by Diane Moody
She tossed the poker back into its place and began to pace. Back and forth, back and forth. “Look at me! I’m like a wild animal here.” She stopped in her tracks at the sound of her voice. “But who cares? I’m all alone here. Who cares if I sound like a raving lunatic? I can pace if I want to!”
It felt odd to talk out loud like this. Then again, it felt good. Real good.
“Hey! I can shout out loud if I want to! I can talk to myself, I can stomp all over the room, I can even scream if I have to!” She nodded in satisfaction with her new-found freedom and continued her pacing. “This is good. This is good.
“Okay, Lord, I’m ready. You asked for it. Well, here it is.” Rubbing her hands together, she took several deep breaths, bolstering her courage. “I am sick to death of being a pastor’s wife.
“There. I said it!” She blew out a lungful of air. “In fact, I might as well be totally honest. I absolutely despise being a pastor’s wife. I love David—at least the David I used to know—but I abhor the role I’ve been forced to accept just because I married him. I know, I know. I didn’t object when He answered Your call into the ministry. We both accepted that call. We were so sure it was what You wanted us to do. To devote our lives to serving You by leading a church family. Ministering to their needs. Using our talents and gifts to care for Your people.
“But I’m not so sure any more.
“Maybe we were just young and idealistic. Maybe we were caught up in the emotional whirlwind of it all and somehow misunderstood what You wanted us to do. Maybe You only meant for us to be active members of a church. Use those same gifts but not necessarily as pastor and wife. I don’t know, but all I do know is for the last year or so I’ve grown to hate it. I hate it.”
Her words tumbled out in rapid succession to her unseen Audience. “I hate it because everything that’s good and right about church is constantly overshadowed by the negatives. For every sweet child or dear widow who comes to give their heart to You, there are ten others who find some kind of sick pleasure in tearing each other’s eyeball’s out. They’d rather burn up the phone lines spreading all kinds of ridiculous lies about each other. They call it ‘sharing prayer concerns.’ Oh God, how I’ve come to hate that stupid phrase. It’s nothing more than pure gossip and they all know it.
“Of course, it’s basically open season on anyone at all, but the target usually finds its way back to David in one way or another. Why is that? Just because he’s the pastor? Because he’s kind and considerate and approachable? Everybody loves David. So why do they pick on him all the time?”
The cabin grew quiet as the verbal outburst gave way to pounding thoughts. It wouldn’t be so difficult to handle if they were just open and honest with us. Tell us what they dislike or why they’re upset. But why is it Christians seem to prefer the back door when it comes to criticism? They call me under some false pretense to take a back-handed slap at my husband. They pick on our kids unmercifully instead of coming directly to us if they have a problem or complaint. I mean, who in their right mind would harass an eight year old child just because they don’t like the color of carpet his father approved for the new sanctuary? Or who would bother complaining to the pastor’s teenage son just because they don’t like the turn of a phrase in the Sunday sermon? Or just because they have some bone to pick with David, why would someone accost me in the parking lot at the grocery store—
Annie stopped, the memory burning in her mind. Her chest heaved with the anger. She wiped her brow, surprised to find it damp with perspiration.
“Oh God, forgive me,” she whispered. “I sound like such a whining child. Here I am, wailing and grumbling about each and every little burr that has pricked me at one time or another. I’m no better than any of them, am I? Oh God, how tired You must be of hearing me whine.”
She took another lap, slowly passing the fireplace, deciding to give the blaze another jab or two. The words continued pouring out, like a dam unleashing its fury. “For so long I’ve put on my little mask and marched off to church every time the doors opened. Ever the happy little pastor’s wife. Always careful to hide behind a plastered smile, even at times when my heart was breaking into a thousand tiny pieces. When I was missing David so much I could hardly function. Playing the part, going through the motions, and hating myself for the lie I was living. I constructed this huge wall around myself to try and keep the hurt out. To protect myself from the arrows aimed at my David and the kids and myself.
“And I’m so tired of having to stay on constant guard against potential friendships that might prove traitorous, when all I wanted was someone to be my friend. I need a true friend. Is that so much to ask? Yes, I know I have friends—people I have lunch with, go to Bible study with. But sometimes I need someone to talk to. Someone I can open my heart to. Someone who won’t use our friendship for some hidden personal agenda.”
She plopped down on the sofa, tired of her treks around the room. She grabbed a throw pillow, wrapping her arms around it. “It’s even worse to sit by and watch when someone befriends David for all the wrong reasons. David, with a heart the size of Texas, who never met a stranger and tries to believe the best of everyone. How many times has he been betrayed? Only men play the game a lot tougher. They use a whole different strategy.
David, take the afternoon off and let me take you out to the club for some golf.
David, I want you and Annie to come over to my dealership and pick out any new car on my lot! It’s my gift to you—a way to say thank-you for all your hard work!
David, you and Annie come by sometime and pick out some house plans to best suit your needs. I’ll build it for you at cost. After all, you deserve it!
Pastor! We want you and your family to join us for a week of skiing up at Vail! Our treat!
“It all sounds so nice and generous and innocent. But it always backfires. It’s nothing more than a bribe. A power play.” Annie pounded her fist into the pillow, harder and harder. Faster and faster.
“What makes it even more disgusting is this, this ‘residue’ of suspicion it leaves on my heart. There are so many wonderful people—folks who have hearts filled with nothing but genuine love, whose only ambition is to honestly serve. No strings attached. No hidden agendas. They’re just human extensions of Your love in everything they do. Yet I find myself immediately skeptical of everyone who comes along. They’re completely unaware of the fact they must prove themselves to me before earning my trust. And I utterly hate myself for even having to doubt their sincerity.
“Oh Lord! Why do You put up with it? If it makes me this crazy, it’s got to be exasperating to You!”
She threw the pillow aside, jumping up to reach for the poker again, nervously tapping it against the stone hearth. “I just don’t get it. How did Christians get so screwed up? When did we all stop living in your love and start being so cruel to each other? Surely you despise all this skepticism and criticism and suspicion a lot more than I do. You never meant for it to be like this, did You? Why don’t you just—I don’t know, send another flood or something. Or blast us out of here. Just be done with us, once and for all.”
She stopped beating the hearth when she noticed tiny chips of stone flying with each strike. She carefully put the poker back into the stand with the other fireplace tools. She stared into the dancing flames, losing herself in the silence. Minutes slipped by.
Suddenly, she noticed her thoughts drifting away from all the disappointments of church life and hitting much closer to home.
David.
The ache in her chest was real. When did we cross the line, David? Did we even know it? When did you sell your soul to the church? Do you remember when it happened? When the line between serving God and serving the institution became so completely blurred? When did it enslave you? When did it bind you in chains so strong, you stopped trying to fight it?
When did it blind you from seeing the family you left behind? Blind you to what we once had? Do you even realize you’re never home? Never av
ailable? I know your work is important. Your ministry is important. I get that. But don’t we even register on the radar screen anymore? Can you remember the last time you worked us into your schedule? Made even the slightest effort to get home on time or have dinner with us?
And what about us? You and me. Can you tell me the last time we went out, just the two of us? Can you tell me the last time you even thought of me more than just in passing? For more than a quick kiss on the cheek on your way out the door? Or to hand me a list of social appearances we have to make dictated by the church calendar?
A sob caught in her throat. The tears burned trails down her cheeks. David, do you have any idea how long it’s been since you held me in your arms? Since you made love to me?
Annie buried her head in her arms and cried. The sobs racked her body until she thought she would be sick. Her head throbbed, but the tears kept coming.
Finally, completely drained, she raised her head. She wiped her tears with the quilt, still trying to catch her breath. Mentally, she steeled herself against the pain. She closed that door, unable to face another second of so much sorrow.
Forcing her mind to change tracks, she faced one last frontier. This time, her words stammered out in a hushed whisper. “But worse than all of that, God—what bothers me most . . . is that I’ve lost You.” The lump in her throat caught her words. “I’ve lost you because of all this.” The flames hissed against her silence. “And I can’t seem to find my way back.”
She tried to take a deep breath, but couldn’t. “God, I need you so much. Please let me find You.”
Annie finally collapsed. The process had begun. The suffocating burdens in her heart were now laid out on the altar of her soul. She fell back into the open arms of the easy chair, thoroughly spent and exhausted. Surprisingly, she found it difficult to regain control of her breathing. It seemed as if her heart itself would surely tear away, unanchored from her soul.
When at last the storm inside her began to subside, she sat in silence, absorbed by the truths she had finally forced herself to confront. She waited. Patiently at first, then not so patiently.
Where was the peace? Shouldn’t there be some kind of relief flooding over her now? Some afterglow of satisfaction for her unveiled confession? A feeling of accomplishment for facing this monster she had avoided for so long?
God, where are You?
Nothing. Only a chilled numbness. Even the quiet voice of the Lord had vanished in a deafening hush. Annie pleaded, screaming through stunned anger, “GOD, WHERE ARE YOU!”
Only the soft ticking of the clock echoed her pleas. The silence filled her with frightening doubt. This was not how it was supposed to happen. She was not even close to feeling any sense of resolution. Instead, she was even more confused than ever before.
And deeply, deeply disappointed.
CHAPTER 9
Seminole, Florida
“Dad? What’re you doing home? Are you sick or something?” Max yelled from the kitchen. After bursting through the back door after school, he had peeked around the corner at his father stretched out on the sofa in the family room.
“I guess you could say that, Max. But I’ll be all right,” David answered, trying to sound much more positive than he felt. He sat up and rubbed his eyes. “How was school today?”
“All right, I guess. But I could kill Mr. Harrison. He kept needling me in class today. The whole hour! He kept asking me all these outrageous questions. I didn’t finish reading the chapter last night because I had to study for my Advanced Latin exam. So I couldn’t answer all his stupid questions to his satisfaction. What a jerk!”
“Max—”
“But Dad, he really is a jerk! He’s like, ‘Mr. McGregor, one would think that a pastor’s son could see the importance of understanding economics.’ Max donned the imaginary and quite sarcastic posture of his teacher, complete with proper voice intonation. ‘After all, good stewardship is one of the fundamentals of being a good Christian. Perhaps you should spend some time discussing this subject in depth with your father. I’m sure he has an acute perception when it comes to fiscal responsibility.’ Then he peers over his half-glasses sitting on that schnauze of his and says ‘If not, perhaps you can enlighten him on the basics, Mr. McGregor.’ I wanted to smack those glasses right off his big fat face!”
“Whoa there, buddy. That’s a little harsh, don’t you think? Granted, I don’t appreciate his comments, but I don’t want to hear any more of this ‘jerk’ business or regrets because you didn’t punch him out. Got it?”
“Yeah, but Dad—”
“No buts, Max. I mean it. Whether you like the man or not is beside the point. You may not enjoy being picked on like that—and I don’t blame you. But I want you to show respect to him if for no other reason than the fact he’s your teacher.” David stood up and squeezed the shoulder of his oldest son. “You can’t stoop to that level. Just don’t let him get to you. It isn’t worth it, believe me.”
“But Dad, listen to me. He’s always taking shots at you. It makes me sick. And it’s not fair. If he doesn’t get along with you, he shouldn’t hassle me because of it.”
David stood face to face with Max who stretched only an inch shorter. He grasped both of his shoulders. “Trust me, Max. It just isn’t worth it to get that upset. Old Chet has been giving me fits since my first day on the job here. For some reason, which God only knows, he apparently feels called to be our resident devil’s advocate. Every church has at least one, and Chet Harrison is ours.
“When Dr. Billings died, a year before we came here, Chet moved himself into a position of leadership while the church was without a pastor. He pretty much called all the shots. He hired the interim pastors, he oversaw the day-to-day details in the office, took care of the payroll, you name it. And I’m sure he enjoyed having a free run of power in the process. Naturally, a lot of folks admired him for such a ‘sacrifice’ of his time and effort. They looked up to him and rallied behind him.
“He was also chairman of the search committee for a new pastor, of course. And initially, Chet and I hit it off pretty well. I think he really liked me. Must have, or I’m sure it wouldn’t have been a unanimous vote. But not long after I came, we began to butt heads. Chet realized I wouldn’t be the puppet he hoped I’d be, and he began to fight me on every issue that came up.
“Then the final straw was when I steered the building committee away from choosing his son’s company to build the new sanctuary. I had done my research and learned that Junior’s company had a bad reputation in Pinellas County. You wouldn’t believe some of the stories I heard about him. I wasn’t about to lead this church into that kind of fiasco. And old Chet has never gotten over it. He’s not used to having someone stand up to him, and he can’t handle it.
“I tell you all that to say this—just try to ignore his little digs and do your best in his class. However, I don’t expect you to have to fight my battles for me in his classroom. If you think his attitude bleeds over into unfair grading on your papers or tests, you let me know about it. I’ll have a talk with him and settle that before it gets out of hand. Sound fair enough?”
“Yeah, whatever. I’ll be so glad to get out of that class once this semester is over.” Max’s voice became noticeably more quiet. “Hey, Dad, what’s going on with Mom? Gran tried to make some kind of explanation to us at dinner last night, but I didn’t exactly buy it.”
David walked over and sat down on the large brick hearth. Max followed, sitting beside him. He pressed on. “I mean, Jess and Jeremy might not put two and two together, but I can see something’s up. Mom would never just up and take off without saying good-bye to us. And it’s obvious you’re really upset about something too. I mean, look at you—you’re never home, let alone the middle of the day! I just wish you’d give me a little credit and stop treating me like I’m five years old. If something’s wrong, I want to know, Dad.”
David patted his son on the knee and rested his hand there. He smiled, stealing a side
ways glance at the young man beside him. “I wish you could understand how hard it is to sit back and watch your son becoming a grown man right before your eyes. It can be a little overwhelming at times. Doesn’t seem like that long ago that you were splashing around the pool with those bright orange floaties on your little arms.”
Max rolled his eyes and laughed. “Dad, give me a break. I’m almost seventeen. I’m not a little kid anymore.”
“You can say that again.” He squeezed his son’s upper arm. “Get a load of these now, will ya’? Move over, Schwarzenegger.” His weary smile did little to answer Max’s questions. “No, seriously, Max—I know you’re old enough to have a better explanation than what you heard last night. I suppose I should have spoken to all three of you. The problem is, I don’t even really understand it.”
David was up again, adjusting books here, a slightly crooked picture frame there. He took a swipe of dust off the armoire that housed the television, then wiped his hands together. “Max, you mother is going through a rough time right now. From everything she’s said, it sounds to me like she thinks she’s about to have some kind of emotional breakdown.”
“Mom? No way. You’ve got to be kidding! She seems fine to me. Maybe a little more tired than usual, but that’s no shock. We keep a pretty hectic schedule around here. Not to mention all the stuff at church. But she’s never let on that anything was wrong. Are you sure, Dad?”
“Unfortunately, yes. She left me a note. She—”
“A note? You mean, you didn’t know she was leaving?”
“No, I didn’t know. She left without telling me. I didn’t know until last night when I got home and found the note she’d left me.”
“So where’d she go? Have you called her?”