career might be taking off.

  Since Emily came bounding into our lives when we were still babies ourselves, we had a brilliant idea. Since we were so young, we should just go ahead and have our children now, so that later down the road we would be hip, young grandparents.

  We didn’t have Peso the pill eater any longer . . . but even so, we were pregnant pretty quickly. We were thrilled.

  But while visiting my family in Ohio, I had a miscarriage. It was scary and sad . . . not what I would ever want to be part of my story.

  I had to have an ultrasound to check things out. They wouldn’t let Steven be with me, and as she was looking at the screen, the technician said, “I can’t tell you were ever even pregnant!”

  I’m sure she didn’t mean to be cruel, but I sobbed, wanting so badly to have Steven by my side. We were twelve weeks along . . . and we believe that we indeed have a child in heaven, waiting to meet us there one day.

  We eventually started trying again to get pregnant. This time I wasn’t going to leave anything to chance. I went to the pharmacy and bought an ovulation predictor kit. I had to wait until my cycle was at a certain point and then start testing my urine to see when it would be optimal ovulation time.

  Well, I arrived at that time . . . and Steven was out of town doing a concert nine hundred miles away.

  I was all business. I called my husband and calmly informed him that it would be a wise decision to come
home, now! He sensed the urgency but also knew that the kit predicted ovulation for up to seventy-two hours.

  “Am I supposed to walk out on stage and tell my audience that I have to go home because you’re ovulating?” he asked.

  “Yes!” I said.

  He didn’t . . . but I was waiting at the airport when he came home, along with some close friends. They had offered to take Emily for us while we spent the evening, well, making up for lost time.

  So, back to Home Sweet Home we went, knelt at the foot of our bed, and asked God to bless us with another child.

  And nine months later, on October 2, 1989, Caleb Stevenson (Steven’s son, get it?) Chapman was born.

  8

  I Will Be Here

  Tomorrow morning if you wake up

  And the sun does not appear

  I, I will be here

  If in the dark we lose sight of love

  Hold my hand and have no fear

  ’Cause I, I will be here

  I will be here when you feel like being quiet

  When you need to speak your mind, I will listen

  And I will be here when the laughter turns to crying

  Through the winning, losing and trying, we’ll be together

  ’Cause I will be here

  Tomorrow morning if you wake up

  And the future is unclear

  I, I will be here

  As sure as seasons are made for change

  Our lifetimes are made for years

  So I, I will be here

  “I Will Be Here”

  Words and music by Steven Curtis Chapman

  One dark and stormy night, Steven’s older brother Herb came rap, rap, rapping at our front door.

  He was wet, upset, and told us that that Steven’s parents were divorcing.

  We were shocked . . . but it wasn’t like it had come out of left field, really. There had been plenty of signs that all was not well with Herb and Judy.

  Still, we never thought it would come to this. Steven’s dad had assured him that they were just working through issues. He said that “divorce is not a word in our vocabulary.”

  So how had it entered their vocabulary?

  We understood stress and hard times in a marriage . . . that was to be expected. Steven was praying for his parents constantly, even asking people during his concerts to join him in prayer for his mom and dad.

  But as we continued to try to walk with Herb and Judy, we started hearing two distinctly different sides of the story. Steven started feeling like he was the parent-counselor to two adolescents. His parents had been his spiritual heroes, and now he was talking to them in pretty candid terms about unhealthy choices they’d been making and how they really needed to do whatever it took to save their marriage.

  “Don’t worry,” his dad said in a phone call. “We’ve signed legal papers, but we’re not divorcing. It’s more of a legal separation. You know how lawyers are. We’re just protecting ourselves.”

  We felt like it was just a matter of time before things slipped further down the slippery slope, and we were right. The next thing we knew, in spite of our daily prayers and earnest conversations with them, Steven’s parents chose to divorce.

  This was devastating for Steven. His parents had been spiritual models for him – and rightly so – after they came to faith in Jesus when he was about seven years old. They had modeled prayer, repentance, commitment to God’s Word, connection to the body of Christ . . . all the right things.

  Further, they had talked through divisive issues in their relationship when Steven was growing up, rather than just sweeping them under the carpet. They had done their best to not let the sun go down on their anger. Even though there were plenty of arguments, his parents usually ended up on their knees together, asking each other for forgiveness and asking God for strength. They had also counseled many other couples who were going through difficult times in their marriages. They loved serving God together in their church.

  So it was pretty surreal for Steven to see them come to the point of divorce. Bit by bit, they had allowed the faith that had held them so tightly, and had saved them so radically, to lose its hold on their hearts. I believe they began to listen to the wrong voice in their heads; subtle lies influenced their decisions, and they couldn’t see how irrational they were becoming.

  In addition, they had lost their commitment to the accountability of their fellowship of believers. As a result of some church politics, the pastor who had been an integral part of their faith journey was asked to leave the church. This eventually led to bitterness, which Herb and Judy kept inside. They gradually slid away from fellowship. Once they were isolated and separated from the group, it was as if Satan had moved in like a lion, now able to take them down as individuals.

  Aside from the terrible sadness we felt for Herb and Judy’s pain, the hard thing was that we had consciously decided, early in our marriage, to model our relationship on theirs. If their relationship was failing, we now had to wrestle with questions about the foundations of our own marriage.

  We had already struggled in our first turbulent years together, and now we realized that just saying “divorce isn’t an option” wouldn’t necessarily protect us. So we began seeking out godly counsel and putting what we called “preventative maintenance” into place.

  We met with our pastor, with counselors, with whoever would meet with us to help us build our marriage as strong as possible. We told these people the truth about what we were feeling and how we were struggling, which was sometimes ugly and sad. We were honest and open because we knew it would only be by the grace of God that we could not just survive but grow. We did not want to be one of those Christian couples where everything seems perfect on the outside, and yet they’re falling apart on the inside. We wanted to be real.

  Steven has always responded to life’s challenges and hurts through his music. Certainly this was the case with the pain of his parents’ divorce. Their breakup was a wake-up call, a catalyst, to say to me that he would not leave me, that in spite of the difficulties we faced, whatever came, we would be together.

  “I will be here,” he promised, and those lyrics were a comfort, a commitment, and a lifeline that would prove vital on the road ahead. So on Mother’s Day 1990, he sat me down. He played me a song, written to me, for me, to encourage me.

  And it did.

  “I Will Be Here”

  Words and music by Steven Curtis Chapman

  I will be here, and you can cry on my shoulder

  When the mirror tells us we’re older, I will hold you

  And I will be here to watch you grow in beauty

  And tell you all the things you are to me

  I will be here

  I will be true to the promise I have made

  To you and to the One who gave you to me

  9

  Crying in the Bathroom

  at Chuck E. Cheese

  “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares

  the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm

  you, plans to give you hope and a future.”

  Jeremiah 29:11

  All had been well with Caleb’s birth, but once he started taking bottles at home we had a problem. He spit up just about everything, and as he got a little older he moved on to projectile vomiting. We were amazed that this itty-bitty baby could hit a wall ten feet away.

  I changed his formula about fifteen times and took him to the doctor repeatedly, and eventually we discovered he had a narrowing of the pylorus, the opening from the stomach into the small intestine. Normally, food passes easily from the stomach into the first part of the small intestine, but because of the blockage, Caleb’s formula had nowhere to go but up, up, and away.

  This condition is easily corrected by surgery . . . but if it’s caught too late, babies can lose weight and eventually even starve to death.

  After the surgery, Caleb was on morphine for about twelve hours . . . and then, when he was finally alert,
he looked at me and smiled. I gave him a tiny bit of formula, and then I knew from the look on his little face that all was going to be well. We still waited for the heave-ho of vomiting . . . but it never came.

  When Caleb was five months old, chubby, happy, and healthy, my brother called me to announce that his wife Yolanda was pregnant with their third child, due on Valentine’s Day. Then Steven’s brother Herbie and his wife Sherri called to say that they were pregnant with their first child, due on . . . February 14th. We decided to all meet at Chuck E. Cheese to celebrate. The children could play for the afternoon, and we could all dine on fine pizza.

  What my extended family didn’t know was that my period was a few days late. Since I was always irregular, I didn’t think much of it. But I did stop at Target on our way to the party and bought a pregnancy test. That way I could be sure that I had nothing to announce to the family.

  At Chuck E. Cheese, I helped Steven get the kids settled at a table, and then I headed off to the bathroom with my little science experiment. In the distance I could hear the mayhem of the restaurant, but there in the bathroom stall it was just Mary Beth and God. I stared at the test-kit applicator. It turned positive a nanosecond after it met my urine.

  I sat there, staring, not moving. Then the tears began to stream down my face.

  “Oh, God!” I wept. “I shouldn’t be upset. This is new life!”

  Then I pictured baby Caleb, all plump and happy, just five months old.

  “It was so hard to get pregnant after Emily, how did this happen?” I asked God. “I mean, I know how it happened, but . . . I’m not ready!”

  I was afraid, elated, mad, sad, thrilled, and confused, all in one minute in that stall at Chuck E. Cheese.

  The pain of my last C-section was fresh in my mind, and I still hadn’t regained my strength after Caleb’s medical issues and surgery. Steven’s career was taking off, and that meant he was literally taking off, often away from home for long stretches of time. I knew that being pregnant was a great gift . . . but having another child so soon after Caleb was not my plan. What was God doing?