When

Everything

Falls Apart:

Two Leg Bones

or a Piece of an Ear

The True Stories of Faith, Hope and Charity

Edited By C. E. Ellicott

Sweetwater Still

Oklahoma, USA

Visit Sweetwater Still Publishing at www.sweetwaterstill.com

When Everything Falls Apart: Two Leg Bones or a Piece of an Ear Š 2011 the true stories of Faith, Hope and Charity, edited by C. E. Ellicott. All rights reserved. Cover and interior design by Sweetwater Still Publishing. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior written permission of the copyright holder, except brief quotations used in a review.

Unless otherwise noted, scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version (NIV) Copyright Š 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

(NKJV) Scripture taken from the New King James Version. Copyright Š 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

"I Don’t Care Where You’ve Been Sleeping," copyright 1977 by Don Francisco; used with permission. All rights reserved.

Notice: Names and other identifying information in this book have been changed to protect the children.

ISBN: (e-book) 978-0-9843599-1-2

Published by Sweetwater Still Publishing

PO Box 586

Colcord, Oklahoma 74338

Faith, Hope and Charity are real women -- your sisters in Christ. For the sake of their children, names and identifying details have been changed, but their stories are true.

Your sisters have shared their struggles with you, that they might also share their triumphs. They’re praying that this book will help you overcome the hard things in your life.

Please pray for them as well.

"Highly encouraging if you've ever felt disappointed or heartbroken -- or if you've ever wondered if God has left you."

Anonymous Suffering Sister

Check out the Study Guide in the back!

If the MESSAGE in this book IMPACTS you: spread the word, share your book, encourage your friends, family and church to study it in a small reading group or Bible study setting.

WHERE THERE'S FAITH, THERE'S HOPE . . . GOD'S LOVE NEVER FAILS.

"Watch out for false prophets. They come to you in sheep's clothing, but inwardly they are ferocious wolves. By their fruit you will recognize them. Do people pick grapes from thornbushes, or figs from thistles? Likewise every good tree bears good fruit, but a bad tree bears bad fruit. A good tree cannot bear bad fruit, and a bad tree cannot bear good fruit. Every tree that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire. Thus, by their fruit you will recognize them.

"Not everyone who says to me, 'Lord, Lord,' will enter the kingdom of heaven, but only he who does the will of my Father who is in heaven. Many will say to me on that day, 'Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy in your name, and in your name drive out demons and perform many miracles?' Then I will tell them plainly, 'I never knew you. Away from me, you evildoers!'

"Therefore everyone who hears these words of mine and puts them into practice is like a wise man who built his house on the rock. The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house; yet it did not fall, because it had its foundation on the rock. But everyone who hears these words of mine and does not put them into practice is like a foolish man who built his house on sand. The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house, and it fell with a great crash."

Jesus Christ

Everything

That Can Fall

By Faith

Chapter One

They say anger builds to a boiling point and then, like an uncapped radiator, it blows, burning anyone ignorant or concerned enough to be nearby. They say a lot of things and sometimes I agree. Anger can also be like a dog puking on the rug. It stinks, leaves a stain, and someone else is left cleaning up the mess.

But I'm better acquainted with a silent moaning rage that eats you from the inside out. At first it's magic armor -- a hot rush that soothes and numbs the pain -- but use this balm one too many times and the rush cools. You're now ice cold and still numb. You see your life through a smoky haze but you can't feel it -- not even the good parts.

You remember vaguely that you once loved -- little girls love and dream big -- but you can't remember what it was like and you don't care. When you realized he didn't really love you back, and suspected he doesn't even like you, something slipped away.

Now part of you is gone.

Entry from Faith's Journal

Prayerfully written on November 21, 2006:

Oh, dear God, protect my children. They don't deserve this . . .

This journal will be called the dreaded black book with too much information in it. I always avoided putting too much truth in other journals for the sake of my kids. What if they read them?

But I can't help it anymore. I have to put the truth on paper. It's November 21, 2006 and my marriage is toxic. It sucks all the life out of me and I fear it's doing the same to our children. We're in a deep pit . . . and we've been here too many times to count.

There. I finally admitted the truth in black ink that can't be erased.

I was sitting here worrying again. Our children are due home soon and I'm worried because their father -- their adoptive father, my beloved -- is in a pathetic state again. Stinking drunk, out of his mind, again. I'm agonizing, as I've been for a while now. But suddenly I'm realizing just how many years this has been going on. I remember this same sick scene playing over and over . . .

The first time it got really bad our oldest daughter was nine months old. She's nine years old now.

Enough is enough. Gabe gets worse every year. He surrounds himself with danger, drug addicts, crazy people with loaded guns . . . and sleazy women. I've been weak and foolish. I've allowed this circus for years!

Gabe has a problem and he's manipulated and shifted the blame on me all these years. When he blamed me, I accepted it. I let my frustrated, imperfect spiritual state cloud the issues. But it's a new day.

Yes, I've been angry, mean and vicious -- even brutal and profane in my heart since 3 a.m., Saturday when Gabe stumbled home too drunk to function. I admit I'm a sinner, a mad, crazy sinner but I can finally see clearly. This is not about me! I feel freedom, at last, knowing that I don't need to change something about me, this time.

I don't believe God is asking anything of me, except to be strong and faithful and to choose what's best for our children. Forget mothering Gabe; he's an adult.

I'm so sorry. Oh, dear God, protect my children above all else. They don't deserve this. Gabe must make some serious decisions this week. He'll have to choose to honor and love God and us, or choose to love and honor his addiction and himself . . . without us.

My precious children, when you read this I pray that we're still an intact family. I'd sooner die than make you deal with the divorce of your parents. But it isn't my choice.

So many people are praying for us. I've never doubted your father was the one God intended for me. But God didn't intend for me to sacrifice your safety and happiness to mother a willful, grown man. I love him dearly and could live my entire life with him, but only if he's sober.

My beautiful children, I write this for clarity's sake. Please don't be deceived about me. I'm trying to be more -- for your sake -- but I'm just a person, a sinner saved by grace. Many marriages struggle; this just happens to be your parents' struggle.

The end of the story is yet to be written . . . I hope it has a happy ending. If it doesn't, I'm so very sorry and I pray you'll be okay.

Chapter Two

My name is Faith. I married my husband Gabe when I was twenty-two. Before that we dated for two and a half years. The very first night that I met Gabe we talked about God and children. It was different and refreshing. He was different and refreshing.

Gabe was vibrant, beautiful and passionate -- like a catchy song and a fast rhythm. He was powerfully built with dark bronze beauty and a charming grin. He spoke about God and confidently called himself a believer. He'd attended a private Christian high school and even spent one year of college at a well-known Christian University, he said.

We became a couple, then we lived together. We were playing house; I was Malibu Barbie and he was a taller, darker and wittier version of Ken. Life was a pursuit of enjoyment. We both called ourselves Christians, but we lived life as we pleased. We lived together because we wanted to. We drank too much and hit the clubs on the weekends because we wanted to. We were all about chasing fun and entertainment and doing what we wanted to.

After two and a half years we married. A couple of months later I got pregnant. Though we felt like kids ourselves, we wanted children. It was both exciting and scary.

Around ten weeks of pregnancy the baby died and I miscarried. Gabe and I went on as though this were a blip on the radar. We resumed our life of working and playing and doing whatever pleased us.

After two more years of living for ourselves, we purposely tried to get pregnant again. We succeeded in the second month. We felt more prepared this time and looked forward to our new family member.

At around fourteen weeks of pregnancy -- the day after Thanksgiving -- I miscarried.

This loss was harder, but we resumed our lives, thinking we'd try again right away. Month after month passed and I didn't conceive. It was around this time that I started to realize I wasn't in control of my own life. God used my inability to get pregnant to draw me back into His presence. I started reading my Bible and praying. I begged God to answer my heart's cry for a baby.

"God, I want a child. Please, Lord, let me be a mother," I prayed again and again. And again.

He didn't give me the answer I'd asked for, but He definitely heard and answered me. And what a surprising answer it was! I was praying and reading the Bible to find out how to get what I wanted, but instead God showed me who He was and what He wanted. He showed me that my previous faith was what the Bible called dead. I was humbled, yet it was a powerful and healing revelation. Instead of resenting God, I began to desire to know Him. As I began to know Him, I was changed radically from the inside out. It was a miraculous, pivotal time in my life.

This also became a pivotal time in my marriage.

Gabe liked life the way we'd been living it. But now I preferred my new life as a growing Christian. The two were not conducive. For awhile it looked like my deepening love for Jesus would be the end of my closeness with Gabe.

I cried, I prayed, I worried. I refused to be part of the things we used to do together and Gabe was bitter.

But Gabe was a believer too and as I changed, he also changed. Together we made plans for the future -- plans as two Christians serving the Lord.

Chapter Three

". . . Jesus said, ‘It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. But go and learn what this means: 'I desire mercy, not sacrifice.' For I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners.’" Matthew 9:12-13

October, 2002

My name is Faith, but you can just call me Mom. Nearly everybody else does.

As the resident Mom, I woke earlier than the tribe so I'd have a quiet moment alone. Nearly thirteen years had passed since I met my husband. Now, watching him sleep during those last minutes before the alarm rang, I was overcome with feelings for this man. He was lovely -- in a strong, vibrant male sort of a way -- and oh, so incredibly dear to my heart. Our life together hadn't been easy, but no denying this was a beautiful season.

It was a warm morning in San Antonio and the air was filled with the sweet smell of rain. The chill of winter hadn't come yet, but the searing heat of summer had let up at last. I stepped out onto our back patio, feeling the early sun in the tiles beneath my feet, enjoying the rare silence. Eyes closed, I breathed in the air and prayed quietly.

"Thank You, Father," I said aloud, "for this gorgeous day,

for my sweet children, for my loving husband. You've blessed me beyond belief!"

All too soon my quiet moment dissipated and the morning race was on. Gabe and I were the proud parents of four adopted children by this time. We also worked with a Christian adoption agency as their resident house-parents in their children's home; Gabe worked in their office too, as case manager for foster homes. This morning contained the usual chaos of any given weekday morning in our home: eight kids eating breakfast, trying to find clean clothes, packing their lunches, filling their backpacks with their homework and catching their buses at various intervals, depending on their age and what school they attended.

By 8:30 a.m. the house was quieter. Now I had only our four-year-old daughter, three-year-old son and six-month-old baby girl to get ready. I stopped for a short breath and the preschoolers and I played a quick game of tag through the enormous house the Lord had provided for this ministry. After our short but precious time of silliness we quickly moved on, bathing and dressing for the day.

At 9 a.m. I was at the adoption agency and the staff meeting began. It was Gabe's turn to teach the devotional Bible lesson. We sat in an informal circle while Gabe read through various scriptures, highlighting the importance God places on truth.

"God desires that we bring our children up in the truth," he said, "so that when they're old they won't depart from it."

So true! my heart said. So true, and not nearly as easy as it sounds!

Thank God we were in this together. Thank You, Jesus for giving me a godly husband. I praised my God for times like this, when I could sit and hear Gabe read the scriptures, exhorting us to pursue God's plan for our lives. I knew all too well the fear that my loved ones -- the children, but also Gabe -- may not choose that path. I knew the utter hopelessness of loving someone who seemed to be going astray. So when my beloved encouraged others to stay in the truth and raise their children in the truth, my fearful heart felt such peace.

After the meeting I kissed Gabe goodbye; he had work at the office and I had to prepare for a foster mom's luncheon just a few hours away.

With our busy lives and so many kids to watch over, time alone together didn't happen unless we made it a priority and created it. We'd been fortunate the night before to have my friend Deborah watch the children so we could get away on what we called our "date night". In the past couple of years God had blessed me with many like-minded friends, but Deborah and I had grown a special bond. If anyone could hold down a fort the size of the children's home, it was Deborah -- her broad shoulders, sailor's stance and wild red curls made even the most daring of our kids think twice about acting out. Deborah was a solid friend, always there when I needed her. Likewise, I'd drop anything if she needed me.

On our date Gabe and I had a wonderful time playing racquetball together, as we'd done since our first date years ago. It was a beautiful testament to God's power that Gabe and I had such a close relationship. There were times through the years that I'd feared we wouldn't make it. Now, watching my handsome husband -- my partner and best friend -- race after the ball and throw me that teasing grin as we played, I was filled with joy -- fulfilled, happy, and blessed beyond measure.

After racquetball we grabbed some ice cream from our favorite shop and drove to a beautiful parking spot overlooking the city. Due to our workload, sometimes we just parked on our date nights, held each other and slept in the car. This night we talked. Gabe shared some of the situations he'd encountered as case manager over foster families. He was well-respected and liked by his families and by his co-workers. I was proud of him. But more than that, I thanked God for strengthening Gabe's skills and then so graciously leading us to this agency. Seeing how Gabe handles the teens in our home, I know God has gifted him.

"It's amazing how you interact with the children," I said. "I love to watch you." The evening was filled with sweet conversation.

This wasn't always the case for us. We'd struggled to communicate and Gabe usually wasn't one for details. Sometimes the things left unsaid were far more than just details. Like the time he told everyone at the office that he wanted us to adopt one of the little girls in our care, but he failed to tell me. I'd ached to adopt this precious child! I'd been all but holding my breath waiting for Gabe's decision. But day after day, he said nothing. I first heard that Gabe desired to adopt her through one of his co-workers.

The breath I'd been holding was nearly knocked out of me.

Gabe wasn't the only one who struggled to communicate. I'd fought the tendency to stay quiet when God urged me to share, or the desire to vent when the Spirit whispered:

Hold your tongue.

Despite our closeness, it seemed there was still a lack of trust between Gabe and I. I wasn't sure why and didn't know how to fix it. However, God answers prayers and I'd prayed that things would continue to grow sweeter and sweeter with time.

Upon returning home from our date night, I took another look at what I'd written for the upcoming foster mom's luncheon. I'd been asked to share my testimony, but wasn't sure what to say, or how to say it. Just because I was in the ministry, providing foster care and spiritual guidance to so many children, didn't mean I felt up to the job. Sharing my testimony suggested that I was claiming my spiritual life was in perfect working order. The truth was I fumbled around every day trying to figure out how to meet the needs of my husband, my adopted children, and multiple foster children.

Put in this position, I was constantly reminded of my weakness. I begged Jesus to equip me with His strength and give me His wisdom. I wasn't sure how to explain that. I looked over my notes a few more times before putting them away, then snuggled up next to my husband in bed and fell asleep.

I was still fretting about giving my testimony when the day arrived. I don't like speaking in front of groups. The message in my notes is rarely what I actually end up saying. But it was too late to worry about what might come out of my mouth.

You and I together, Lord, we'll get this thing done.

I walked into the luncheon and was awed by the elegant tearoom, with china, flowers and delicate lace tablecloths. We foster moms rarely get a treat like this! I scanned the room, looking for Deborah, hoping she'd say a fortifying prayer with me before I was on. She hadn't arrived yet, but I saw several veteran mothers I knew, and quite a few that I didn't -- yet. When the mulling was over, I sat next to my boss's wife Jana; her bright face and peaceful demeanor calmed me.

In Jana's prior ministry she and her husband lived in a home with 14 children. I cherished and needed her wisdom and encouragement for my demanding life. My friend Charity sat on the other side of me. She was just beginning a foster mom's support group. As the sign-up sheet was passed around the tables, I added my name to the list. Fostering can be lonely -- friends and relatives can't relate. More times than I can count people have looked at me and said, "You do foster care? Oh, you must be a saint!" After awhile you stop trying to explain, try not to roll your eyes and just let them think you're an oddity. Maybe you are. Anything that brings us all together is a blessing. Besides, I was still learning all the ins-and-outs of foster care and I knew there were others with more experience. I hoped they'd join too.

After introductions and a bit about each of the moms present, Jana introduced me. "Faith and Gabe are the house-parents you've been reading about in our newsletter updates on the progress of the children's home," she said. "She's agreed to share with you. I asked for a testimony and whatever else the Lord gives her to say."

I stood up, prayed and then opened my mouth, just as curious to hear what would come out as those who were listening.

"It's an honor to speak to so many women whom I admire," I said. "So many women who might understand me better than many of my lifelong friends or my relatives." Just then Deborah snuck in the door and took her seat, flashing me a warm grin and a thumbs up. I smiled back, then continued. "Sometimes I catch myself getting ready to whine to the Lord, 'Oh, no, another child? Now? But, Lord, I'm not ready for another child; I have enough already!' Then I stop and apologize," I said. "I'm sure God remembers when I was whining because I thought I would never, ever, ever be a mother!"

The ladies smiled, laughed and nodded their heads. I continued, "God is an immovable rock -- He doesn't change. I'm weak, tossed backward, frontward and upside down by my circumstances. Yet whether I'm flighty, fickle, or confused, my Jesus remains a strong tower and a steady friend."

I told the ladies about my rebellious years, our failed pregnancies and how God used them as the tool to bring me back to a place of hungering and thirsting for Him.

"'It isn't the healthy who need a doctor,' Jesus said, 'but the unhealthy.' The very things that prove to me I'm inadequate are like trusted friends. They confront me, they frustrate me, they break me . . . but they bring me closer to the Great Physician, to experience His love and healing. In that season when I despaired, with my mother-longings unfulfilled, He didn't give me a baby right away, but He gave me all I needed to proceed through life with hope and contentment," I said. "I was fortified through studying the Bible. Through reading the Old Testament and His covenants He taught me who He is and what He's capable of.

"During the precious time that my arms were empty, God healed me from the scars my rebellion had caused. In a world that rips and tears at you, I'd grown hard. He melted my heart so I could feel His love again," I said. "Then, just two years after I'd first cried out to Him asking for a baby to love, God put a beautiful baby girl in my arms through adoption . . . thirteen months later He handed me a son. A year later we were asked if we would consider the position of house parents for a new foster children's home."

As I spoke the warm afternoon light filled the tearoom with a glow. The small but mighty group of mothers listening all shared a secret smile with each other and with me, the type of look that says, we understand. You're not an oddity. You're a child of God, walking hand-in-hand with your Heavenly Father.

When I finished speaking, the ladies clapped graciously for me. Then Deborah, my heart-friend, stood up, her face beaming.

"He makes the barren woman a happy mother of children," she said. "Many, many children."

Sweet laughter filled the room.

Chapter Four

Four years later

November 25, 2006

Four days after journal entry:

It was date night again and Gabe and I were playing racquetball.

Whack! Gabe's strong arm sent the ball careening off the concrete wall; it smacked the wall then whizzed at me, just missing my head. I was slow tonight. My legs felt like lead. I was drained from the past week and a sense of dread lay heavily on me. My close friends felt it too and they'd been praying.

But at last I felt prepared, or as prepared as I'd ever be. I believed God had pushed, prodded and prepared me to confront Gabe about his drinking. No backing down this time!

Although Gabe was still a case manager at the adoption agency, we no longer worked or lived at the children's home. That had been a beautiful season, but now I home-schooled our young children and we were very involved in a Bible teaching church. I'd made an appointment with the pastor of counseling, praying that it would shed light and we'd be delivered from the darkness that was trying to swallow our family. My appointment was a few days away; I wished it were sooner. I was beyond hoping tomorrow would be sweeter and I was past worrying about Gabe's reputation.

Gabe and I played racquetball for a while. He seemed absorbed in his playing; I fumbled, stumbled and missed nearly everything. My emotions were overtaking me. Yes, I'd finally gotten up the nerve to put my foot down, but I grew more terrified with each hour. If I put my foot down, would the drinking stop? Or would I just shake my home? A wise woman builds her house, but a foolish woman tears it down . . .

Was I going head to head with my husband, shaking the foundations of our family because I was unforgiving and controlling, always wanting my way? Did I expect perfection, withholding my love from anyone with flaws? Gabe had a weakness: he used alcohol to help him relieve stress. But other than that, he was a loving husband and a devoted father . . . why was I complaining and grumbling? Why couldn't I just be thankful and trust the Lord?

These thoughts and thousands more raced through my head, turning my stomach sour. At last, overwhelmed, I left the game and went into the ladies bathroom at the club. I sat on the floor and cried. Odd reaction, since I wasn't a crier. Why did I ache so? I rocked back and forth, pain pouring out, tears covering my face, running down my neck. I waited, hoping it would ease. But there was no relief. After some time I knew I couldn't just keep on like I was. I went back and suggested to Gabe we take a hike instead.

We packed up and went to a favorite spot in the desert. I watched my husband's strong, graceful body ambling ahead of me, leading the way. Again I wondered if I were just deluded. If I confronted Gabe, it would cause problems. Would God really tell me to stir up trouble? Could I honestly be called to argue and complain? Did I have the gift of criticism, as Gabe had once put it? It didn't make sense, but I felt compelled toward this confrontation. We hiked a short distance before I spoke.

"I made an appointment with a counselor at church," I said.

Gabe said nothing; his expression was flat.

"I need to know what my responsibilities are as a Christian wife with an alcoholic husband," I said, bracing myself for the eruption that always came when I mentioned his drinking.

He stopped walking… "I need to confess something," he said.

He'd just gone off script.

Way off script.

My insides felt like they were doing somersaults.

"What?" My throat was tight and the word barely came out. Gabe stepped off the trail and I followed, but only a few steps. He continued into a rocky stretch of desert. I stepped back onto the level ground, and waited. He stopped, then shifted from side to side.

Side to side. One foot to the other. Huffing, and not saying it . . . It felt like forever. The longer he suffered to tell me, the more scared I became. Finally, he spoke.

"I'm having an affair and she's pregnant."

Silence and stillness. A sudden rush of ice -- freezing, sharp, jagged shards -- swirled in the pit of my stomach. A cold finger of panic reached out and touched me, pushing me off my feet, sending me drifting into nothingness. The world was suddenly silent. I drifted all alone it seemed, at once upside down in a dark place and yet blinded by light -- clarity -- with a searing, silent screaming filling my head, my body, my gut.

Horror.

Disbelief.

Affair? She's pregnant?

Affair?

My heartbeat and breathing broke the silence -- in slow motion -- thunking and rasping in my ears. How could this be . . . how could this be? Oh, God, what? What is this?

Pregnant?

As in, Mom, I didn't follow your rules, and . . . she's pregnant?

But this isn't my son I'm talking to. This is my husband! My beloved. My best friend. My husband who adores me . . . The father to my smiling children. The head of our happy family. I don't understand. People don't just get pregnant unless they're having sex.

Is my husband saying he's having sex? With someone . . . else?

My husband, naked, having sex with someone other than me? Am I hearing this?

I looked right past Gabe, over the top of his head, right at the God of the universe and screamed, "What is this?!

"Why didn't You tell me?!

"You did not prepare me for this!

"Why do You, oh, my blessed Father God, think I can handle this?"

My gaze returned to Gabe, or what used to be Gabe. This could not be the Gabe of my reality. My beloved friend Gabe, my best friend . . . From my upside down world, he looked different. From my place outside the world I used to know, I looked at him. I was talking. I was talking and talking and asking odd, bizarre, ugly, painful questions. He answered, withholding nothing now. Now. Finally.

Yes, sex. Naked sex. With what? With the body he promised to me and me alone. Why? Because he didn't love me. I wasn't enough. I'd never been enough. This had been going on during most of our married years.

My whole being was in pain. Is this happening? My insides were writhing and felt like they were dying. As I spoke my self seemed to be disconnecting with my body. The self was dying, the body kept on talking.

"How could you do this to me and the kids? HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO US?"

Somehow we ended up back in the car. Then we were home.

I was outside lying on the road in front of our suburban home. No . . . our house. Just a house. I had a phone in my hand. From my place on the road I called my friend Deborah.

"He's having an affair and she's pregnant," I said, then hung up.

What does a friend do with that information? I think I slammed her. I didn't know what to do, or who to talk to. Gabe was my best friend, my confidant. I lay weeping, raging and confused with my face on the cold, hard road …

I called his mother. "He's having an affair and she's pregnant!"

I called Deborah back and asked her to get our children from the sitters. Gabe was nearby now and he insisted on having them brought back to the house.

"No," I said. My heart was melting, screaming in the acid of revelation. He said he'd take care of the kids. "NO!" I screamed. "I can't be with them right now!"

Gabe had the kids brought back to the house anyway. I'm dying and he wants my children to watch the show.

I locked myself in my bedroom for their sakes. Deborah, with the amazing and crazy love of Jesus Christ, hugged Gabe in true compassion when she arrived. No hate or anger, just mercy. I noticed that, despite my pain. I all but fell into her arms when she entered my bedroom, re-locking the door behind her. My disgusting, violated, filthy bedroom.

"I'm sorry," I said in between swearing, moaning and crying -- not exactly dying, but close.

"I love you, I love you, I love you," she said. What can a friend do with all this? She held me and prayed. She prayed for a long time and cried with me. She held my hand while I rocked involuntarily and my stomach cramped.

Deep in my soul, even before we even made it back to the house, I felt a strong urging to offer Gabe a second chance.

Be still and know that I am God . . . be still . . . be still.

I believed I wasn't supposed to make rash, emotional decisions, not to bail out. During this time in my room with Deborah, in great caution, she mentioned that she thought I should hold a steady course. Don't panic and run from the marriage. Hold steady; trust and wait. Wait and see what God will do.

"I heard that too," I said, still rocking back and forth with the waves of pain.

Deborah couldn't stay forever. When she was gone my pain swamped me again. I writhed, tossed, turned. There was no relief, no comfort. No escape. Just pain and maybe anger. Okay, definitely some anger. A whole lot of anger.

"Where is my comfort?" I screamed. "This is how You answer my prayers? This is how You love me?"

My room was too small and I had to run. On my way out the back door I hesitated. Irrational thoughts filled my mind. A flood of crazy, angry, vengeful thoughts like darts of fire -- they swarmed my mind and I was weak. I should have prayed for help; I was under attack. But God had let this happen to me. He let this happen! I listened to the screaming thoughts a moment too long. Just a few moments won’t hurt anything, I reasoned. I’d been so wronged -- I deserved to entertain the thoughts. I let the angry thoughts burn . . . Then I went to the highest cupboard, opened it and reached way into the back where I knew Gabe had a secret stash of alcohol. I took one of his bottles and went out the back door.

I drank and ran at first. Then I walked in the dark. Walked and walked and walked and I drank the whole liter. I walked many miles and stumbled a few more…

My phone rang in my pocket.

"Honey, come on over," said Gabe's mom. "Come talk to me," she said.

"I can't. I'm lost." And very drunk.

Eventually she figured out where I was and drove over to pick me up. Stinking drunk, wobbling on my feet I went to Gabe's parent's home and sat with them awhile. Gabe's father also cheated on his wife. He cried about that and I told him God loves him. He didn't look convinced.

"God showed you he loves you," I said. "He gave His son as the atonement for your sin. He made a way for you to be forgiven and in a right relationship with Him." Drunk and moaning in pain, out of my mind, I still couldn't deny the truth. "That's undeniable love, right there," I said, punching the air to punctuate my point. Drunk, I shared the gospel with my husband's dad for the first time ever. I don't know what became of those absurdly planted seeds.

Gabe's parent's house has never been a place of ease and speaking freely. Most especially one does not speak openly or freely with Gabe's mom. But I was too far gone to care. For once I was bluntly honest with her.

"Honey," she said, "you and Gabe haven't been happy for a long time." She's a crafty woman. "This isn't your fault, Baby. Don't feel bad," she said. "Faith, life is all about our happiness. Does this marriage make you happy? Does it make Gabe happy? No, of course not," she said. "You'll both be happier apart."

Life is all about our happiness?

I was angry -- even with God -- and out of my mind, but I knew what I knew. Jesus' self-sacrificing heart of love was my anchor and my example. God's truth and His love were my life and my deepest longing regardless of what horrible tricks He allowed to be played on me.

"No," I answered, slurring I'm sure, but sure nonetheless. "My Bible does not say life is about my happiness! My Bible does not tell me to quit doing whatever, whenever if it isn't making me happy!" With more assurance and conviction than I ever said anything to this woman I said, "LIFE IS NOT ABOUT MY HAPPINESS! I GAVE MY LIFE TO JESUS, NOW MY LIFE IS ABOUT BRINGING HIM GLORY!"

I was speaking more for myself than for them. Conviction rang in my own heart. What was I doing? Why had I made my pain worse by imitating Gabe’s way of coping?

Oh, God, help me. Forgive me!

I may have passed out after that. Later that night I was home, and still drinking Gabe's poison, hoping to put a dent in the pain that just kept swelling higher and higher. Why oh why, I thought it would help me when it had only taken Gabe lower, I'll never know. But Gabe was there, liking what he saw.

"It's hot to see you like this," he said. My stomach felt like it rose up in my throat. I stared at this man who I had spent all of my adult life loving. Just stared.

Oh, boy, if I had simply forsaken my God for alcohol, we'd have been okay . . . Gabe wouldn't have needed to get his rocks off somewhere else. Even in my twisted state, I was horrified that he'd make such a vile comment.

I dumped the bottle in the trash and returned to my room, once again locking myself in.

Oh, God, I'm so sick . . . I've made things worse. Much worse! I'm so sorry. Forgive me. Help me.

The room was now too big. Way too big. I crawled into my closet, closing the door behind me. My shelter, my place of refuge. Like a newborn swaddled, I lay in my closet. Literally reaching up to my Heavenly Daddy, begging Him to take me home or make the pain go away. I pondered taking my own life. I was more capable now than ever. There was almost nothing blocking me. I could blow my head right off and put an end to all this. There was almost nothing to stop me… just one tiny thing.

In the pitch-black closet, I saw a thin, tiny piece of thread coming from the ceiling, straight to me. It was almost invisible, almost immaterial to my shattered soul. Fragile and delicate, it could bear only a tiny bit of weight. But I was only a tiny bit of weight.

Hang on and don’t give up.

It was my lifeline straight from my Heavenly Daddy.

Thank God for that thread.

Chapter Five

". . . they raised their voices in praise to the Lord and sang:

'He is good; his love endures forever.'

Then the temple of the Lord was filled with a cloud, and the priests could not perform their service because of the cloud, for the glory of the Lord filled the temple of God." (2 Chronicles 5:13b-14)

My tears drenched my days, my nights. Reality, things I'd never noticed, sprung up like well-fed plants; a bountiful harvest of things I hadn't seen, and I was starving. Literally starving. My clothes hung looser each day and I didn't care. I'd been gutted. Not with a clean, sharp knife, but with a two-by-four. I didn't eat, I didn't sleep.

But I was a mother, so I held on.

Thoughts were my enemies. So many pictures accompanied the thoughts. Familiar images of the man I cherished, trusted, shared my life with -- the man I thought loved me back. His smiles, his laughter, his beautiful, beautiful hands. His vile hands, touching someone else. His mouth, on someone else. His body . . . intertwined with someone. Else. Not me. Thoughts and thoughts and thoughts that I couldn't shut down. Couldn't ignore. They filled me, overflowing, till I couldn't see. I would have run from them, but where could I go, blindly?

I ran to my Bible and held it to steady myself. I read it, and cried out to God for relief. For rescue. For anything at all. A droplet of relief.

Just a droplet. Please, God.

One.

Tiny.

Droplet.

He answered, with a droplet of relief as I cried, as I soaked my Bible and soaked in his words. Just a droplet, no bigger than the tiny thread He sent me.

It was enough. I was alive and my children still had a mother. A crushed shell with a starving, gutted mother inside, but it was something. Hopefully better than nothing.

In the days that came next, that droplet was my pursuit.

Any relief, Yahweh, I will take. I will camp in Your word day and night, for a droplet of relief.

Gabe said he was sorry for bringing trouble on the family. He wanted to work on saving our marriage. "I really do love you," he said.

It gave me no comfort, no relief, no hope. My God was the only thing keeping me alive. I couldn't make myself love life enough to swallow a bite of food, couldn't shut down and sleep. My Heavenly Daddy was all I had. He didn't come in with a mighty show, just like Jesus didn't come in like a royal king, but rather as a common man. My God came to my rescue with a tiny, yet vivid, thread of hope -- frail, thin and nearly unnoticeable.

When word got around -- and it flew -- Gabe was fired from his job immediately and asked to come to the office to clean out his stuff. Our closest friends rallied together and took our children so we could have time to work things out.

Alone, Gabe and I headed to a favorite vacation spot for a couple of nights. It was hell. Just because you leave town doesn't mean you leave your mind. Absolutely everywhere I went, my pain was with me.

To my broken, begging heart, it was clear that the scriptures -- God's precious word -- were my only reprieve. His word was far more sustaining than food or drink. It was my pain relief, my sustenance, my portion, my comfort and my counsel. I clung to every word.

Why did my God give me tiny morsels of relief and not fill me to fullness? Why did He use a thread and not a rope? I didn't have the strength to look for answers. It was what it was.

Unfortunately, Gabe was so warped that I only found more pain, insecurity and doubt in our conversations and time alone together. There was no healing, hope, or restoration there.

"Do you love her?" I asked.

"I love things about her," he said. "She'll try anything!"

I'm dying …

His answers sliced me to the bone. I thought I was nothing now, except bones. I don't know why I kept asking. I don't know why he just kept answering. Perhaps I was intrigued with his newfound honesty. He had so many secrets just days ago and now he would tell me anything!

When we returned from this little getaway, I was in worse shape than when I left. Deborah took me to her home, held me while I sobbed and then made me drink part of a nutrition drink. I was surprised it didn't come right back up. Ladies in the foster mother's support group, along with other friends from church, sent dinner over for the family on quite a few occasions. Ever so gently my precious friends suggested that maybe restoration of the marriage wasn't going to happen.

The days and weeks that followed were the hardest days I have ever known. With almost no food and virtually no sleep I was trying to home-school my two school-aged children as well as care for my two preschoolers. Not because I could, but because I had to, I smiled and talked and held them. They were my one glorious true vision in a world of lies and illusions. They gave me focus and purpose.

Gabe no longer had a job, so he too was home. While I sat in the room with him, he called his mistress and left her a message. "It's over," he said. "I'm going to work things out with my wife."

Days in the house with Gabe -- the place that I used to think was our happy home -- were painful, suffocating. But leaving the house was worse. What pieces of my reality were real? Every time I saw a familiar place, a happy family memory resurfaced. Then I had to balance it against the new reality, the truth. Did he take her there? What did they do here? I would come home from the grocery store, or the gym, or just from running an errand and sob uncontrollably. My life made no sense. I had a void of sixteen years that made no sense. So many lies and uncertainties . . .

Even worse, I didn't know if Gabe was staying or leaving. Were we trying to heal and build a new life? Or were we preparing to bury all of our hopes and dreams? He said he wanted to stay, but as the days ticked away he started getting texts and phone calls that he'd take in private. Who's calling? What do they want? If he had to leave the house, the doubt would flood in. Where's he really going?

He came to me one night. "It was me! I blamed you, but this is all my doing," he said. With that admission, I hoped we'd had a breakthrough. But everything continued as before.

Doubt, lies and truth were all mixed together. Thoughts piled up and spilled over; I wanted to keep them in line, but wasn't sure which ones to argue with.

You're unworthy. Nobody really cares about you. Even your husband doesn't want you. You're all alone.

Was giving up on the marriage a lie or truth? I tried to find my bearings, but couldn't.

What do You have in store for me, Daddy? I'm too weak to see.

I had no control and no idea what direction my life was going to or supposed to take. What was best for my children? Worse yet, could I leave, even if I was meant to?

I spent the next four months in this whirlpool. Was I wrong in thinking that the Holy Spirit asked me to stay in the marriage? Or was I only meant to stay put until the dust cleared and I could see which way to go? Now, did I stay out of strength and obedience . . . or weakness and confusion? Gabe's choices had permanently altered life regardless. Stay or go, the future held chaos and pain for the children and me.

Gabe kept saying he wanted to work on our marriage. A couple of elders from our church had been immediately assigned to work with Gabe, to encourage him and to hold him accountable. We'd known these men for years. I begged them and other friends, counselors and even our pastor to tell me what to do, to tell me what was in my children's best interest. No one would say. So there I sat, stuck, confused, lost, scared, sad, worried, terrified of the future.

But day and night I continued to read God's words and the droplets were gathering . . . I was starting to see glimpses of truth. The kind of truth that stares back at you in a mirror, whether you like it or not.

Oh, dear God, please show me what to do. Please, Daddy, I'm ready to hear and see whatever You will show me. I'm ready to do whatever You ask.

Like a dam beginning to crumble, droplets of truth, then streams of information began breaking through and flowing my direction. At the gym and around town women began telling me things about my husband - things he didn't tell me. One woman told me she'd seen him recently in a store with a pregnant woman. Another told me of the times she saw my husband at clubs with other women. Another said he'd shown up at her work with flowers and chocolate, back when our first daughter was a baby. Again and again they shared, story after story.

These revelations caused pain. More and more pain compounded upon my nearly unbearable pain. But they were truth, opening my eyes and sending me down a path toward freedom.

Then one day one of the elders working with Gabe called me. I informed him of the constant stream of information -- not just about the past few months, but the last decade.

"Please don't clam up on me this time," I begged. "I need to hear your thoughts regarding me being all done trying to fight for this marriage."

"I think you're right," he said. "We all think it's time to throw in the towel." He and the other elder had just spoken and they believed Gabe wasn't really trying.

That night I called in a round-table of my closest friends and told them I was quitting. I believe there's safety in godly counsel. Not only did they love my children and me, but also, they were praying for us. So I invited each to please share. They each voiced their opinions now, saying they'd withheld them because they were waiting for me to come to my own conclusion. Now all around the table, everyone agreed. It was time to move in a new direction.

The next day a letter addressed to Gabe came in the mail from our church. They implored Gabe to partake of Biblical obedience, to refuse to have anything to do with his pregnant mistress, to pursue restoration with me, to seek counseling, to confess his adulterous sin before God, seek God's forgiveness and the forgiveness of his wife, to pursue holiness and purity in his marriage and his life and to become the spiritual leader of his wife and a man of God. But if he would not, they said, he would be disciplined in front of the church body the following Sunday. He would also be removed from the church.

My God is so good, so kind and so merciful. Not only had information been trickling in to me, but my friends had witnessed Gabe's secret lifestyle while he was professing repentance and a desire to restore our marriage. Instead of coming to me first, they'd reported Gabe's actions to the church elders. I thanked God for their wisdom. Thank God they didn't seek my faulty weak-willed opinions, but rather handled what needed to be handled and merely informed me of what was going to happen.

Gabe chose not to repent.

The following Sunday he was disciplined from the pulpit in great love and humility. I'm so thankful that God's line of defense through my church elders brought safety and protection to me and to my children.

Chapter Six

"The eyes of the Lord are on the righteous and his ears are attentive to their cry; the face of the Lord is against those who do evil, to cut off the memory of them from the earth.

The righteous cry out, and the Lord hears them; he delivers them from all their troubles. The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit." (Psalm 34:15-18)

My name is Faith, just Faith. My last name doesn't matter anymore.

My husband says he doesn't love me. Maybe this wouldn't hurt so much if I felt the same way about him.

But I never did.

Something changed that Sunday, after Gabe was disciplined by the church. He continued to come home to us, but he no longer claimed to love me. He didn't even bother to act as if he liked me. By midweek, before I'd found a way to tell him I was quitting, he went even further and said what he thought.

"You make me sick," he said. "I'm done with this marriage. There's nothing here worth fighting for."

In utter bewilderment, I looked at him, this stranger. "Then what in the world are you doing in my home?" I said. "You need to leave. Now."

So he grabbed some stuff and left.

But then my kids needed someone, someone more whole than me. I called Deborah and she said yes. "Yes, you can come stay with me. Come, Sweetheart. Bring the kids. Come soon. "

Thank You, God, for Deborah. Please let me be "Deborah" to someone someday; let me be this beautiful light in the darkness for someone.

The kids and I went to Deborah's and stayed while I carried on in my death process.

Despite all I'd been through so far, this leveled me. It was so foreign, unreal and unbelievable. My husband had just officially left our home. My children had never not had a dad. Their dad just moved out. They were baffled. I couldn't trust myself to explain.

From Deborah's home, I called Gabe. "You need to come talk to your children," I said. "They're lost and you put them there. You owe it to them to explain this . . . situation."

Until now they didn't know what was going on with their parents. Mom cried a lot! That's all they knew. I didn't want to hide things from them, but until this moment I hadn't known what we were doing, let alone how to explain it.

Gabe came to Deborah's home. The kids and I stood on her patio overlooking the desert. Gabe sat on a stone fence and told my precious babies that he wouldn't be living at their house anymore. He told them he would have another child and he needed to take care of him too.

I saw the hurt and confusion on my children's faces. Confusion at first, then hurt, then . . . terror.

What right did this woman and her baby have to take away my husband and my children's daddy? How dare he decide that they're more important than us!

It took a miracle for me to stay quiet, but my words of rage would do no healing. My children were hurting enough. They sobbed and cried and their broken expressions tore at me; I couldn't protect them. Everything in my soul and mother's-heart propelled me to protect them -- nearly like fire shut up in my bones. But it was a fire of revenge, not revelation. Neither my anger, nor my love could protect them from their father's disregard. The Spirit whispered to me:

Hold your tongue.

My wrath wouldn't bring about God's righteousness here. I sat silent, doing nothing. They wailed and begged their daddy not to go.

When he was done talking, he turned and walked away.

Deborah kept my damaged little family overnight and we went home the next day. Despite our sadness and the strangeness of this new reality, there was a palpable difference in our home after Gabe left. I don't say this in anger or bitterness, just awareness.

When Gabe left, the oppression left with him.

The darkness, lies and his choices of media -- they were all gone. Whatever else he'd invited into our home, it all left with him. Suddenly there was something new and light and glorious going on. Something we hadn't experienced here before.

If I had to define it, first I'd call it truth. Then rest, peace, purity . . . and innocence.

It was wonderful.

And yet . . . I was so very lonely. I began to recognize loneliness and just how alone I'd been for so long. It was overwhelming to realize that it had been me and the kids alone, fighting against the world, for years. God was with us, always had been; don't get me wrong. But to believe that you're tied heart-to-heart with your husband -- to really believe, despite his obvious selfish and destructive behavior, that he loves you, loves your children and cares about your safety and protection -- and then suddenly see the truth . . . it's a type of death.

Death of an illusion, but death nonetheless.

All around me, illusions crumbled. Perhaps truth is better than fantasy, but these were the legs my world stood on. It was so personal. Not only was I being assaulted by the infidelity of my husband, the rejection and betrayal, but I was also being attacked about my infertility and my body image.

My husband's mistress -- she who was more athletic and well built than I -- was pregnant with his child. His child!

Despite adopting four children, I was still wounded by the reality that I couldn't have a baby. I didn't know it was still such an issue until this other woman became pregnant with my husband's baby.

I reached up and out to my Heavenly Daddy, crying out, Why would You allow this? Isn't it bad enough that they commit adultery? Why would You honor them with the gift of a child?

My husband had betrayed me, but so had my God.

Why, oh why, Father, would You give them a child and not me?

Faith, the enemy desires to sift you like wheat.

I heard a still small voice in my soul. Realization dawned gradually. I was being sifted.

Until now I'd believed that if I was fit enough, attractive enough and performed well enough as an athlete, then I'd be closer to being worthy. Now to be rejected and replaced by someone who was more of all that I tried to be nullified my hard-won sense of worthiness.

Slowly the droplets of relief gathered into small puddles. The puddles trickled together and became a tiny pool. I gazed into it and saw a hazy reflection. But as more droplets were added, the puddles multiplied, the pool grew and the reflections became clearer. In the reflection of myself, through God's word, I saw truth and things God wanted to show me.

Jesus came to set me free and give me abundant life. To receive it, I had to let Him abolish the lies - like weeds encircling me, keeping me bound -- regardless of how long they'd been part of me.

But how could I tell the lies from reality? Was it my fault my husband didn't love me? Was I less than other women because I couldn't give birth to a child? Despite seeing many birth mothers that were incapable of parenting I was still haunted by doubt and accusations. Time and again I fought back, screaming sometimes, "My ability to be a good mother has nothing to do with my ability to create a child in my womb!"

God had placed several mothers in my life that had both birthed and adopted children. "You're not missing anything," they told me. I wanted to believe them. I wanted to change my thinking, but still I was haunted with things I'd always believed.

I watched my reflection in the pool, hating what I saw. I was a woman running through a field -- a woman starving to death, running through a lush, green field of weeds, thorns and poisonous plants. Tall twisted weeds of betrayal, large flowering lies, climbing vines of deception dancing in the sun, writhing . . . Then one vine morphed and became my husband, moaning and spilling his precious seed into someone else's all too willing -- fertile -- body.

I looked into the pool and saw a woman terrified - even terrified of truth.

She ran wildly, blindly, trying to make herself believe she was good enough. But deep down she knew she wasn't.

Yes, I'd been spending too much time alone, thinking.

That next Monday I had an unexpected visit from Charity. Thank God for interruptions.

It was awkward at first. We were friends, but we'd never become as close as we should have. Busy lives, trouble in paradise; who knows? A couple of years ago she'd left the adoption agency we were all a part of, dropping her foster care license and focusing on raising her biological and adopted children. We stayed in touch through the foster mom's support group, but now she and her family were leaving the state.

We spent some time catching up, shared a plate of cookies and I offered her tea. I was surprised to see her alone; she usually had a group of children with her. Now she sat on my couch looking like she didn't know where to begin.

"Faith, I never told you why I left the agency," she said. "I probably should have, but I didn't want to cause trouble."

So much for pleasant interruptions. Was there no escaping the pain of loving Gabe?

"If it has anything to do with Gabe, you're not alone. I've had a lot of women come to me now, with stories," I replied.

"I'm so sorry," she said. "I didn't know what to do. I loved you and admired you and wanted so much for your happy family to thrive."

"So did I," I said. "But the happy family thing, well . . ." I didn't mean to stop talking, but no words would come.

I no longer want Gabe, I don't miss him. I know this truth, deep down in myself. So why does this still hurt so badly? Oh, God, let me not be ungrateful for all You've done for me! Thank You, Daddy for knocking the wind out of me again, for demanding my attention. I'm glad that I can't breathe apart from You. Hold me close, Lord.

When at last I could speak, I let it spill, not knowing what I would say. Not really caring. "I had an ideal for Gabe," I said, "and I just kept waiting for him to get there. I was so focused on the ideal that I stopped recognizing what and who he really was."

Charity nodded. "I did that too. When Gabe first started calling and emailing I saw what I thought should be there instead of what was. Faith, I'm so ignorant," she said. "I've tried to be really careful, even avoiding friendships with men. I never wanted to be the reason that someone's wife wonders, you know, wonders if something's up."

Understandable. Charity was very attractive . . . if you liked the skin and bones look.

Oh, God! Help me not to be a bitter, angry woman. I want to live in peace, hope and abundance.

Charity continued, "But I thought Gabe was contacting me in an official capacity, you know, like the boss wanted to know how the foster mom's support group was doing, so he asked Gabe to keep tabs," she said. "I was blind sided when Gabe started saying I was sexy and wanting to talk about my underwear."

"Don't feel bad," I said. "He tricked more than one woman in the same way."

Help me, Daddy, take away my bitterness and fill me with Your grace and love!

"Maybe I should have called you, but I didn't want to cause you any pain. I prayed. I tried to figure out what to do. I was so confused. I even asked my husband. But . . ." Charity's face clouded over. "Well, that didn't go over very well," she said, then cleared her throat. "So then my foster licensing case manager quit the agency and I found out Gabe was trying to be assigned as my new case manager. I called the director and told him that under no circumstances was Gabe welcome in my home.

"He wanted to know why.

"What could I tell him, without you getting hurt?" Charity asked. "In the end I reasoned that Gabe's behavior wasn't good, but it wasn't bad enough to justify me stirring up trouble for you and your big, beautiful family. So I just said, 'Gabe doesn't get it, please put someone else on my case.' For whatever reason, the agency ignored my wishes." Charity shrugged. "Gabe called later to say he'd been assigned as my new case manager. As soon as he hung up, I called the agency and told them my time as a foster mother was over."

She paused, frowning. "I love you, Faith. I hope you believe that. I'm no good at expressing this stuff, but you have a special place in my heart. I want so badly to help, but I don't have any idea . . . what to do, or what to say."

"I'm okay," I said. My voice broke at the end of the word, telling on me for being less than forthcoming. Charity smiled; I rolled my eyes. We both took another cookie, sipped our tea and Charity waited while I tried to compose myself enough to talk.

"Well, not exactly okay," I said. "I think . . . I've reached a place where I believe I'm going to live through this." Surviving -- not so much thriving. "Took awhile. I really didn't know, until recently. But still . . . loneliness sneaks in sometimes. Sometimes I long for something other than what God has for me. Sometimes I forget to ask Him for what I really need, which is His presence." It hurt, but it also felt good to share with a friend. I'd been alone with my thoughts too much lately. Charity was a good listener, smiling, encouraging me to continue, nodding her head and sipping her tea.

"His presence is the only soul-quenching satisfaction I can find," I said. "I'm okay, when I surrender what I want and instead ask for His presence. Submit to Him as the potter and I as the pliable clay. And yet," I said, "I'm still struggling. My old fears of inadequacy haunt me, telling me I'm not good enough."

"Not good enough?" Charity set her tea down now and shook her head, leaving the question hanging until the silence was stale. "Faith, what does that have to do with anything? Who on earth is good enough?"

"Oh, I know it's the devil harassing me," I replied. "I'm learning to find rest and peace in what I know to be true about myself and how my God views me."

"The next time the devil comes at you, just smile and say, 'I agree! Of course I'm not good enough! That's why Jesus had to die!'" Charity said, smiling. "I learned a long time ago to just agree, and say, 'Oh, boy! You don't know the half of it! Isn't Jesus amazing!? Isn't He wonderful, that He would die for a sinner like me and offer me the chance to die -- to my self -- for Him and live a life filled with His Holy Spirit and clothed in His righteousness?!'"

I made a mental note to get together with friends more often and wallow in my thoughts less. When it was time for Charity to go, we hugged and said we hoped we'd meet up again sometime soon -- though it was unlikely, with her family leaving for Wyoming. After she left, I drained the last droplet of my sweet tea and finished off the plate of cookies. It dawned on me that I'd gradually begun to have an appetite again.

Restore my strength Lord! Help me to fulfill whatever purposes You created me for. Take these burdens from my heart, give me Your rest. I beg You, Daddy! Hold me and carry me. I need You, God. My soul aches…

Chapter Seven

"Have mercy on me, O God, have mercy on me, for in you my soul takes refuge. I will take refuge in the shadow of your wings until the disaster has passed. I cry out to God Most High, to God, who fulfills {his purpose} for me." (Psalm 57:1b-2)

Perhaps I'd thought that being cheated on -- betrayed by my beloved and so-called best friend -- was the hardest thing I'd ever face. Perhaps I thought that. But I was wrong.

To be cheated on and then abandoned, when he had a choice to stay, was beyond anything I'd faced so far. As I chose, prayerfully, to forgive, this became the hardest thing to let go.

Keep me focused on You, Lord. Be my husband, my guide, my counselor. Help me come to You for every decision! Hold me in obedience to You, make me faithful, humble and repentant. You and me, Beloved! Be my children's perfect Daddy.

Suffering drew me closer to my God, my Abba, my kind, Heavenly Daddy. I doubt you can have this kind of intimacy with Abba without suffering. Suffering is a sacred gift that forges things that nothing else on this earth can forge. It creates things that cannot be destroyed. Suffering truly is sweet.

And yet, it is to open your veins and let your self pour out, to face your deepest fears and let them ravage you.

It required me to look truth in the face every day and admit things about myself I had not known. Daily I began to see where I too had failed in the marriage. I was prideful. I was emotionally immature. I liked my fantasy of who Gabe was, based on who he should be, more than I'd actually liked Gabe. I didn't desire him as he needed me to.

I saw that now. But seeing it didn't mean I accepted any blame for Gabe's sin.

I'd also been in a miserable marriage, but I didn't choose to have an affair. I could have -- we're all capable of following our sin nature down this path -- but through the grace of God, I didn't. Miserable marriage or not, Gabe had a choice and God offered him the same grace, to avoid falling, that He offered me.

But I saw my failings. I acknowledged them. I opened my heart and invited my Heavenly Daddy to show me more, and to give me a heart of humility and repentance.

I know there's more, Daddy, so much more! I'm ready to follow You into the pit of me and look at what's there . . . But please, God, deliver me from this strangling fear!

It was now May and I knew Gabe's baby was due to be born soon. As the time approached I grew more and more fearful.

Mother's day was the 13th of May and I was just certain that they would have the baby on this day. So certain that I called Gabe on the thirteenth to find out if they were at the hospital. The way my life had been the last 6 months, I expected the baby to come on Mother's Day, so I could suffer that memory every year.

But thank God, they were not at the hospital. I could breathe for another day. Or maybe just another moment.

Lord, what am I so afraid of?

It was now Saturday and I was at the theater watching a movie where the happily married couple is beginning their family. I brought the kids here because Gabe had called the day before, saying he was sick and couldn't take them for their visit.

My instincts told me he wasn't sick, but that his mistress was in labor. I sent Gabe a text message during this sweet movie -- this hideous movie that was breaking my heart.

"Is the baby here yet?"

He responded:

"Yes, was born this morning."

WHAT?! He's really here? I immediately began to nose dive. Leaving the older children to keep watching the film, I stepped out of the theater with my 4-year-old in tow and called a friend.

"I can't breathe! Help me! The baby is really here. What am I going to do?"

Pray, she said. Pray. And eat more chocolate.

So I prayed.

This life is Yours, Daddy. I gave it to You, because You gave Yours for me! Thousands upon thousands of tears I've shed. Show me that You care about my pain! Show me that You're collecting every tear and grieving with me. Increase my faith! Fill me with Your Holy Spirit! Make me a fighter and a mighty warrior for Your Kingdom!

I prayed and prayed and prayed some more. Then I bought chocolate and we went back inside and finished off the movie. I was back to being oblivious to anything going on around me, feeling like I was dying -- having trouble breathing.

After the movie the kids all loaded into the car. As I got in and closed my door, I had a thought. A really loud, persistent type thought:

Go see him.

What?

Go see the baby.

No! That's bizarre. No way. It would kill me.

Go now.

Like the mighty warrior I have never been, I started my engine, pulled away from the theater and drove toward the hospital. What am I doing? At one particular intersection, I felt an urgent need to get there fast! I floored it.

This is crazy. I can't believe I'm doing this. Fill me with Your Holy Spirit, Daddy!

When we got to the hospital, I parked, told the older kids to watch their sister and, all alone, I headed into the hospital. I checked in at the receptionist's desk and got my pass to go back to the room. I'd walked this long hallway so many times before, for so many reasons. But never anything like this. Never on legs that shook like they did now.

Years ago I'd picked up my first adopted baby at this hospital. During another season I'd volunteered in the NICU -- neonatal intensive care unit. I'd visited friends who'd had babies here. But it was never me having a baby at this hospital. I cried as I pondered all these things . . . but I kept going.

I found their room, poised myself and walked right in.

I am Your faithful servant, Daddy, descending to the lion's den.

It was a quiet, dimly lit room. Ahead of me on the couch sat my husband with his arm around his girlfriend. In a chair next to them sat his girlfriend's mother. She was holding their baby.

For the very first time ever I saw my husband's girlfriend. Not just her, but the two of them together. The mystery that decimated my marriage and household was sitting right in front of me.

Eyes wide open.

And there was a baby. A real live beautiful baby and a real live grandma as well, smiling and doting on her grandson.

How can there be joy and approval in this room, while there's pain and destruction in my camp? How can they play house here while blood and guts are spilled out daily in our home! Lord, this is supreme injustice! How can You allow this?

I introduced myself to the grandmother.

"Hello, I'm Gabe's wife," I said.

Was that inappropriate? Their mouths were all hanging open.

My head and heart were spinning, but my God is mighty. Not only had He propelled me into this room, He now held me upright and opened my mouth to talk. Small talk, of all things.

I asked Gabe's mistress about her delivery, about nursing, about the baby. Small talk, unbelievable that this was possible. I asked her what his middle name was.

"Gabriel," she said. A new, sharper, breath-stealing pain surged through my body and I knew it was time to leave. I politely encouraged the excited new grandmother to enjoy her grandson.

Then I left the room.

Gabe alone followed me, whispering loud curses, telling me how sick and wrong I was for crashing their party. How dare I walk in that room!

How dare I, indeed! How dare I descend into a deep, black pit, bringing truth and light with me!

"Who do you think you are?!" he said.

My God knew who I was. I was His! I belonged to my Heavenly Daddy! I was His and I was exactly where He had put me. As I kept walking, now silent, down this corridor on legs like rubber, tears streaming down my face -- a face not nearly so pretty as hers -- with Gabe hovering like an unholy specter, breathing curses down my neck, suddenly Deborah was there.

My dear, beloved Deborah was in this very hospital recovering from an operation.

She came, walking to my rescue only because she couldn't run! She enveloped me in her strong arms and hugged me hard. She whispered truth and hope and love and understanding and mercy and compassion into my broken, frantic, desperate heart. God is so good and His plans are so amazing. Did Deborah know that her illness would be used for God's glory? God put her close to me when I needed her most!

Oh, my God, let me be Deborah to someone, someday, somehow!

I wept for three full days after this. I couldn't sleep alone at my house for the first night. The pain was so bad that I was afraid to be alone, for fear of myself. This was the very first time I chose to walk into the truth of the circumstances that were destroying my life.

This was the first time I saw the woman who took my place. What a first look - not only did I see her in my husband's embrace, but also the baby their sex together had produced.

It was real! There was no more denying it.

It was the most courageous thing I had ever done. Eyes wide open, I walked into the scariest thing I could imagine. I knew what was in that room and I still walked in there.

The pain was profound, but it didn't kill me.

This life is Yours, Jesus. I gave it to You, because You gave Yours for me! Where You go, I will follow, Beloved! But hold me close, please! I need You!

"But the Lord stood at my side and gave me strength, so that through me the message might be fully proclaimed and all the Gentiles might hear it. And I was delivered from the lion's mouth.

The Lord will rescue me from every evil attack and will bring me safely to his heavenly kingdom. To him be glory for ever and ever. Amen." (2 Timothy 4:17-18)

No Smell of Fire

By Hope

Chapter One

God doesn't have grandchildren.

Growing up as a P. K., or pastors’ kid, I've heard this saying and I've known a lot of pastor's kids. Many will tell you life in the fish bowl of ministry is a hard swim upstream.

You don't have to be a P. K. to think the load's too heavy. Ask a lot of church kids about their childhood and they'll say they'd wished they were allowed to just be normal. At some point they realized there were billions of people in the world, and most of those people didn't care if they flunked the expectations of God and church. Of course, any good church kid can explain that one: Most of the people in the world are on God's bad side and headed for hell.

That's the correct answer, right?

If that one doesn't cut it, they'll fall back on the standard children's-church answer that works nine times out of ten and allows you to win the prize without hearing the questions.

"Oh, I know! Jesus! It's Jesus, right?"

Knowing how to talk the talk doesn't mean it's the language of your soul. Really, why should you be held to standards your parents didn't live up to at your age? Rules upon rules that Mom and Dad didn't even care about until they had their experience with God. So you're stuck living your parent's life, but you didn't have their experience. Oh, you know the Bible verses and stories. Yet in moments of honesty, you admit you don't know this God who they say talks to them.

Ask a lot of church kids about their childhood, and they'll tell you all of this. But ask me my story and I'd honestly have to say I was different.

I was four years old when I met my true love. His name was Jesus.

Being a pastor's daughter, I'd heard of Jesus daily at home or church. I often crawled into Mom's lap and listened while she read her Bible each day. Every night Mom or Dad prayed with me when they tucked me in. Life was sweet. I loved my family and I loved Jesus.

But a few months after my fourth birthday, I was sitting with my older sister Patience as she told me the Gospel story, and something clicked. For a long time I'd known that Jesus had healed the sick, raised the dead and been tenderhearted to children and people of all kinds. But suddenly the story took a horrific turn, and this time I heard it.

People had turned against this wonderful man. Scary, mean people.

The attic bedroom was stuffy like only a New Jersey heat wave can make it. Strands of hair had escaped my braids and clung to my sticky neck. I sat forward, gripping the edges of my chair with small, sweaty hands. I was fascinated by the story, but far from enjoying it. In neat rows beside me our teddy bears and dolls stared silently ahead, as did I, watching Patience place the flannel-backed figures on the soft cotton background. Patience was called to be a Sunday School teacher. The grown-ups said she was too young, but her gift still flowed.

My eyes filled with tears as she illustrated Jesus being tortured. "He was mocked, insulted, spit on and flogged," she said. That wasn't fair. Jesus didn't do anything wrong!

I watched as she put some of the flannel-backed pieces away and got out a cross. Shocked and appalled by the story so far, I longed for the happy ending.

Yet the story grew worse. Jesus was crucified and He died.

Why? Why did He let them do that to him? Jesus was no ordinary man, He was God's son. He didn't have to let such a horrible thing happen!

He did it for me. Realization dawned clearly in my mind. I was mortified. He suffered all that, for my sin. I was young, but I knew I wasn't always good.

"Is your heart perfect, Hope?" my sister asked. Well, of course not. I was too sad to answer. I just shook my head and let the tears spill. Patience put a warm hand on my head and one of the honey-colored bears in my lap. "Don't cry, Hope," she said. "The happy part of the story comes next." We were too far inland to get the ocean breeze, so the fan whirred behind us, stirring the hot air while Patience set up her next scene. When it was ready, she began teaching again.

"Here's the good news," she said. "Jesus was perfect! So, when He suffered, that counted toward the suffering someone with a sinful heart deserved. This is why Jesus is the only one who can forgive and wash away your sins."

I was still crying. "He let them crucify Him," I said.

"That was to pay off your sins, Hope. So you could ask Him to forgive you, wash your heart and turn it into His home, so to speak.

"He came alive again after three days," she said.

I stopped crying. "He did?" That was amazing and impossible. Yet God could do anything. I was greatly relieved and captivated. I couldn't wait to ask Jesus to live in my heart! My sister led me in a prayer and I gave my heart to the one who loved me more than anyone, the one who died for me and wanted to set me free from my sins. I met the one my mother read about and my father preached about, the one our visiting missionary friends traveled the world telling everyone about. Now it was my turn to begin getting to know him.

It didn't take long before I felt Him making my heart into His home. I felt a stirring to do things that He liked. I was excited and couldn't wait to run and tell everyone the good news! Racing across the street I told my friends and neighbors that Jesus was God's son and He loved them.

"You are all sinners," I said. "But you can give your hearts to Jesus and ask Him to forgive you and come live in you."

One of the neighbors came and had a talk with my mother.

"Now, Ida," she said, "you know we all love Hope. We understand she's a pastor's daughter and all; least, most of us are being understanding. But your girl can't be running through the neighborhood telling everybody they're sinners!"

After she left, Mother gave me a look.

I shrugged and smiled; I was a missionary. We missionaries did stuff like that.

Chapter Two

I was baptized as soon as I was brave enough to put my head underwater.

During my teen years I worked summers at Christian camping ministries. It was a great way to enjoy the outdoors, serve the Lord and work on my tan. Or more honestly, try to coax my skin into having a rosy summer glow. It didn't always cooperate, but by the end of summer my hair was white-blonde and it took half the winter for it to darken up again.

Summers were awesome, especially because of the camps. Not only were they fun, but the messages inspired and challenged me. One summer at Word of Life Camp in Schroon Lake, New York, I took a step deeper and committed my life to Jesus Christ in the fullest way I knew: I vowed to stay pure and save all of my kisses for my husband.

After high school I went to Christian college to get my teaching degree. I longed to serve the Lord on the mission field, and knew God had gifted me as a teacher. At the university, just like at all the camps, I met a lot of guys. I liked some of them and a lot of them liked me, but I remained un-kissed.

Then I met Doug.

Right away I was conflicted -- in a big way. Doug sparked my interest like no one else; just sensing him nearby energized me beyond belief. Yet we were on different paths. It couldn't work. I was headed for missions and Doug was going into pastoral ministry. Besides, he wasn't exceedingly handsome, he was far from charming, and we were total opposites. Doug was a baseball fanatic, and the only sport I enjoyed was shopping. He was the epitome of a New England stoic type. I was frequently too emotional, a little too in your face . . . and yet.

One warm autumn night, when I was a college sophomore, I stood alone on Lookout Mountain and watched the lights twinkle and the cars buzz this way and that down in Chattanooga. The soft breeze smelled of roses - red ones, I thought -- and I caught myself thinking, I wish Doug were here.

Doug? Immediately I chided myself. I wasn't even dating Doug. He was very interesting, but what did we have in common? What a ridiculous thought!

Maybe I want you to think about Doug.

The thought startled me and then it just hung there. I'd learned by now that my mind wasn't a closed room. Thoughts came and went and I was trying to learn to tell which ones came from me, which ones were from the enemy, and which were the voice of God.

Some were easy. Those things that I felt I was supposed to do but didn't really want to do? Those were usually from God. Likewise, a bizarre, off-the-wall thought, such as, lick the electrical outlet, that was my spiritual enemy. However, the majority of my thoughts were not blatantly in one or the other category so I prayed a lot, asking God to tell me if it was Him or not. I studied my Bible diligently to find out what God's personality was like, so I'd be able to recognize His voice.

Jesus said, "My sheep listen to my voice; I know them, and they follow me." He gave me His Holy Spirit so He could communicate with me and I was trying to listen, but that doesn't mean it was easy.

Regarding this thought, at first I didn't know if it was bizarre, or if it just went against my plans. At least I knew it didn't originate with me. When I talk to myself, I don't use third person.

It was an odd thought, but not entirely off-the-wall, so I answered it, internally. But Doug's going to be a pastor and I'm going to be a missionary. How would that work? At least, I believed God had told me I'd bring hope to lost people as a missionary.

The replying thought came immediately:

Don’t you think I can work that out?

Slowly a smile spread across my face. The next time I saw Doug, I knew something he didn't know. It wasn't long before Doug said he loved me.

"I want to marry you," he said. "I talked to God and told Him that if He wants me to go to the mission field, then I'm willing to do that."

He was so serious. Giggling, I told Doug I was willing to be a pastor's wife if that was what God had for me. We got engaged, and in time got married.

After Doug and I married, he attended seminary. Those were lean years. We learned to survive by eating inexpensive foods, and very little of them. On Sunday afternoons we would lay on our hand-me-down couch, watching old movies like Blondie and Dagwood, or inane ones with titles like Night of the Tarantula. It was fun and cozy. We were poor and we were happy.

Doug became the Youth Director at our church as he continued to prepare for the pastorate. Though normally quiet and reserved, Doug had a very different personality on stage. He was a dynamic speaker. He also planned fun and meaningful activities for the teens and they loved him.

Life was good, and then it got better: Our baby girl was born.

Chapter Three

Doug wanted to name her Rachel; it was a good, sound, Biblical name. I wanted to call her Serenity Joy! We compromised and named her Rachel Joy.

By now I'd fully given up my hope of being a missionary. I'd expected marriage to give me opportunities for compromise and I didn't mind. But marriage had also given me something I hadn't anticipated: loneliness. A deep, soul-and-body, aching kind of loneliness.

When I'd met Doug I was driven by ideals, intrigued by possibilities and ready to set the world on fire! I would follow God anywhere, anyhow, anytime - bring it on! And I never doubted Doug was my intended. Yet I hadn't considered what it would feel like being married to a man who was flat-lined.

To make matters worse, my father was killed in a car accident during my early years with Doug. A cement truck driver on drugs got tired of waiting in a long string of traffic and pulled into my father's lane to pass everyone. When he hit my dad's car, he kept right on going, thinking he could just push it out of the way and journey on. Dad was trapped in the car. The emergency crew used the Jaws of Life to get to him, but it was too late. Dad was only fifty years old. He'd lived those years loving God, loving my mom and loving us, his children.

Now he was gone.

When I heard the news, the floodgates of tears opened. I had never felt so much grief before. Sadness and uncertainty enveloped me. On the way to his funeral, I sat in the backseat of my brother's car, slumped with my head pressed against the window, as the picturesque Jersey landscape sped past me. It was a beautiful day and that seemed so incredibly wrong. How dare the sun shine! How dare there be beauty and light when Dad was gone.

But the resident voice in my heart reminded me that it should shine. A beloved son had been called home. There was much to shine about and it was party time in heaven.

Yet here on earth, I had lost a cherished part of my world, and at the same time I realized my marriage sometimes hurt. I longed for emotional support from my husband, but sometimes I felt more alone now than I had as a single person.

Thank God for Rachel. My sweet baby was my rescuer and my comfort; she loved affection and returned it enthusiastically. She was so incredibly beautiful! One of the more abrupt ladies in our congregation said she was the prettiest baby in the nursery. I couldn't argue. I wove tiny ribbons and bows amidst her blonde curls and dressed her in pink, with stripes and polka dots and an abundance of sparkly sequins. I seriously overdid it, but she reveled in it, cooing and smiling at everyone as they admired her.

When Rachel was seventeen months old, baby David was born. Oh, Lord, more joy! Two years later little Joel came along. My cup overflowed and I was surrounded with loving arms. Rachel and I took turns spoiling the boys, she somehow making sure she got more turns than I did.

By this time, Doug had graduated from seminary and he was at his first pastorate. It was a small church with a few older members. Doug planned to increase the number of parishioners. He succeeded during the four years he was there, doubling the size to almost eighty members. Relatively speaking, it was thriving. We had a cute house in a nice neighborhood filled with families and kids who were the same age as ours, and a sweet little church in the countryside.

But then . . .

Doug got restless and went into a deep funk. He'd always been withdrawn, but now he was gravely depressed. I'd only once before seen him with tears in his eyes, so the day I came home and found him facedown, sobbing on the floor of his office, I was terrified.

"Doug! What's wrong?" I ran to him and wrapped my arms around his waist.

"I don't know," he said. "This morning I started crying and I can't stop."

What a relief! I was afraid someone had died or he'd committed a heinous sin! "Is that all?" I said. "Honey, I cry at least once a month for no apparent reason! Welcome to the human race!" I said, hugging him tighter.

"I think I need a break," he said.

Our church gave him time off and we all prayed fervently for him. It was a relief to hear he just had burnout. But it was scary for the kids to see their daddy like this. The man who we thought had no emotions now cried constantly.

The kids and I went on more outings; swimming, freezing corn, over to see the grandparents -- anything to try and keep Doug's blue mood from permeating the whole family. On one of these outings to my parent's home, when Rachel was four years old, she told us that she'd asked Jesus into her heart.

From that time on, Rachel insisted on hearing the story of Jesus dying on the cross, over and over and over.

Time went by, many prayers went up and little by little Doug pulled through his depression. Eventually he pulled way through. Now he went from crying all the time to literally being on his knees all day or night, praying. It seemed a little creepy at first. Yet it convicted me, and I began praying more often as well.

In time Doug believed that God was calling him to pastor a much larger church - one we had formerly attended. Doug was an extremely dynamic and vivacious preacher; the church sought him out and asked him to candidate for the position of Senior Pastor. He did, and was chosen.

After prayer and counseling with others, Doug resigned from our country church. The members were sad to see us go, but we were trying to follow God's calling.

Doug threw himself into his new position and work soon consumed his life. I knew I should be happy that my husband was making such an impact for the Kingdom of God, and I did have a lot of joy in my life. Yet sometimes my loneliness felt strangling, no matter how much time I spent with friends or how loving my children were. I ached for my husband. Not just for him to be there, studying in his office or taking me on our obligatory date night, but I longed for him to respond to the feelings I had for him. His mind and heart were elsewhere. However, I was giving him up to do God's work, so I tried hard not to complain.

Rachel and the boys adjusted to our new, larger home quickly. After home schooling Rachel and David through kindergarten, I took a job teaching at a private Christian school, so we could all attend together. The boys enjoyed classes and were happy being chauffeured each day to school. Rachel was a fast learner, diligent, obedient and creative. She loved to write and wrote about her guinea pig, who was a super hero in her stories.

Still dressed in pink, her long blonde hair in neat ponytails, she was a joyful child, but very sensitive. Sometimes I worried she was too sensitive. Like the day she went to the neighbor's house and came home in tears.

"Honey, what's wrong?" I said.

"They were smoking, Mommy," she said, tears running down her flushed cheeks. "Will you pray for them with me?"

When Rachel was seven years old, she sat her brothers down in the back field, where they tossed the baseball with their daddy, and she explained the Gospel story to them. It wasn't the first time they'd heard it, but this time Joel was deeply touched and asked his sister how he could have Jesus living in his heart too. Rachel took his chubby little hands and showed him how to pray.

When Doug went on hospital visits, Rachel always begged to go along. She was a daddy's girl through and through. Maybe too much for her own good; she got her feelings hurt when he didn't invite her. Doug played baseball with the boys whenever he had a spare moment, and even helped coach their little league teams. But she wasn't included.

As Rachel grew, I hurt for her, knowing how she felt. In between his ministry work and his love of baseball, Doug didn't have much left over. I winced when Rachel came home from middle school and announced she'd joined a softball team. I hoped she wouldn't be crushed if this failed to get her more of her daddy's attention.

But for awhile, it seemed like her plan was a success. With Rachel playing softball, she and her daddy had much more to talk about. Then when Rachel's softball team needed a coach, Doug had a solution. He recommended Brandee, one of the attractive young women from our church who was athletic and passionate about baseball -- nearly as passionate about it as Doug was.

A woman, I might add, who my husband enjoyed talking baseball with just a little too much.

Chapter Four

Then Rachel entered high school and started wearing black, all the time.

She wasn't rebellious, exactly. She didn't get any piercings, didn't dye her hair black or wear a trench coat -- but it pained me to watch my perceptive and sincere girl become so shuttered. She just wasn't herself these days. I wondered if I should get Doug's input, if he could make time for me in his schedule. But then, during my efforts to find time on his calendar for a long, serious talk, I stumbled across information that seemed to come from nowhere.

Doug and Brandee had been emailing each other, daily, to talk about baseball.

Stunned and reeling, I didn't know if I should be concerned or not. But I was definitely stung. I forwarded one of their longer emails to my Mom and then called her. She wasn't home, so I poured out my heart on her answering machine and then waited for an answer.

I didn't have to wait long. Mom called and said she and my step-father were on their way over. Mom had remarried years earlier and my step-father, Al, was also a pastor. He was in his 80s at this time, so he had years of experience to draw upon.

They came down that evening.

We all went into Doug's study and Al closed the door. I hadn't told Doug why they were coming. Over the years he'd gotten to where he'd snap at me over nothing, and this was way more than nothing.

Mom's expression was gentle and kind, but I figured even Doug felt her tension as she and Al seated themselves on the small couch across from his desk. Al was a big man; even at eighty he still had a strong, steady voice and a certain presence. After pleasantries, he explained to Doug why they'd come.

"Son," he said, "you're a pastor. That means you're in the Lord's army, but not just in it, you're leading the way. You're always under fire and even when you think you're not, there's a sniper with your head in his sights."

I wasn't exactly sure where Al was headed with that, but then he clarified.

"Anytime a Christian pops their head up to share the faith, or even live for Jesus in a way that gets noticed, they're declaring war on the enemy. An enemy who always fights back," Al said.

Doug, in true Doug form, sat silently in his office chair with his hands together, fingertips tapping impatiently together.

I noticed that my Mom sat close to my step-father, squeezing his hand gently while he spoke. She used to do the same with my father. Encouraging, sharing in what he did and said. I, on the other hand, was on the far side of the room, where Doug had put me lately. It hurt, because there had been a time when we were always holding hands or touching in some way.

My step-father continued. "Doug, the devil's working day and night to see pastors caught in moral failure. However, you'll notice sexual immorality gets more than its share of the attention. Why? I'll tell you. A Christian who shares his faith is a huge threat to Satan and his work. But Christians who live their faith by loving their family are his worst nightmare.

"People see committed, unconditional, faithful, self-sacrificing love flowing from a Christian to his wife, and through that they glimpse what God's love looks like! They see the kind of relationship he's offering them with himself." He paused and patted my Mom's knee. "A marriage between me and God, that's what Christianity is. And the body of believers, that's family. Does that make sense, Son?" he asked.

Doug nodded. It made sense to me too, but . . .

Hmmm.

It also made me wonder; it had been quite some time since I'd seen that kind of love flowing between Doug and I.

"Your very real spiritual enemy is working non-stop to destroy your family, Doug. And what's the backbone of your family? Well, your marriage of course," Al said. "The married couple, that's the core of any family. And the vows and trust between man and wife are the core of the marriage.

"Your marriage can limp along indefinitely with many moral failures making it weak. Weak, but not dead. But once the exclusive sexual bond between husband and wife is broken, the marriage has a fatal disease," he said.

I noticed the feeling in the room had just cooled considerably.

"Once that sexual bond is violated," Al said, "without an all-out-miracle, the relationship will die. If the marriage dies, the family's dispersed; no longer are they a ministry-minded family; no longer are they a threat to Satan's work of destroying people," he said. "Gotcha! Right between the . . . eyes."

At this point Doug's expression actually looked . . . hateful. I was sure I was seeing things, but he looked . . . at least fervently irritated.

"Al, I'm not entirely sure what you're implying," he said.

My mom spoke up now. "Doug, I showed the email between you and Brandee to our Church Pastor of Counseling, and we asked his advice," she said.

Oh boy, was I in trouble.

"He thinks that Brandee is fixated on you, Doug," Mom said. "He believes Satan has sent her and that she'll destroy your ministry, if you're not careful."

My step-father, with tears in his eyes now, joined in. "Son, take these emails to your elders! Together with the elders, rebuke this young woman for trying to build an intimate friendship with you, and then begin ignoring her. Pray she'll get over her infatuation and place her desire back on her own husband, where it belongs."

Wow. I could tell by Doug's face that he thought they were blowing the entire thing out of proportion. I actually agreed. They meant well, but they didn't know Brandee. She was on the worship team and in my intercessory prayer group. She was maybe a little dingy, and too chatty toward my husband, but she loved the Lord and was harmless. They were over-reacting.

Doug tried to reassure them, but came off sounding defensive, so it wasn't entirely reassuring. He wasn't an intern, he said. He'd been a senior pastor now for many years. He explained that we had always had safeguards to protect our marriage and that they were currently in place and functioning well. Doug didn't counsel women, he was reserved in showing affection to women, and he was careful not to be alone with any woman other than me.

"I appreciate your concern," Doug said. "But this area isn't one of my weaknesses. I'm not claiming to be perfect, but if I ever fall into sin, it won't be the sin of adultery. I'm satisfied with my life, my marriage, my family, and," he said, "I'm satisfied with my sex life."

I knew where he was coming from; Doug and I had always had that going for us. In a way, it made up for the lack of emotional or spiritual intimacy. Things had been great, physically, for a long time. But lately . . . Satisfied?

What sex life?

After my Mom and Al left I put my arms around Doug.

"Are you mad at me?"

"No", he said. "I would have preferred that you didn't tell your parents, but I understand why you did. I'm glad that's all settled."

I was too. Or, I guessed I was. I wasn't sure what we'd settled.

The next day, while I was still trying to figure out if we'd settled anything, and if so, what, Rachel came to me with a dilemma. She hated her life, and hated her school and hated youth-group most of all.

"Mom, please, I want to go to a different church," she asked. "A girl I know invited me to her youth group and I really want to go check it out."

Of course I was more or less floored. A different church? The pastor's daughter, attending elsewhere?

"Sure," I said. "If your father thinks it's a good idea." She knew what I meant by that.

"Mom! You know he won't let me. I need you to make him let me," she said. Black clothing aside, Rachel wasn't a rebel. Yet she had grown quieter, and it wasn't a peaceful kind of quiet.

"But honey, he isn't going to listen to me," I said. "And besides, I think it's wrong. How would that look to everyone?"

"I don't care," she said. "And I don't think anyone would even know I was gone anyway."

I knew Rachel didn't feel accepted in the youth group. I knew she wasn't happy at our church, but how could I suggest such a thing to Doug? Finally we agreed that if she would ask him, she could say I hadn't said no.

"Well I'm saying no," Doug answered when she finally got up the nerve to ask him." That was the end of that.

Or so I thought. A week later she wanted my advice about a situation. One of her friends, she said, was considering suicide. So what should she tell her?

I had to think about that one.

I counseled her about how bad the parents would feel if the child killed herself. It wasn't until the end of the conversation that it hit me she was talking about herself. I'm dense sometimes. But actually, I wasn't too shocked. I was a sensitive pastor's daughter too. Growing up I often thought, They'd be sorry if I was dead! It was unacceptable to be angry, so the anger turned inward. Apparently Rachel was the same way.

Praying became like breathing during this time. I was outnumbered and outgunned. I began by praying for Rachel, praying when there was a need like I'd always done. But then, slowly, something began to dawn on me. When I was in prayer, I didn't feel the same deep loneliness that usually ate at me. When worries and needs drove me to prayer, the aching loneliness would lift and I knew I was being held. I wasn't alone. I was embraced. I was caressed with His love.

Then it struck me: GOD -- ALMIGHTY GOD -- WANTED TO BE INTIMATE WITH ME! This thought changed my life and warped me into a whole new level of spiritual life!

Tears filled my eyes; how full of wonder it was that God wanted to talk to me! A lot of times, my husband would be true to his nature, quiet, when I'd want someone to talk to. All the times I was longing for conversation with Doug, God wanted it with me. Me?

Suddenly praying was not boring; it was not a chore. It was a delight. I was getting strength for the journey, hope, and fruit of the Spirit. It was so sweet conversing with God, knowing He was listening and that He answered my prayers. I knew that all my life, but this was different.

My prayers also began to shift away from family worries. Though it would seem I should have been praying constantly for Rachel, for the boys, for Doug and our relationship, my heart was actually grieving for the people in our church. I began to think of them all through the day, their struggles, their joys, and the fact that many of them - despite being in the house of God, were not themselves God's house. They hadn't let Him rule over and reside in their hearts. They lived outside His control, thus outside the power of the Holy Spirit to help them overcome. Sometimes I even woke up at night, crying and praying for the flock. They were surrounded by things that wanted to devour their families, and worst of all, they were completely unaware. I begged God to protect them.

Oh, God! Please give them eternal vision. Lord Jesus, bring revival to our church!

Chapter Five

Every July many families from our church went to a Bible conference at Pinebrook Camp. There our whole family would share a room; togetherness at its best! This summer when it was time for camp, I was sick. Yet it would hardly feel like summer if we didn't go to Pinebrook, so I packed and we all headed up to The Poconos on a Saturday.

After we arrived, we enjoyed a delicious meal and then a great concert in the evening. The adults put their young kids to bed and we sat outside the rooms on the porch, talking and laughing until at least midnight, even though we knew there was chapel early in the morning. Being sick, by Sunday afternoon, I was beat.

The turnout was huge this weekend and Doug wanted to play softball with some of the people from our church. There were tons of people around and plenty of softball players for a game. I figured they wouldn't miss me, so I stayed behind at our cabin and laid down for a nap.

I think I was sound asleep just after my head hit the pillow. I was dead to the world, as my mother always put it. Utter relaxation.

Suddenly I jolted awake, bolting straight up in the bed, with my heart pounding in alarm. A thought had come to my head and blasted me from my slumber. Those who know me know that it is not easy to wake me up! Yet this mere thought did it:

Hope, something’s going on with Doug and Brandee.

My heart raced, my mind told me to get up, get out there and go see Doug. My body was still in a half-awake stupor, so I rolled off the bed and stumbled to my feet, running before I even got to the cabin door.

This can't be true, I argued.

I chided myself for even thinking such a thought, but I was terrified anyway. God had spoken to my heart in the past, and this seemed like Him. However, what seems to be is not always what is.

I kept running down the path toward the softball field, feeling both scared and ridiculous. My heartbeat was louder than my feet pounding the rock path. As I neared the field, I rounded a corner and saw Doug and Brandee laughing, talking and strolling together, softball gear in tow, sweaty from an invigorating game of softball.

Others, too, were returning from the game.

Nothing was going on. I stopped to catch my breath, feeling like a fool. I'd overreacted. There was nothing wrong. I was ashamed that I didn't have more trust in my husband. I tried to appear nonchalant, but I'm sure my face betrayed my feelings. It usually does.

I made light conversation with Brandee and then she headed off to the pool to her family. I was embarrassed and sorry for my imprudence. Yet no matter what I told myself, the feeling that awakened me from deep slumber remained.

The weekend ended and life went on. David and Joel were doing well in school; they were popular and always busy. Rachel had graduated from high school as salutatorian of her class and she was taking college courses and working. I'd taken time off from my teaching position to stay home with my new computer and take classes online toward my master's degree. If I was studious, I could do it in a year, then return to teaching with a new degree; thus, a higher salary and new possibilities.

Doug continued to be a rousing speaker and die-hard baseball fan. Red Sox to be exact.

The kids and I attended games with him often. One day we went to a Red Sox game at Fenway Park. We arrived early so we could see some batting practice. Doug and the kids went down to the field, hoping to snag a foul ball. I settled into my seat in the stadium, propped my feet up on the seat-back in front of me, and leaned my head back to pray -- just enjoying Jesus.

Me and my first love, kicking back at the game together. It was wonderful!

You know, I prayed, I sure would like to catch a foul ball. Everyone else in the family's caught one at other games, but it would be so cool if I had one from Fenway Park, the epitome of ballparks!

I could ask Him for anything, right? The desires of my heart? That out of the way, I began to talk to God about more important stuff. With my eyes closed, I smiled, enjoying His presence.

THUNK!

Right away, I heard the unmistakable sound of a hardball hitting the seat near me. A foul ball! You should have seen me jump up and grab that thing! Wow, was this ever cool. In a few moments, fans starting running up the stadium to find the ball. I calmly sat down, hiding the ball as they looked in vain.

Wow! Thanks, God!

So I got my ball, but then I had another idea.

Can I have it signed?

I wasn't the big baseball fan Doug was, so I didn't know who all the players were. However, there was one player who was clearly identifiable -- even I could pick him out. He was the first baseman, Mo Vaughn, a large athlete with a bald head. He ended up being voted Most Valuable Player that year.

Can Mo Vaughn sign my ball, please?

I wasn't sure how that would work, since I didn't have a pen or money to buy one. I had one dollar and six cents with me. I didn't want to ask Doug for the money; he'd think it was ridiculous. Lastly, even if I had a pen, how could I get to Mo Vaughn?

The obstacles were insurmountable; therefore, I prayed.

After the game I asked a lady in the restroom if I could buy a pen off her for a dollar. She said no, she'd just give it to me. I looked at Rachel and said, "I have a ball, and I have a pen, what do you think the Lord's gonna do next?" The expectation on her face met the anticipation I felt. We were on the brink of our own little personal miracle.

It was our family custom after a game at Fenway, to hang out around the player's parking lot. It was fenced in, with security all around, but sometimes when a player was driving out, he might feel happy enough to stop and sign a few balls.

So we waited hopefully with other fans, stalking departing players.

Doug and the kids stood by the barrier where the players drove out. I went over to the chain link fence and found a spot where the chain link gapped big enough to slide my arm through. The tarp covering the fence had a space there too, and I could see in through a four-inch window, so to speak.

Players came, got in cars and left, but I had my eye on one car -- a sleek, black Dodge Viper. It looked like what I thought Mo Vaughn would drive.

Lord, I prayed, there are so many things I want more than to have Mo Vaughn sign my ball. I began reciting a list for him, and at the top was revival for the people in our church. But, I concluded, if You'd like to do this for me, I would be so happy!

In a few more minutes, a beautiful young black woman walked out toward the car I'd targeted. Sure enough, in another minute, Mo Vaughn came out of the locker room and walked toward her. Kids to my right began calling his name.

I reached my skinny white arm through the gap in the fence and called out, "Mr. Vaughn, Sir, would you please sign my ball?"

He didn't hear me, but his friend did. She silently came over to me, took the ball and pen from my hand, and delivered them to him. She gestured over at me, and he glanced my direction and signed my ball. It was the only ball he signed that night.

She walked back, with a sweet smile on her face, and wordlessly handed me the ball.

Wow! Thank You, God! You are so incredibly sweet to me!

Chapter Six

The night Mo Vaughn signed my ball, I prayed again for revival. I prayed longer and harder than usual, my heart heavy, my mind flooded with hurting, lost, confused faces that I knew and loved. Then, as I'd done for as long as I could remember, I ended by praying fervently for my husband.

Lord, show me what I can do for him! Anything, Lord, with Your grace I'll do it!

I'd now graduated from Regent University and was teaching part time at the Christian high school where my boys attended. I loved seeing David and Joel at school. It gave us a chance to be together away from the less-than-happy mood that currently dominated in our home. They weren't oblivious. They saw their father snap at me and treat me very coldly. They were confused, and rightly so. Rather than make them think it was behavior they should imitate, I brought it out in the open. I told them that if it seemed like their dad wasn't acting in line with the heart of God, nor having the mind of Christ right now, they were right.

"I don't want you disrespecting your dad," I said. "But God commands men to be loving husbands - to love their wives as themselves, being patient, gentle and kind.

"Pray for your father," I said. "He's depressed again and I don't know how to help him," I said. "But, yes, you are seeing what you think you're seeing. Don't doubt your discernment."

Doug's behavior at home was disturbing, but his ministry flourished. He'd developed a leadership training class for elders and deacons. A prayer ministry was up and running, and each pastor had a prayer team of at least 20 members. Worship had become more contemporary with the addition of drums and newer songs blended with the old hymns. Doug's messages were strong -- that man could preach!

Then one Sunday morning in the spring, God spoke to me.

Before service started I found my seat near the front and bowed my head. I was troubled. I'd seen Brandee and Doug alone together in a Sunday school classroom that morning. They were just talking . . . but. Why did this bother me so much?

Oh, my sweet Lord, I prayed. Lord, God. I . . . can't find the words. I don't know what to pray.

Then I heard His voice, deep in my soul:

I will let you know what you need to know, when you need to know it.

I'm always thankful when the Holy Spirit speaks to me. I breathed a sigh of relief. I didn't have to worry, I didn't have to figure it out -- God knew. He was the Lover of my Soul. He would tell me what I needed to know when I needed to know it.

With that issue cleared for the time being, I was able to worship unhindered. Later on, when I saw more things that made me uncomfortable -- like the way she put her arm around his neck at the church door after service and whispered in his ear, "Good message," - the words the Spirit spoke to my heart came back to me.

All through this season, I could literally feel God pulling me toward himself. It was both beautiful and heartbreaking. I wanted so much to have a friend to speak openly with. But who does a pastor's wife confide in when their pastor isn't being nice to her?

Rachel and I were close, but I couldn't burden my child with worries about her parents. I talked to my mom some. I needed her hugs, wisdom and guidance; most of the time I appreciated her words.

But mostly, I prayed. No one understood like God did. Even my mom seemed to assume relationship problems are always a two-way street. I constantly brought my attitudes before my Lord, asking Him to adjust them. Yet my husband remained cold and inconsiderate with me. God's love was perfect, and look at the response He so often got.

So I brought Him my worries and secret pain. As the old hymn says:

"O, what peace we often forfeit!

O, what needless pain we bear!

All because we do not carry

Everything to God in prayer."

I was honest with Him when I felt another man was more attentive or attractive to me than my husband. Change my heart! Keep me from sin, I prayed. The intimacy I missed from my husband flowed between my God and me. God was a tender, loving husband. He loved to hear me talk to Him anywhere, anytime.

Another Sunday I was sitting in my usual seat in church, and the service was going on. Doug was getting ready to preach. Although I was usually relaxed at the beginning of a message and eager to hear what my husband would say, I was growing more conflicted. How could his words from the pulpit so greatly contradict what I saw at home?

Hope, I will not let Doug get away with sin.

I knew this was the voice of my God. But, often, when God speaks to me, I'm not exactly sure what he's talking about. I thought about it, and then my mind went to the fact that Doug wasn't loving me as he should. God called this a sin! He understood. I felt loved and comforted.

Thank You, God!

I've always prayed and heard encouraging guidance from my God, but during this time His words to me intensified.

The next time I heard Him, I'd just woken up -- sweaty and restless -- in the middle of a hot July night.

Hope, I will meet all your needs.

Comforting -- but again, confusing.

Then August came. I looked forward to another year teaching school, but I also felt a heartache coming on. Rachel had decided to transfer to a college that was much farther from home. I'd be losing the company of my daughter, my closest friend.

One Friday night I sat crocheting and praying on the couch in my living room. The front door opened and Doug came in. His friend Greg - an elder at the church - was with him. I noticed right away that Greg looked horrible. It pained me to see his face so tortured! I prayed silently for him:

God, help Greg! What's happened? Comfort him, Father!

Doug just looked stoic, as always. They came into the living room and sat down, Doug in the rocking chair across from me, and Greg off to my right. They both just sat, looking at me. The room grew tense.

At last, Doug spoke in his matter of fact tone. "I have something to tell you," he said. Then he paused for a stifling moment before continuing. Finally, he said, "You aren't going to like it."

I could feel my heart thumping. What was this? Greg's face betrayed the gravity of the moment. I looked back at Doug.

"I've been having an affair for the last two years," he said.

My world imploded. I sat there, probably for a very long time -- saying nothing. Thinking, What am I to think? What does one think, if one thinks, after what was just said? No words, no thoughts, no expression -- nothing fit. But then, after time, eventually a word came to me, and I said it.

"Who?"

"Brandee," he replied. Arrogance. Suddenly I saw his expression for what it was.

Not stoic, but arrogant.

It felt like someone had just regurgitated in my mouth, into my whole being.

Chapter Seven

"The commandments, ‘Do not commit adultery,’ ‘Do not murder,’ ‘Do not steal,’ ‘Do not covet,’ and whatever other commandment there may be, are summed up in this one rule: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’

Love does no harm to its neighbor. Therefore love is the fulfillment of the law." (Romans 13:9-10)

The day after next was Sunday.

I crossed the church parking lot alone. Our children had gone to my parents' house to spare them from what would take place in the service that day.

Church began as usual. I sat in the back, not my usual seat. I've never been able to hide my emotions and, even with careful make-up, I looked the wreck that I was. No makeup covers a broken spirit.

The elders had told me Doug was scheduled to come up at the end of the service and read his letter of resignation. Doug's assistant pastor preached that day. Only by the grace and goodness of God did that young man stand and proclaim God's word when he knew what he knew about his mentor and boss.

I hadn't seen Doug since Friday and didn't see him around now. I was okay with that. I didn't know what to do with him. I'd never had instruction on what to do if your pastor husband was unfaithful. All our pastor's-wives seminars taught us was to be submissive and supportive.

What now?

I loved my church, and I claimed the church kids as my own. I taught some of them from preschool all the way through in children's church. I felt sick knowing how deeply this was going to hurt them. It had the power to alter their view of church forever -- possibly their view of God.

Unjustly so, but the devil had used the same trick over and over again -- with success.

Shine my light, Hope. Don’t let these people be blinded. Give them my truth.

Very shortly now the members of the church would all get the shock of their lives. I loved these people far too much to stay quiet. I needed the elders permission to speak to the congregation, so I'd written out a speech and asked if they would allow me to read it.

They approved.

Oh, Lord, I will shine for You. I will, bless Your beautiful and holy name, but hold me, please. Hold me tighter. Breathe into me.

By this time, some within the church family knew, but most did not. One of my "brothers" tapped me on the shoulder. I followed him to the hallway. He gazed at me and with great concern -- looking at my telltale face -- he asked, "What's happened?"

I told him.

Everyone I told had the same reaction of shock, disbelief and sadness. He held me while my sobs rocked me.

I went back into the service and managed to sing some of the songs. I knew God was good all the time and worthy of my praise -- even when my heart was bleeding. At times my crying choked off the singing. I tried to let the words of the spiritual songs slip into my being and comfort me.

I tried.

When the service closed, an announcement was made that those who were members and regular attendees should stay a few minutes longer, while visitors were dismissed. I noticed now, for the first time, that some dear family friends of ours had driven a few hours to be with us this morning. They knew.

They had come. Thank You, God.

Then it was time. Doug entered the ministry center by the side door. His steps were deliberate and determined as he walked to the microphone. He didn't look at anyone. Head up, face blank, he simply read his brief letter of confession and resignation, then turned and walked out the same door he had entered.

It was like an atomic bomb had gone off. Pastor Doug, in sin? Resigning? But Doug was a dynamic preacher and a godly man. Was this a joke? Pastor Doug loved his family and his wife. Pastor Doug was their example of a godly husband and father. Was there ever any indication that he was anything but? How could this be true? The ripple effect spread throughout the congregation.

The sanctuary filled with the sounds of crying, wailing and moaning.

Only some of it came from me.

One of the elders announced that I wanted to share something. On legs that God moved for me, I stood, walked up the aisle, climbed onto the stage and stopped in front of the microphone.

God did not let me turn back or fall down.

Bring them the truth, Hope. They’re lost, hurting, and without a shepherd.

An elder had asked if I wanted him to read my letter for me. No, I did not.

I gazed out at row after row of faces streaked with tears, expressions like hope trampled; my beloved ones. My church family needed to hear this from my voice. My church kids needed reassurance that the whole world had not been shattered; only a piece of it.

My hands shook as I steadied myself with a prayer, then opened my eyes and read:

"My dear brothers and sisters,

You are my beloved ones, my body under Christ our head. Our pastor, my husband, has fallen into sin.

Don't follow him.

Bitterness or hatred will destroy your spiritual life. You must go on.

Go deeper with Jesus.

You're hurt, angry, and horribly disappointed. Don't let the devil trick you into thinking that God must be a lie.

God has not betrayed you.

Remember all of us are capable of any sin. Continue to love Pastor Doug -- pray for him. You'll feel the need to talk about this. That can be a trap as well. Don't give Satan any more than he's already taken. Glorify God here and in your life.

Remember the things you've learned -- what Pastor Doug spoke to you in the power of the Spirit is true. Remember King David? He was a man after God's own heart. He committed adultery, and murder. Yet he repented; we all read his psalms and are comforted.

Let your confusion drive you to Jesus.

The children and I will be alright - pray for us. We have the peace of God. He will take care of us. He never lets us down. We don't know what the future holds, but we know who holds the future.

To all of you who are my age and older than me, pray so hard. I love each one of you, you are precious to me and your relationship with God is an example to all of us. Don't let this take away your faith.

God is faithful.

Husbands, love your wives like Christ loves the church. Wives, respect your husbands.

Young people -- you are my children. I love you so much. I pray that not one of you will be taken by the enemy. Not one! Resolve to live a life in the power of the Holy Spirit, and never let your guard down. If you are trapped in a sin, confess it. You don't want to be disciplined by God. Let today be the day God receives glory in your life. Speak to a strong believer today and get your heart right.

Psalm 46 reads: God is our refuge and strength, an ever present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea, though its waters roar and foam and the mountains quake with their surging.

There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God, the holy place where the Most High dwells. God is within her, she will not fall, God will help her at the break of day. Nations are in an uproar, kingdoms fall, He lifts his voice, the earth melts.

The Lord Almighty is with us, the God of Jacob is our fortress. Be still and know that I am God. I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth.

The Lord Almighty is with us."

Chapter Eight

"Therefore the people wander like sheep oppressed for lack of a shepherd.

‘My anger burns against the shepherds, and I will punish the leaders; for the Lord Almighty will care for his flock . . .'" (Zechariah 10:2b-3a)

I went back to my seat and collapsed, sobbing. Friends sat with me, their arms wrapped tightly around me. Soon people were all around, speaking words of comfort, reaching down to hug me, holding my hands. I'd seen this before, but only at funerals.

For an hour or more we shared our agony, as family.

Back at home I joined my children and told them how things had gone. By then they'd come home and the teens from our church, who they'd grown up alongside, had walked over to the house. They came to comfort by standing around and talking about nothing. Life goes on, their presence said. They were wonderful.

Later that afternoon the phone rang. It was Tom, Brandee's husband.

"I want to thank you," he said. "Thank you for getting up and reading that letter to everyone, and then for sitting down and dissolving into tears."

My tears fell again as Tom shared his side of the story.

Tom had been confused by his wife's behavior. She'd grown distant and they argued more than ever before. On Thursday night, home alone, he slouched on their bed, wondering what was up, asking God what he could do to help his marriage. Then he heard a voice speak softly to him, not audibly, but in his inner self.

Reach under the bed.

He did what many of us do when you get a thought that seems so strange - he resisted. However, the thought was insistent and persistent.

Reach under the bed.

Again and again it nagged at him. At last, feeling stupid, he stretched his hand under the bed.

"See? Nothing there," he said, satisfied and a little chagrined that he even obeyed the thought.

Reach farther.

It was nuts, but what did he have to lose? As Tom stretched his arm under the bed, farther this time, he felt something. It was a book. He pulled it out, his heart racing. It was a journal with his wife's writing in it.

"What I read, Hope, made me want to scrub my mind with a scouring pad to erase the images. My wife wrote about her encounters with your husband . . . I was at work and you thought Doug was out visiting the sick. It was . . . wicked, horrible, sickening."

His pain poured out in sobs and words of hurt, confusion and anger. I listened and cried with him over the phone. We had no answers. Tom wondered how many other women Doug had taken advantage of. I didn't think it was entirely Doug's fault, as he did, and I didn't think there were others. Doug had been acting strangely for only the past several years.

However, I didn't argue with Tom. He was entitled to his accusations. He was entitled to so much more! God intended marriage to be a beautiful reflection of His intimacy with us. I couldn't fix this shattered mess, Tom couldn't fix it . . . but our conversation was long and somehow comforting.

I believed God would work this out, somehow. It was a trial, for sure, but I was sure Doug would repent. Doug loved his family and he loved me. Or, at least, had loved me.

Could a man of God stop loving his wife? When you commit yourself to your spouse, don't you love them regardless of whether they gain weight or lose their hair? God's love is eternal. What about a godly man's love?

It made no sense at all. Yet life must go on. We'd already planned a family vacation, so Rachel, David, Joel and I packed our bags, hoping a change might help. With heavy hearts, we loaded up the Chevy and set out for the Boston area. Once on the road, I sang to keep from crying. Under normal circumstances I used to sing intentionally off-key to get my kids laughing or groaning. This time I sang quietly, any hymn I could think of. Rachel sat next to me, and the boys were in the back. We left in the early evening and Joel and David were soon asleep. Rachel stayed awake listening to me sing, ready to take over the driving if needed.

It was really late when we reached the hotel where we had the reservation. I'd never taken a long trip alone. Doug had always done the driving, and managed reservations and finances. Now it was just me and the kids. Overwhelmed, I broke down sobbing in the hotel lobby. The clerk waited patiently and then walked me through the process of checking into the hotel.

At last we settled into our room and I got into the bed I shared with Rachel. Loneliness, confusion and exhaustion poured over me and I couldn't stop my tears. I tried to keep it down, but I couldn't. As I sobbed, Rachel put her arms around me.

"I can't fix it!!" I blubbered. "I can't fix it!!"

Cuts and scrapes can be kissed and lacerations can be stitched. But our hearts were crushed. How do you fix that? It was something I'd never felt before, not even with the death of my father. This was betrayal. The pain wasn't clear and clean like I'd known in the past. This pain was dirty and toxic, with an evil, sinister feel. The man we all loved most, the man we all looked to for spiritual advice had cast us aside . . . to get into some woman's pants.

Eventually I managed to internalize my sobs so my children could sleep. Yet sleep wouldn't come for me, so I tiptoed into the bathroom, shut the door and sat on the floor. I slumped forward and rested my forehead on the cold tile. At one point I felt a need to write, so I stole out and got a pen and hotel stationary, then returned to the bathroom.

Dear Doug,

I haven't slept or ate much since Greg caught you in your sin and you had to confess it. To say I'm angry and hurt barely scratches the surface. But if I tell you I feel neglected, rejected and lonely, you'll say, "You going to bring that up again?"

Strange that I've been so insignificant to you. I've thought you were oh so special, wonderful and smart. But you barely noticed me, except to reprimand me. You've rocked my spiritual life for so long. Confusion and resentment hounded me, seeking a foothold in my heart. You've kept me busy repenting. Ten thousand times I've given my anger to God. He took it away and gave me peace. Praise the Lord! Then I'd pick it up again and I had to start all over. Still He always takes it when I ask Him to.

Yet I have loved you, and I love you now, regardless. I'm willing to work on our marriage if you're ready to repent and love me, and your family as Christ loves us.

When the sun came up, I crept back and lay by Rachel for awhile before she and the boys awoke.

We spent the next few days sightseeing. On one of our day trips we went to the Boston Garden. I found a seat and let the kids explore the museum. I couldn't have cared less about the sights, but if the kids were even close to being happy, it was good enough for me.

I sat down to pray; I couldn't function without it. I knew God's people were praying for us too.

Lord, thank You for these beloved ones who cry for us and hold us up in prayer while their own hearts are breaking!

I had a very small Bible with me, so while I sat waiting, I stumbled through it, crying out to God, hoping I would strike gold. Lo and behold, I did. I flipped to Joel, Chapter One and began reading.

"Hear this, you elders; listen, all who live in the land. Has anything like this ever happened in your days or in the days of your forefathers?"

No, I answered the scripture mentally. Something like this has never happened in our family, in our church, or even in our denomination! My family's breaking new ground, oh, joy.

"Tell it to your children, and let your children tell it to their children, and their children to the next generation.

What the locust swarm has left the great locusts have eaten; what the great locusts have left the young locusts have eaten; what the young locusts have left other locusts have eaten.

Wake up, you drunkards, and weep! Wail, all you drinkers of wine; wail because of the new wine, for it has been snatched from your lips.

A nation has invaded my land, powerful and without number; it has the teeth of a lion, the fangs of a lioness.

It has laid waste my vines and ruined my fig trees. It has stripped off their bark and thrown it away, leaving their branches white.

Mourn like a virgin in sackcloth grieving for the husband of her youth."

I read on to the next chapter. Suddenly another verse seemed to spring out at me. I felt the Spirit saying:

Hope, this is for you:

"I will repay you for the years the locusts have eaten -- the great locust and the young locust, the other locusts and the locust swarm -- my great army that I sent among you.

You will have plenty to eat, until you are full, and you will praise the name of the Lord your God, who has worked wonders for you; never again will my people be shamed. "

Things that make you go hmmm.

When our week was over, we returned home and tried to move on with life. But as often as I could, I got away with the kids for another change of scenery. It helped some.

One day Rachel and I drove over to the Jersey seashore and laid on the beach. The sun was warm, but the wind made sure we were caked with sand.

"Mom," she asked, "do you remember that one time, when I went to intercessory prayer group with you?"

"You went a lot of times," I answered.

"Well, I mean the last time. And Brandee was there, praying."

I guess I remembered. Brandee was a regular at the prayer group.

"I interrupted her," Rachel said.

"Oh, I do remember," I said. That was a few months before our world imploded . . . back when we were a happy family. Rachel had gone to prayer group with me. Then when we were all taking turns praying, Rachel began praying in the middle of Brandee's turn, speaking loudly. It was awkward, but Rachel just kept praying and praying . . . eventually Brandee quieted and sat there, stunned. None of us knew what to say, so no one said anything.

"God spoke to me, Mom," Rachel said. "I heard the Spirit saying:

‘You pray now.’

And I answered, in my mind, But, Lord, Brandee's praying.

'"Mom, the Spirit answered me. I'm sure I heard His voice. He said:

‘It’s your turn to pray. I’m not listening to Brandee.’"

Later on, we strolled the boardwalk, ate watermelon and pizza, shopped and sat in the surf. Rachel talked a lot that day. She was angry, and she'd lost all faith in marriage.

Oh, Lord, please don't let her lose faith in You, I prayed.

After that I forced myself to journal, hoping that somehow this would help make sense of it all. That week Doug called and said he'd like to work on the marriage, so we began marriage counseling.

One day Doug came to our home after meeting with the counselor. He sat with me on the back porch and we drank iced tea. Glass in hand, he gazed into the distance. Without looking at me he said, "I apologize for the mess I made."

My friend, that didn't begin to cut it.

"The counselor said I should do something nice for you or give you something," he said, still staring off into the distance, not looking my way. "What do you want?" he asked flatly.

I stared at him in disbelief.

Oh, dear God, I am not taking him back like this!

I prayed the Lord would have mercy on him, and that God's mercy would lead him to repentance. I was hurting so bad I wanted to die.

Help me, Father, I prayed. My life belongs to You. I had to live; my kids needed me and I needed them. Oh, Lord, help me! I don't want to be clutching this horrible thing.

Then it was time for me to return to work, teaching school.

Help me, God. Help me be obedient to You. How can I walk and talk and teach in this trampled state? Fill me with Your strength, dear Lord.

Back at work I had to tell my co-workers what had happened. Some people already knew. Gossip like this spreads. I know that's just how humans are, but it still hurts to be the object of everyone's conversation and pity. Yet inside, I heard the voice.

Hope, let me shine my light through you.

As the month wore on, I encouraged Rachel to stick with her plans, knowing that in doing so, I would lose her company. When it was time for her to go, I drove her to the university. On the four-hour drive, the Lord gave me a verse:

"Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the desert and streams in the wasteland." (Isaiah 43:18-19)

After dropping Rachel off at school, (I did not cry then, thank You God!) I couldn't stop bawling. The one person that I felt closest to was now hours away.

I'm trying to rejoice in Your love, Jesus, but I don't understand why You let all this happen.

The next week Doug and I met at the marriage counselor's office. During our session he admitted that he never liked praying with me, never liked doing ministry with me and didn't even like to talk to me. He was getting in touch with his feelings, at last.

Afterward my tears were non-stop; the new normal for me.

Help me, God. Take away my love for this man. It's not fair that I should want him if he doesn't want me. Will I ever experience a husband's love again? Or should I just be satisfied in You? Encourage my heart! You promised You would restore the years the locusts have eaten. I'm holding You to it.

I re-read the book of Joel. It comforted me. I continued to read my Bible, seeking comfort and guidance. I brought all my desires and laid them at Jesus feet; He knew what was best.

Dear God, You say I should love those who hate me. It applies. So I say, how, God? How? Your word says, "be kind one to another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God for Christ's sake hath forgiven you." I'm trying, Lord. Only with Your help could this be possible. Help me.

I talked to the assistant Pastor, who was now filling in for Doug while the church looked for a new pastor.

"What should I do?" I asked him. I tried not to sound pitiful and desperate, but it was hopeless. I sobbed all over his desk; the desk that used to be Doug's.

"Just do what you know God wants you to do today, Hope," he answered. It occurred to me that he, too, had been thrown into a situation he couldn't have expected, nor prepared for. "Try your best," he said, "and if it doesn't work, at least you know you gave it your best shot."

He was right; what else could I do? Later I met my brothers for breakfast. They were worried. "You need to shift your thinking now," they both said.

But -- how? And shift to . . . what? I was a supportive, encouraging wife - a job I took seriously and did with my whole heart.

"Hope, you're a single-parent now," they repeated, over and over. My role had changed. It was time to change gears and do what needed to be done to live and take care of my children.

Oh, God, what? How?

I was a pastor's wife! I'd always been a pastor's wife, attending to my husband and the needs of the church family -- and living in a parsonage. Now, had I lost not only my husband, but also my identity and home?

Thank God Rachel called me often. We spent hours on the phone. She lifted my spirit with her love. Yet I also hurt for her; she was grieving and had lost the ability to trust.

"Mom, I'm never getting married," she said. I didn't argue with her. What could I say?

The boys didn't say much of anything. They distracted themselves with computer games, friends and baseball. They were fiercely protective of me: David would do anything for me at the slightest suggestion; Joel was sensitive, giving me plenty of hugs and reassurance.

At the end of the month, the marriage counselor wanted to see Doug and I together, so we met at the counselor's office. Once inside, the counselor explained that we needed to both agree to work on our marriage. I figured that was a mute point.

"Hope, will you commit to doing whatever it takes to work on your marriage?"

I consented immediately. "Absolutely, whatever it takes." Get on with it, put this nightmare behind us. I knew we had a future. Doug could never be a pastor again - our denomination was very strict about that. But we didn't have to divorce. With God's miracle healing-power, we could work through this and God would use us as a couple to help other couples whose marriages were damaged by adultery.

"Doug?" The counselor shifted his attention to my quiet husband.

The silence was deafening.

"Doug?" he repeated.

Finally Doug answered. "No," he said, "I'm not at that point."

Once again, he rocked my world. I shouldn't have been surprised, but I was.

The counselor suspended our sessions after that. "If Doug won't pledge to work on the marriage," he said, "there's nothing else I can do for you."

On the way out, I stopped and looked at Doug for a long time. Finally the words came and I spoke. "I don't want to see you again until you're ready to return to me with your whole heart."

He turned and walked away.

Chapter Nine

I was in survival mode at that point, feeling my way along in my new role.

The first and biggest problem was that we had no home -- just permission to live in the parsonage as long as needed. I didn't want to live there. It was haunted with memories. I wanted out, but how? I had a job, but it was part-time. It was all I'd ever needed. In an instant, everything had changed.

I put in a call to work, and my part-time job became full-time. I reached out to my friends from church and they were there for me, thank God. My friend Doral from intercessory prayer group had been through a divorce many years ago, so she had the single-mom thing down. She took me to the bank, and together, with a sympathetic executive, we looked at our account.

I sat in shock as the bank manager and Doral discussed how I needed to open my own account, take money out of our joint account and remove my name from it. I could barely hear what they were saying over the intensity of my thoughts. Is this really happening? It seemed like a bad dream, but I couldn't wake up.

Occasionally, the bank manager would tell me something and I would glance blankly at Doral. Her beautiful brown skin crinkled near the edges of her eyes, from her habit of smiling. "What he means is…" Doral began, bringing it down to the most elementary level.

"Do I want to do that?" I asked naively. I trusted Doral and did just what she said. I didn't take all the money out of the account, though I could have. Since there were four of us and only one of Doug, I took four-fifths of the money. He never complained about that.

Next on the agenda was finding a place to live. I prayed and the Spirit brought a verse to remembrance:

"Then you will know that I am in Israel, that I am the Lord your God, and that there is no other; never again will my people be shamed." (Joel 2:27)

Shame was the word of the day. I was so ashamed of what my husband had done. Many people were supportive, but some blamed me - they questioned how I could have been so oblivious. They implied that I must have failed Doug so that he felt the need for something or someone who was more. Yes, they talked, and I heard it. Again and again I carried the hurtful words to God in prayer. Again and again He comforted me.

Hope, I was cheated on as well. Was that my fault?

No, Lord. Never. You're perfect. But I'm not perfect! Still, I get Your point. Doug has a free will . . . and You offer us Your strength to stand if we choose to follow Your ways.

My children were deeply ashamed as well. For the last two years Doug had been accepting a pay check from the church - he was paid to be the spiritual leader, and all the time he lived a double life: Preaching one thing, living another. The kids and I wished we had the money to pay the church back for those two years. But we didn't. We couldn't undo or atone for anything Doug had done. Yet we could go on, and so, on we went.

Many years earlier I'd gotten a large sum of money when my father's accidental death resulted in a lawsuit. In our early years, Doug invested that money, and we'd put the principle in the bank, spending only the interest as my mother had directed. Now the children and I needed a home, and the money was there. The kids and I thanked God for setting that aside for us, so many years ago. He knew way back then what the future held for us.

House-hunting began with excitement, but soon turned to despair. I fell in love with a beautiful house right away, but my realtor shook her head.

"Hope, I don't want to see you get in over your head," she said. "You can't afford this one." One by one, every house I liked got the same reaction.

I had no clue what I was doing.

I felt forsaken. I sat down one night and cried. This wasn't my world. My world had been tipped upside down, dumping me out on my head. How could I function in someone else's reality? What were we supposed to do? We couldn't afford the houses we saw and we couldn't stay in the church parsonage. If God had shut this door, where was the open window?

The next morning I got up dutifully to go to school. It wasn't easy to make myself get up and go, but I was running out of sick days and the year had just begun. Walking down the hall to my classroom, I was stopped by a fellow teacher.

"Hey, Hope," he called. "You still looking for a house?"

You have no idea, I thought.

"My son Tony is thinking about selling his place," he said. "It's a small condo, close to the school." Tony and his wife Shelly had found a larger place and wanted to move.

I asked the inevitable, "How much?"

"I think he's asking $75,000," he replied.

My heart beat a little faster. That was so much less than everything we'd seen so far. Could this be our window? Or would it be a scary dump? My realtor and I rushed over to see the place that night. It was lovely. Just lovely!

Just minutes from where I worked, it was smaller than we were used to, but so cozy. Three bedrooms and two and a half baths. I loved the way Shelly had painted each room a different color and texture, giving it a unique charm. There wasn't a thing I would change.

Back in the car I turned to my realtor, I think I was smiling ear to ear. "I could move into it tomorrow!" I said. "What do you think?"

She looked at me, hands resting on the steering wheel, and said, "You know, sometimes you just know about a place. You just get a feeling. Hope, that place is yours."

Thank You, God. Thank You for watching out for Your broken little girl.

Chapter Ten

When moving day came, thirty people showed up to help - church friends, co-workers, family and even out-of-town friends. Thank God they came; I'm sure they had other things to do. We emptied the parsonage, loaded up a large truck and made the trek to our new home. It was a grand adventure! But when I saw all the boxes in my new living room, doubt washed over me and my eyes filled with tears.

"Where are you going to put all this stuff?" a friend asked.

I had no idea. The enormity of the situation overwhelmed me. I hadn't asked for a grand adventure. I'd have gladly kept my old life - Doug chose to destroy it and cast it aside, not me. I went up to my bedroom and cried, hoping nobody would know or think I was ungrateful for their help.

But later I took another look at my boxes and thanked God for giving us so much stuff! I was remembering now that virtually everything can be a praise report, if your heart's right. This was a time to begin thanking God more often - forcing myself to when necessary, because I sure didn't feel like it. But if I was going to survive this, I needed to keep my heart right. So, with songs of praise on my lips, I began to slowly unpack and tuck things into the little house. Mom always said to do the best you can with what you have. Soon our new house felt like home, and it was. Our first very own home!

Despite the blessings, I honestly don't know how I made it through those days. Not long after we were settled into our new home, divorce proceedings began. Some days I got to work and couldn't stay because I couldn't stop crying. Doug had continually made it plain: he didn't want me. I had compassionate co-workers who loved on me and watched me, trying unsuccessfully to hide their own pain at seeing me suffer. It was just so hard to accept. I've always been the kind of person who assumes everybody likes me. What's not to like? Yet for some reason, my husband didn't feel this way.

God provided every step of the way -- before I would put my foot down he'd already prepared the ground to receive it. But this was the first season of my life that I realized that it was just me and God in this adventure called life.

Months passed and the kids and I continued attending our same old church. I felt it was important for us and our church family to go through this together. Every Sunday morning and Wednesday evening, we trekked to church. The boys were active in youth ministries and I stayed around the parsonage and tutored a student.

One particular Wednesday evening, I heard a knock at the kitchen door. I opened it and found my friend Carol standing on the step, with a pizza box in her hand.

"Hey, I just picked up a pizza for my family and thought you might like one too! Here you go! Enjoy!" She hugged me and dashed off.

I looked up to heaven and smiled. This kind of thing kept happening to us. I wondered if people had any idea how much I appreciated their thoughtfulness.

When I finished tutoring my student that evening, I got in the car and set out to find a Sunoco station. Mom had given me a gift card for gas there. Money was scarce now, so I happily utilized every gift.

The day had gone well. We had so much to be thankful for, and still . . . my heart remained crushed beyond belief. It waited to get me alone, then the pain would wash over me in force. I turned the car north and drove on familiar streets with an aching in my heart and a pervasive, overwhelming sadness. I gripped the wheel and finally called out, "Why, God? Why?"

My tears ran down my face and blurred my vision. "Why, why, why . . . what did I do to deserve this, God? Why?"

My pitiful prayer whined on and on, nothing new to add, just multiplying words. But then a voice spoke in my heart:

You didn’t want him that way, did you?

I choked on my tears. God was speaking.

"Well, no!" I replied.

The rest of the conversation was a series of impressions, all while I was navigating the on-ramp on Route 309. God reminded me of how mean Doug had been. He had been sneaky, vile, disgusting -- while he was pretending to pastor and shepherd the flock of God! Oh, but that man sure could preach! He knew all the scriptures and stories.

Then again, knowing how to talk the talk doesn't mean it's the language of your soul. I guess that's why Jesus said you'll know them by their fruit. Make a tree good and the fruit will be good.

God was fed up with him. So, at the right time, he exposed him -- his lies, deceit, adultery, contempt for God and for me, and so on. God removed Doug from my life the only way it could be done. God himself was my husband, my provider. He alone loved me faithfully. Now Doug would be punished and I would get pizza. Despite the dark of the night around me, a light was beginning to come on.

Hope, are you my missionary?

No, Lord, of course not. I gave all that up to become a pastor's wife!

Who asked you to?

I thought You chose Doug for me!

Did I say you couldn’t be my missionary?

But You never let me go on even one mission!

Didn’t I?

I never did find a Sunoco station, but I did gain a new perspective on my messed up life! After driving around for long enough to know I was wasting far more gas than my gift card would give me, I turned around and headed home, with a new song inside me and thankfulness that felt more real now.

Thank You, God, that Doug is helping pay Rachel's way through college and has promised the boys the same!

Thank You so much for the beloved friend who gave us three hundred dollars so our first Christmas alone wouldn't be quite as pitiful.

Two of the cutest little presents I got for the kids were furry and just plain adorable. They grow up to be cats, but that's beside the point. They were the right addition to our family and new home.

Lord, thank You for Helga who sends me clothes -- that fit!

Thank You, God for whoever leaves those envelopes in my box at school!

They never disclosed their names, but someone put $100.00 cash in my box every month. "The Lord led us to do this," they wrote, "and we'll continue to do it until He says it's enough." I doubted they were rich; I didn't know too many rich people. A family sacrificed for me because the Lord laid it on their hearts.

It was so hard to give up my dreams of Doug returning to me a new man. Dreams of a restored marriage and a new, more purposeful ministry - together -- because of the ordeal we'd been through. Why would God allow this to happen if He wasn't going to make it all better again? Yet as I drove, my mind was filled with vivid pictures. In my minds eye, I saw myself standing in a barren place with shattered glass all around me. I wore tattered clothes and I bent down and picked up handfuls of these broken pieces. They were my dreams, desires, prestige . . . my life. I stood up again clutching the shards. They cut into my flesh and blood filled my palms and dripped from my fingers. The harder I held on, the worse it felt and the more I bled.

Then I looked up and saw Jesus. I knew that I had to drop what I was holding, and lift my wounded hands to the Savior. He would heal me. He would touch me and make the pain go away. But I had to choose.

Do I want healing badly enough to let go of my treasures?

I remembered the story about a little girl who had a string of fake pearls. She loved those pearls, and wore them every day. One day her father, whom she dearly loved, asked her to take off the pearls and give them to him.

She refused.

It seemed that every time she saw him, he asked for the pearls. So she began to avoid him. Their relationship suffered and even the small child saw this. Finally she realized that her father was more important than her precious fake pearls. Reluctantly, at last, she brought her necklace and placed it in her father's hands.

Grateful, the father took her in his arms and sat her on his lap. They both wept, though for different reasons. Her father hugged her tightly, then reached inside his pocket and pulled out a beautiful new string of real pearls.

She had to surrender the old, before he could adorn her with the new.

So I returned home that night and began practicing letting go. I was wounded, but the bleeding slowed and, eventually, I had to admit I felt some healing going on.

Summer passed and fall came. Then August turned to September and school started. Early one Sunday, on a lovely crisp morning, I drove up to the church and parked in the lot. From where I sat, I saw the parsonage door open and the new pastor and his wife step out. The church had finally hired a pastor. He and his family had moved in over the week. I sat there a moment, watching this couple walk hand in hand down the stone path from what used to be my home.

The pastor's wife was pretty, with long brown hair, and her husband seemed devoted. One by one, seven smiling children bounced out the door and followed their parents. I watched until they were all inside the church. Minutes ticked by and I just sat there.

Would my presence at church be a hindrance? As my church family got to know the new pastor and his family, would they feel uncomfortable warming up to them with me standing there? It made me sigh inside.

I sat in my car a few moments longer, knowing I would attend service here today, for the last time. A lady knows when to leave. It was time to make a new life and find a new place of worship.

It's just me and You, God. Where will we go now? What path will our grand adventure take next?

It always had been just me and Jesus. God doesn't have any two-headed children. But it took me awhile, and a horrible wake-up-call to see it. After over twenty years of sincerely believing that my husband and I were walking hand-in-hand, ministering for the Lord together, he'd finally admitted that he'd never liked praying with me, never liked doing ministry with me and didn't even like to talk to me.

Doug and I were not God's two-headed child.

We never had been.

Chapter Eleven

There's no time to waste, when you're redeeming the time. So, that next Sunday, I got into my car and headed off looking for the next chapter of my life.

My boys were old enough to make their own choices and were very involved in our old church -- I figured they’d stay there awhile -- but I knew I belonged elsewhere. I won't try to understand or explain why, but I had a deep desire to worship in an African American church. Seeking one, I left my neighborhood and headed toward a church I'd heard a friend talk about.

Soon I found myself on the corner of Beech and Franklin. Rows of Section 8 Housing lined one side of the street and across from them an old historic schoolhouse loomed; it had seen better days. At the intersection there sat two little churches, one on either corner. One was an African Episcopal Methodist Church. I couldn't remember the name of the church I was looking for, and this name sounded fine, so I went in boldly. They greeted me with smiles and seated me in the front. It was their custom to honor their visitors this way.

People like me want to sit in the back at a new church, so we can make a quick escape if need be. But they didn't know that, so I sat in the front.

Pretty soon, a procession of robed choir members and ministers came down the aisle, singing a hymn like a dirge.

Hmmm, I thought to myself. Wrong church!

I just couldn't take liturgy and somber music at this moment. I hoped I wouldn't offend anyone if I walked out. As soon as I could, I got up, tiptoed back down the aisle and out the door, hoping no one would notice. But I was the only white person there, and seated in the front row.

They probably noticed.

Now I was back on the corner again, in a scuffed-up and run-down neighborhood, contemplating life and church. Where was that church my friend talked about? A voice interrupted my thoughts.

"Can I help you?" A well-dressed 60-something black man stood across the street looking at me.

"I'm looking for a church," I said, crossing the narrow city street toward him.

"Well," he drawled, "this is it." With certainty he gestured to his place of worship. It was an old building, with stained-glass windows and white paint peeling off the walls. I smiled at his answer as he shook my hand and introduced himself. He was Rev. Martin, and I was? I gave him my name.

"Church is about to begin," he said. "You're welcome to come in, if you like."

Why not? I didn't have anything better to do. I just hoped it would be more spirited than the one across the street.

Rev. Martin swung the big old door open and stepped aside to let me enter. Upbeat piano music rushed out and surrounded me as I stepped over the threshold and onto the worn, red carpet. When my eyes adjusted, I saw before me a small group of brown-faced people smiling up at heaven, their mouths singing, hands clapping and bodies swaying in time with the music.

Oh, yes! This was the place!

They were few, but what they lacked in numbers they made up for in enthusiasm. Once inside, I noticed there were two other white women in the church. Wow! Music that moves your soul, happy hearts all around and an ethnically diverse gathering. It was almost heaven. In time I realized that Rev. Martin was more right than I'd imagined. This was the church for me.

At first I didn't know why God had led me to this church. I wasn't accustomed to being alone, so I wondered, Does God have a husband for me here? My question was answered quickly; the only unmarried men in the church were a six year old boy (too young) and the pastor (too old). Maybe someday God would bring someone along, but not here, not now.

A few years earlier, Rev. Martin's wife divorced him and took half the congregation with her. Alone now, he continued ministering, faithful to his calling. Then, here I came, horribly wounded, fresh out of a severed marriage to a pastor. Rev. Martin understood my condition. Old enough to be my father and with a certain protective, nurturing personality, he went out of his way to remind me of God's faithful love.

Feeling lost, broken, alone and frequently discouraged, I got up in spite of it all and drug myself to church every time the doors were open -- knowing the sermon would have something in it just for me.

"You think you have it bad?" Rev. Martin asked the congregation one morning. "I don't see no blood on you!" It was a perspective I needed. I wasn't the first or only person to suffer. My suffering didn't even compare to what some of our brothers and sisters in other countries were enduring for confessing faith in Christ.

He also had a few catch phrases which cheered me up. One was, "I'm not gonna be before you long!"

To which the people responded, "How long is long?"

"Not long!" he and the congregation would answer.

I was accepted into the church and soon saw they needed a Sunday school teacher. I volunteered; I loved teaching the children stories they hadn't heard before. When Easter rolled around, Rev. Martin asked if I would help in the Good Friday service. "Just introduce the speakers," he said, "and keep the program moving along."

No problem. "Sure," I said.

Good Friday came, and the church filled with people I didn't know. Not only were they strangers - most of them were men. The thought of standing up on stage, speaking in front of them was scary for me. Really scary. Maybe it wouldn't always have been, but it was at this point.

I pulled a friend aside. "Who are all these men?!" I asked.

"Ah, these are the preachers!" she said. "There are seven preachers, each speaking on one of the last sayings of Christ on the cross." There were far more than seven men here. Yet even that . . . seven preachers? And it was my job to introduce each one?!

Now I was really nervous! I sat in the front row and fidgeted. Then, just before service started, Rev. Martin motioned to me. I went up onto the platform to where he sat.

"You sit here, by me," he said.

I was stunned, and somewhat appalled. Where I came from, women didn't sit on the platform! "Oh, no, I couldn't, it, well," I stammered. "It's not my place . . . It wouldn't be . . ." What? I wasn't sure what it wouldn't be. But it didn't feel right.

"Hope, if you ever begin to usurp authority around here, I'll be the first to let you know," he said. His smile was genuine, in harmony with the kindness I saw in his eyes.

"Well . . . are you sure?" I asked.

He just kept on smiling. So I took my seat, right up on the platform, in front of God and the whole congregation - and all those strange men. Nobody questioned my location and lightning didn't strike. It was an eye-opening, pivotal evening for me.

"You're all sons of God through faith in Christ," Rev. Martin quoted often from Galatians. "Everyone who's baptized into Christ has clothed themselves with Christ." Like pieces of the body, he explained, we each had different purposes, but none was more important than others. "In Christ," he quoted, "there's neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female, for you are all one in Christ." Not only did he repeat these things to us, but he made us live them.

"The Bible commands all of us to be ready, in season and out of season, to share the truth of God's word," he said. He took that scripture to heart and taught each of us to be able to give a word.

These were novel ideas to me. When my first turn to give a word came, I got up slowly, went forward with much hesitation and shared tentatively. I believed now, from studying the scriptures, that Rev. Martin was correct. Still, it felt really awkward, since no board of elders had read through my notes and approved my message. I was just trusted to get it, and give it.

Wow. This was so strange.

It was a beautiful, healing season. Rachel came home from school in the summer and her presence also did wonders in my heart. The boys were looking toward college now. Money was still tight and I ached for someone to hold me . . . but life was filled with newness and hope. When fall came, I went back to teaching and continued attending my little church on the corner of Franklin and Beech.

In time I joined some of the sisters for a Bible study on the book of Daniel. We studied and shared stories from our lives. Many of them had suffered, and yet they were sweet, their hearts soft and loving toward God and those around them. In Chapter Three, Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego were thrown into the king's fiery furnace for their faith.

"Then King Nebuchadnezzar leaped to his feet in amazement and asked his advisers, ‘Weren't there three men that we tied up and threw into the fire?’

They replied, ‘Certainly, O king.’

He said, ‘Look! I see four men walking around in the fire, unbound and unharmed, and the fourth looks like a son of the gods.’

Nebuchadnezzar then approached the opening of the blazing furnace and shouted, ‘Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego, servants of the Most High God, come out! Come here!’

So Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego came out of the fire, and the satraps, prefects, governors and royal advisers crowded around them. They saw that the fire had not harmed their bodies, nor was a hair of their heads singed; their robes were not scorched, and there was no smell of fire on them."

The guards died throwing these three men in because the furnace had been heated ten times hotter than normal. Yet when the king looked into the furnace, he saw not three, but four men walking around. God joined His servants in the fire, then brought them out of it -- with not a hair on their heads singed, nor any smell of smoke on them.

The study leader said, "The Lord either takes us through the fire to refine us, removes the fire from us, or uses the fire to perfect us by taking us home to Him." I doubted this was my time - I had three young adults counting on me - so I prayed, Holy Father, do Your work in me! Refine me and make me a reflection of You.

One of the sisters stood up with a Hallelujah! and said, "Oh, sweet Jesus, I don't want to look and smell like the hell I've been through! I want people to see Jesus, not the remnants of the battle!"

There were enthusiastic amens all around.

Amen, I prayed. Not just for me, but I needed to guide my three children through this crisis and see them come out the other side without being burned up with bitterness and confusion. I had to encourage them, but also hold them accountable and even offer a rebuke when needed -- as others were doing for me. Like the one night at Bible study when I was sharing my sob story again and one of the sisters told me to get over it and get on with my life.

"Stop dwelling on the past," she said.

Oh, boy. If anyone can set you right, it's a sister! Believe me, it was like a cold, hard slap in the face and I didn't like it one bit. Yet . . . she was right. She smelled the smoke and she called me on it.

"Stay on the right side of right," she said. True words. Hard to swallow, but they became my mantra. Doug had thrown us into a whirlpool of temptation - we were swamped with reasons and excuses to hate him. Yet no matter what Doug did, or how much he deserved our anger, we needed to let God's love and will prevail.

It became my daily struggle - my sacrifice of praise -- to bite my tongue and pray silently, Thank You, Jesus. You are beautiful, when interacting with my kids. My tongue itched to tell them what a loser their father was and that I'd like to tear his face off for what he'd done to us! But I didn't need to say that. They had eyes. Their hearts were broken too. They didn't need me to encourage them to hate their father.

I didn't try to hide my tears, but neither did I want to hide our hope! They needed someone to encourage them to rise above. To remind them that God is sovereign, and He allowed this to happen. He does not allow things to happen to His children to destroy them, but to make them stronger.

Righteous Father, I prayed, turn what the devil planned for evil into good in my children's lives! If they marry someday, please bless their marriages! Oh, dear God, help us, reverse this curse, for You are greater than the enemy!

Just after Thanksgiving, Rachel sent me an email that filled my eyes with tears and my heart with joy.

"Hey, found this verse today and I thought it rocked so I figured I'd share it with you:

‘Do not gloat over me, my enemy! Though I have fallen I will rise. Though I sit in darkness, the Lord will be my light.' Micah 7:8

Mom, I'm praying God will make His presence known to you in a real and powerful way in the next few days. That He'll put His arms around you and lift you up and carry you through. May your Daddy show His love to you in new and powerful ways."

Rachel had found her Heavenly Father to be faithful.

At Christmas time, Rev. Martin told me to go to the department store, find a dress, one that I couldn't afford, and put it on hold.

"I'll go pay for it," he said. "Price doesn't matter and I won't take no for an answer."

I almost cried. It had been so long since I'd been thought of so lovingly, and in a way this was a sad reminder. But also, it filled me with joy. My life had been in a state of crisis for awhile now. Buying myself a dress was the absolute last thing I would have put on my list of things to do. And yet, when I walked into that store, picked out the most beautiful dress in there, slipped it over my head and let it surround me, I felt blessed beyond all imagination.

I was being held.

"I delight greatly in the Lord; my soul rejoices in my God. For he has clothed me with garments of salvation and arrayed me in a robe of righteousness, as a bridegroom adorns his head like a priest, and as a bride adorns herself with her jewels." (Isaiah 61:10)

Chapter Twelve

Two years later

It had been four years since Doug's confession erased my world. God carried me through the first year, the year of survival. I was in a state of shock and He took me step by step, exploring this new reality.

The second year He gave me new understanding of who I was in Christ. When I was tempted to believe the thoughts running through my head - all men are liars, there's no such thing as a happy marriage, men are hardwired to cheat and cannot help it -- God helped me keep these lies in check by bringing Rev. Martin into my life. Rev. Martin had suffered as I had - yet remained faithful -- and he was male.

I saw that men and women alike had the potential to follow the voice of the Holy Spirit, or to follow their sinful nature. Selfishness and faithlessness are human conditions, not male ones. Loyalty is a result of abiding in the vine - Jesus -- and is available to all.

Then came the third year, and it was a weird one.

The old me, the pastor's wife, had died a sudden, unexpected death and I'd been recreated. I was learning to see my identity in Christ. Yet I was lonely. It was uncomfortable being single after being married so long. I knew that the Bible declared me free to remarry, so as the second year wrapped up and the third began, I started to explore my remarriage options.

It didn't go so well.

I made a list of the things I wanted in a man, showed it to the Lord, (like He didn't know), and then I went hunting. I began by visiting another church that had a singles group. I met a nice man who I liked. I liked him a lot! He felt the same way about me. I began to get really hopeful. But then I found out he wanted a wife who could bear him children. We parted as friends.

Next I started attending Christian singles retreats. I met a dynamic retreat speaker who seemed really interested in me . . . as I was in him! I began getting really hopeful again. But then I found out he seemed really interested in every female he met. I felt like an idiot, because I was one.

After that I read the newspaper classifieds, specifically the "man looking for" section. I felt like I was scraping the bottom of the jar with that. The scraping yielded very little, and nothing appetizing.

This really wasn't working. After months of trying I was incredibly discouraged and lonelier than before. I was about to give up when I decided to try the on-line route.

I chose a Christian matching service named eHarmony. I filled out an extensive questionnaire and they matched me with 29 different qualities and characteristics. Using that information, they began sending me invitations to meet various men.

One man was particularly intriguing, especially since he actually wrote back! We corresponded a little and then one day I got the email from him:

"I would love to meet you . . ."

I was so excited that I didn't even read the rest. I was at school, and I raced down to my friend's classroom to tell her I was finally going to meet this guy!

Then I got back to my computer and read the rest of the message. The next word after "I would love to meet you" was "but . . ."

I should have known. He was too busy doing other things -- and the things didn't seem like real reasons, if you know what I mean. Excuses. I returned to my friend's classroom and cried on her shoulder.

"All men are like Doug," I said. "Except the ones who are worse." I knew this wasn't true, but sometimes it popped out anyway.

"Let it go, Hope," she said. I noticed she didn't argue with me. "If you have to drag 'em in, you have to drag 'em around."

That was that. I wasn't a cute little college girl who everyone wanted to kiss anymore. Nobody asked for my number, and there weren't any guys hanging around my locker at school. Singleness this time around was vastly different; being single when I was young meant I was available. Now single just meant alone.

It hurt to realize this could be my permanent state, but at the same time, I started to feel guilty. Was I pushing for my will? Was I running out ahead of God? Had I forgotten that He was my husband? What was I thinking? I didn't need to wait for my prince to come sweep me off my feet. He had already come! Jesus was my hero, coming in the sky, riding on a white horse.

God, forgive me, I prayed. You are my portion and my great reward! I'm satisfied and complete in You!

I lay my quivering heart with all its uncertainties and fears and hopes and dreams in my Savior's outstretched hands. It would be safe there. Then I relaxed, just enjoying Jesus.

Like I said, that third year was kind of weird. Yet I learned, grew and felt peace and contentment, frequently. Not always, but often. Time passed and the fourth year of alone but not alone began.

Things had changed a lot for me, but also for my children. Each of them were grown and plans were unfolding. Rachel decided she wanted to go to medical school. She said she didn't think I'd be happy about it.

"But baby, that's wonderful!" I said. "Why wouldn't I be happy for you?"

"The school is in Florida."

Oh, my tattered heart. I held her as long as she'd let me. I didn't need to tell her that I was going to miss her inside and out. I was so proud of her.

My boys, also, had grown, becoming young men almost overnight. David was currently in love with a young woman named Eve. It was beautiful, but difficult, to watch my child fall in love when I had such serious trust issues. I prayed for them that God would bless their relationship - that none of the hurts of the past would taint their future.

Oh, God, don't let them break each other's hearts.

Then there was Joel; he'd come to me recently, very serious-faced, and told me he knew what God was calling him to do.

"Mom, I don't want you to worry," he said. "Promise me you won't worry that I'll turn into Dad," he said.

My heart felt like it skipped a beat. "Spit it out already," I said.

"I'm called to the ministry, Mom. I'm going to be a pastor."

My beautiful, precious children were learning to fly, and the Spirit was calling them places not nearly as easy or close by as I would have chosen. But my Lord - their Lord -- had plans for them. I tried not to worry.

Please, God, help me not to worry and forgive me for when I have.

Life had gone on. Things were busy and blessed. I sat down one night after Rachel had gone and I missed her smiling face. I checked my email, hoping there would be a letter from her. No. Nothing from Rachel. Nothing at all from anyone I knew.

There was an email saying I'd won the lottery, and another addressed to Dearly Beloved, from my long-lost Christian sister. She asked me to not be surprised that I am getting this letter from someone I've never met. She was from a small, war-torn country and her husband had been a very rich man. He'd recently been assassinated and she was left alone. She'd hidden his millions of dollars and needed my help to get them out of the country. In exchange for my gracious help, she would give me part of the money.

Hmmm. All I had to do was give her my confidential bank account information, so she could deposit those millions into my account, for safekeeping.

Yes, I was bored and restless. I only read the spam emails when I'm feeling uneasy, and not sure what to do with myself. Lately -- just lately -- my contentment was a little frazzled around the edges. I'd been having thoughts . . . not just the constant stream of fiery darts that I had to extinguish with God's word. No, they were more like when God nudges me, asking me to do something. Yet . . . it . . . wasn't something I was ready to do. So I'd been working hard to change the subject, and I was starting to lose my breath.

Just then my computer chimed. I'd gotten another email. Again, this wasn't from anyone I knew. Even though it had been months since I'd belonged to or checked the listings on eHarmony, they still emailed me to try and entice me to come back.

"We have four new matches for you," they wrote.

Hmmm, I thought. I could pop over there and view the matches for free. What the heck, nothing better to do.

I followed the link to eHarmony. They'd found four men they wanted to introduce me to. Being in the "why not" mood -- but wanting to stay on God's path -- I prayed:

God, am I supposed to try again? Please give me direction.

I wasn't sure of His answer, but my restless energy persisted. I had that penned-up-racehorse feeling. Sometimes I get that when God is preparing me for something. Then again, sometimes it's just me, being restless. Oh, if only one day I finally learned to always know the difference.

Lord? This whole grand adventure thing was Your idea. So, advance or retreat? What do You say?

Searching my mind and heart, I concluded there were no Biblical reasons for me to close the eHarmony page and I didn't feel, sense or hear any voices saying, Stop! So I advanced.

I paid eHarmony fifty dollars and was back in the game. Just one month, I told myself. I didn't want to pay a bunch of money gambling I would meet someone special.

Chapter Thirteen

The next day was President's Day and I was blessed with the day off. So I got on the eHarmony site and began to respond to the men that were my supposed "match".

One of them was a guy named Derek. This guy is too good to be true, I thought. When we think that, we're usually right. Yet, I reminded myself, the Bible says God can do exceedingly abundantly above all that I ask or think.

Things that make you go hmmm.

I was supposed to answer some questions for Derek. I answered the questions and pushed send. Right away I had another message from Derek. I played along and answered that one, sent it, and he answered and countered with more prescribed questions.

Soon we had progressed through the prescribed questions and were in "open communication," instant-messaging each other on the website. We probably set a record for going from initial meeting to open communication.

Derek was a retired teacher and coach. He'd retired young, so he drove a school bus to keep busy and keep income coming in. He had the day off too, so we spent it together, in a way. Soon we exchanged email addresses. We hadn't spoken on the phone or seen each other face to face, but we shared some photos. That was eye-opening! It was kind of hard to miss that his skin color was chocolate brown and mine was ivory white.

"You okay with that?" he asked in an email.

"The black-white issue isn't a factor for me," I answered. "But we do have one big problem . . . " The colors and logo on his shirt nearly jumped off the photo at me.

Derek was a Yankee fan.

Oh, boy. What to do, what to do. Just when you think you've met someone you're compatible with . . . The kids and I were of the Red Sox Nation. We called Yankees the "Evil Empire". Yankees call Sox fans names too, but I'm not allowed to print those. Last year when I asked my children their opinion of remarriage, they'd had only one request:

"MOM, NO YANKEES!"

But seriously, aside from all that, I was afraid, and not just because I realized we'd have minor differences of opinion, like baseball teams. What if I read him wrong and he ended up having a different set of core values than I did? What if, like Doug, he thought it was okay to preach one thing, but secretly live the opposite? Sure, I felt lonely sometimes, and believed maybe God was saying it was time to share my life with a man. Yet I was so scared. What if I ended up doing the whole deceived and dumped thing again? Was it worth the risk?

Please, God, not again. Please don't bring me a church kid! I want a man who loves You with his whole heart and shows You by letting You have the last word in every argument. Give me a man who keeps his heart pure so You'll be comfortable living there!

As I got to know Derek through a barrage of emails, I kept my kids updated.

"The fact that he's a Y-fan is disturbing," Joel said.

"But not all Yankees are bad," David countered. He was an open-minded and astute young man.

It was an interesting time, exciting and scary. Derek was fascinating, inspiring and so easy to correspond with. Though he'd had a church upbringing, he hadn't had a personal relationship with God. Just a church kid, he'd strayed far and fast into a world of darkness and desolation.

"I believed in Jesus," he wrote. "I thought that made me a Christian. For a long time I thought like that. I had my token memorized prayers or, more often, my, 'Please help me get my butt out of this mess, Lord,' crisis prayers. Thank God He finally made me see -- opened my blind eyes and I saw clearly for the first time ever! He picked me up out of the sewer that was my life, and showed me that He wants to have a real relationship with me."

Hmmm. Derek was speaking the language of my soul, and he seemed to really mean it.

"The beauty is that He's not hiding. He's welcoming us all with outstretched, loving arms," he wrote. "It's us who make it complicated. He's taught me to talk to Him as a dear friend and a loving father. He answers prayer in His time and His way, (often not the way we would like) but always what's best for us in the long run. The thought that God Almighty is mindful of me! - of all undeserving people! -- constantly blows my mind and grows my faith in Him and teaches me to do what has ALWAYS been tough, and that is to surrender and trust."

Yeah, this guy was definitely too good to be true.

I pondered all of this, not sure what to think. But later that week I had tragic news. One of my favorite students had tried to kill himself and was in the hospital. Devastated, I needed someone to pray with me. Oddly enough, none of my long-time friends came to mind. Instead, the man I'd been exchanging emails with was who I reached out to.:

"Derek, I could use some prayer right now. If you feel comfortable praying with me on the phone, will you call me? If you don't feel comfortable with that, then thank you for your prayers over there.

Hope"

Right away my phone rang, and I heard Derek's voice for the first time. He greeted me warmly and went right into prayer. Our first conversation was a prayer! What a wonderful thing. When we finished, he got off the phone quickly, respectful of the fact that I was at work.

Soon after that, we decided to meet.

I'd never been on a blind date before, but I imagined it would feel like this. After exchanging so many emails, I felt like I knew Derek, but still had no idea what to expect. Rachel was home for a visit, so she and David chauffeured me to the restaurant, so they could check this guy out. Joel wished he could come too, but he was at college. The kids dropped me off at Perkins, saying they'd be back in awhile. I stood near the front doors, waiting, watching, praying, experiencing cold feet . . .

It wasn't too long before I saw a large black man step onto the sidewalk leading to the door. He was about six foot two, filled-out and athletic looking. He had the shaved, bald head some men can make look real good.

He was one of those men.

Oh, boy, this was scary. My heart kind of skipped and I suddenly felt really shy. Once inside the restaurant, we sat in the booth and talked. Hesitation overtook me and Derek was left carrying the conversation, which he did quite well. It reminded me of a job interview, where you try to find out as much about the person as you can. He shared freely. I just sat there feeling really uncomfortable.

Eventually, the kids returned and joined us at the table. Immediately Derek commented to Rachel about the Boston Red Sox bag she was carrying. He made the kids feel comfortable, even though he was ragging on Rachel about the bag and the team.

When we got up to go, Derek gave me a hug and kiss on the cheek. "I truly enjoyed meeting you," he said.

I didn't mean to, but I noticed that he smelled really good!

On the ride home I told the kids about him and how I was feeling. "He's really nice, but don't worry. I don't think this is going to go anywhere," I said.

Rachel was strangely silent in the back seat. I asked her what she was thinking.

"Nothing," she said.

I knew she wasn't thinking nothing.

She was confused about relationships and I didn't blame her. I felt the same way. Regardless of how wonderful or trustworthy I thought someone was, regardless of whether I believed with my whole heart that they loved me . . . I knew that I could be dead wrong. I could be deceived and I could even deceive myself. With that kind of knowledge, what hope could there be of having a relationship built on trust?

Rachel and I had talked about these things in the past year or two. I could relate, but I also had a perspective on it that the Holy Spirit had been nagging me to share. More specifically, I felt God wanted me to open up and write the story of my shattered marriage. It wasn't that I was ignoring the prompting, exactly, but . . . I just . . . well . . . it was so much easier to think about other things. My wounds were beginning to heal; the past was in the past and I'd gladly leave it there.

Yet the nagging in my spirit continued.

Dear Lord, I prayed. I almost said, Stop it!, but caught myself when I remembered who I was talking to. I rephrased it: Do You know what You're asking?

I glanced in the rearview mirror and saw Rachel's beautiful face, staring out the window.

Yes, I'm sure You do know what You're asking.

Regardless of how it hurt, He wanted me to write my story. Not for me, but for other women, and for children who'd been betrayed by someone they looked to as an example of godly character. He wanted me to write the whole ugly, painful thing. Oh, boy. I looked back at Rachel again, then ahead at the road. I let out a loud sigh.

For You, Jesus, and for my boys and especially for girls like Rachel . . . Okay. I'll pick this scab and let my heart bleed.

Chapter Fourteen

The next day I got a cute e-card from Derek, which read:

"It was truly a pleasure, Lady. Your spirit, plus looks, make you more beautiful than your picture. Even if you decide not to see me anymore, (and I certainly hope that is not the case) I thank God for bringing us together anyway. Blessings to you and your family.

Love, Derek"

My eyes filled with tears as I read the note. I responded right away; no reason to drag this out.

"Dear Derek,

Thank you for the lovely card! I really enjoyed meeting you and talking with you. Thank you for the dinner and the time we spent together.

I'm coming to grips with something. I feel that God has told me to write my story, and that I won't be meeting anyone until I do. He's made this clear, though I've been trying to run from it.

So, feeling restless and lonely, I got on eHarmony. I asked God if it was okay and He was silent. Silence means consent, right?

No. I think silence from God means be still.

I took it as a go ahead, and jumped ahead of God. He blessed me anyway - I met you -- but I'm sure now that He's telling me it's not time. And I know, just know, that He makes all things beautiful . . . in His time.

So, I've got to start writing. God has been so good to me -- I have to share that. I've resisted passively because writing is hard, and writing about my most painful experience is . . . unimaginably hard. Besides, what if no one ever reads it?

Never mind that question.

If God says to do it, I need to do it.

I'm writing with tears and hope you understand that I feel badly if I've hurt you. I hope you'll still be my friend. I want God's very best for you. You really are a sweetheart. I love how God has taken you from the past, remade you and given you a new life.

I hope I'll stop crying before my student comes. Of all things, she's actually here today. She misses a lot of school -- especially on Monday.

Love, Hope"

I dried my face and worked while I waited for Derek's reply.

"My dear Hope,

I will certainly be your friend if that's where your heart is. Take your time and I'll wait on you. My leading may put pressure because I like you . . . I like you a lot . . . and don't know how to not show it. Thank you for being up front so I can begin to try not to think about you as much as I did this morning . . .

I thank God I am a big boy. You, Rachel, David and Joel take care and God bless you all. You know how to reach me if you need or want to.

Love, Derek"

Sigh. That was over.

Derek was gracious in his response, and continued to email me, encouraging me as a friend. And I continued to respond. In the days that followed, I set aside time each day and made myself write. Derek's emails brightened my day and made me smile. They were a lifeline to the present, keeping me from being sucked back into the past pain I was writing about.

Then one day, his letters stopped coming.

After regularly getting five or more emails from him per day, to suddenly get nothing was really disheartening. Maybe I liked him more than I thought I did. I felt betrayed. It was my natural first response now. I was so tempted to hold on to it, to chide myself for having believed he was a real friend. But I saw the potential for harm this attitude had.

I sat down - alone now, and embraced my broken state so God's words could pour out, like drops of hope for the women and children who would read it someday.

"If you've been hurt by someone you loved, someone you looked to - someone you thought loved and represented God -- beware of the natural response! Under natural circumstances, this can lead you into bitterness and a hardening of your heart. Yet we can be more than "natural" - we don't have to walk according to our sinful nature! If you've bound yourself to Christ, you're no longer bound by the sins of your parents, nor bound to respond in the flesh to your pain. When you see yourself being ruled by the sinful nature, see it, ask the Holy Spirit to deal with it, and leave that sin behind. Speak up and get spiritual support and prayer. Listen to those who love you when they detect something not right in your life. Eat the meat and spit out the bones -- take what applies to you and do not entertain what does not.

Above all, give your broken heart to Jesus. Don't let bitterness harden you and send you running from God -- into the arms of the one who wants to dine on you.

"Be self-controlled and alert. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour." 1 Peter 5:8

I wrote some more. I didn't sleep much, didn't eat much and didn't stop. Hours went by and turned into days. On and on, I just kept writing and writing. One moment at a time they dragged on until an entire day was over and a new one had begun. Still, no emails from Derek. But I wrote . . . until finally, I reached the end.

Then I sat back, raised my hands to Heaven and cried.

It was beautiful.

What I wrote wasn't ugly! God had made it beautiful.

Sweet Jesus, You are so good to me. You are so good to us all.

Chapter Fifteen

Wednesday mid-morning my computer chimed; I had email! I was almost afraid to look, in case it was nothing important. I took a deep breath, then opened my inbox.

Derek was back!

He wrote that he'd been sick and hadn't had the energy to write. He was happy for me that I'd finished the task God set before me. We picked up again, emailing on and off all day. I quickly began to realize that Derek was already really important to me.

Soon after this, Derek invited me to see a skit he was in. When show time came, he played his part very well. He told me that he knew even if he failed miserably, I would still love him. I wasn't sure what to say to that, because I hadn't actually told him yet just how much he was growing on me.

He did a wonderful job and the skit was moving. At the end of it, when he knelt at the cross, I wasn't sure he was acting until I noticed other actors doing the same. It was a powerful performance.

We began spending more and more time together and with every outing, every call, every email, my feelings grew stronger and I saw more evidence that he fulfilled every requirement I'd put on my "husband shopping list".

But being a qualified applicant and stirring my feelings didn't guarantee anything. Love isn't something that just happens to me. It's a decision, an act of my will. Did I want to continue down this road? I sure felt like it. But could I trust my feelings, and could I trust Derek to be who and what he appeared to be?

It was amazing how well he knew me, and in such a short time. It was as if God was explaining me to Derek, telling him exactly what to do, what to say, what not to say. I had never experienced anything like this. The fact that God would give me this type of love through a person made me cry. I had never been loved like this before. Never.

Without a doubt my feelings had decided to pursue a relationship with Derek. Yet I wasn't giving in to the feelings until my brain could convince my will that the Spirit said this was a go-ahead. If you think that's confusing, imagine how I felt.

Oh, God, please give me wisdom! I prayed, I don't want to go here if this isn't Your path. Show me please.

Over and over again He answered odd little prayers, made impossible things happen, gave me confirmation after confirmation. Still I was scared.

God, I prayed, show me that this is Your will. Cause my children and my parents to like Derek . . .

The kids and my parents got to know him and gave me their enthusiastic approval. Still I was scared.

What else could I pray? Dear God, show me that there's no risk here? I couldn't pray that; I knew better. The Bible describes love as an action that suffers long, yet remains kind. A far cry from our society's definition of love.

My Heavenly Father had held me tightly, and carried me when we both cried over the past. But now he'd reached inside His pocket and pulled out a beautiful gift - like a new string of pearls to replace what I used to have -- and I kept looking at it, turning it over, searching for the flaws, instead of receiving it with joy. He was saying:

Hope, I created Derek to love you.

But it was too good to be true. Lord, I'm afraid to hope again . . .

Yet it was amazing what I felt for this man. I remember the first time I realized that other people didn't look at him the way I did. To them he was like dozens of others. Nothing special. Yet in my eyes, he was amazing. Like a diamond that fell out of its setting for awhile and was trampled in the streets, he'd been scuffed up, unnoticed, doomed. But God, in His rich mercy, stepped down and bent over and picked him up. He polished, buffed and caused him to shine. Then He placed him in my hand.

Forgive me, Father, for I know that worry is a sin. Help me to live in the confidence of Your love, Your care, Your provision. Fill me with Your Holy Spirit that I might act like I believe that You're in control and You know best.

And God, forgive me for fearing hope. Your plans are for good, not for harm. My heart is Yours and I'll give it to others freely, in Your name, come what may.

Maybe, just maybe I had turned a corner. Still, I was concerned about what Rachel might be feeling. I suspected my relationship with Derek was troubling her. One night we talked about it for hours. I told her how much I wanted her approval of Derek.

"Remember when we were coming home from Perkins," she asked. "You asked me what I was thinking?"

"Yes." I remembered.

"Well, there you were in the front seat telling us that you didn't like him all that much and that you weren't going to see him anymore and I was just sure the Holy Spirit was saying that you were going to marry him! I was confused!" she said.

Early one Sunday, on a lovely crisp morning, Derek, Joel and I drove up to church and parked. Since we were attending church with Joel this morning, that meant we were back at the church where I used to be a pastor's wife. From where I sat, I saw the parsonage door open. The pastor and his wife came out, hand in hand, and strolled down the path, then disappeared into the church.

Oh, Lord, help me to get through this and not be overwhelmed by painful memories, I prayed.

We were about to get out, but Derek motioned for us to wait.

"Can I keep you a minute?" he asked. We nodded and relaxed.

"I hadn't anticipated doing this when Joel was here," Derek said. "But this just seems like the right time." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box. "Hope," he said, "I want to give this to you before we go in and worship the Lord."

I was pretty sure I knew what was in the box.

"I love you so much," he said. "I want to spend the rest of my life with you."

I was on his side of the car by now, arms wrapped around his neck. He opened the box and whispered, "Will you marry me?"

The ring was beautiful. So beautiful. I kissed him and then held out my finger.

Then I heard the bass voice in the back seat say, "So . . . is that a yes?"

Derek answered, from beneath my kisses, "She took my ring, but didn't say yes!"

"Yes, yes!" I exclaimed.

The time was 10:07 a.m. Joel provided that information thinking I might want it and might not have noticed. He was right on both counts. Joel gave Derek a high five, got out of the car and dashed into the church.

Behind Joel the big door slammed shut, like an exclamation point at the end of the previous chapter of my life.

I was alone with Derek now and back on my own side of the car, admiring the ring on my finger and the man sitting across from me. He was smiling from ear to ear and my stomach was turning somersaults. The heaviness of what he'd just asked me - and my answer - felt different now. Would my answer have come so quickly if I hadn't had my happy, hope-filled son beside me? When you've been hurt like I have, you can't help thinking hope is for fools. Hope means setting yourself up for another heartache.

Ask a lot of people who've been betrayed if it changed them permanently, and they'll say yes. Sometimes even if the desire to trust again is there, the ability is gone. So they stop looking for their soul mate and they don't believe in love anymore. The spark has died, their heart grown cold.

Ask a lot of people who've been betrayed, and they'll tell you all of this. But if you ask me, I'd honestly have to say, I'm different.

Why? Because my soul mate made my heart His home when I was four years old. His name is Jesus. He is my fire, and He burns faithfully.

We sat in the car a few more minutes, talking, smiling and holding hands -- windows wide open, enjoying the breeze. I had so many old memories from this church parking lot and the parsonage adjacent to it. This used to be my place of greatest pain. Now God had given me a new memory to outshine the rest.

Thank You, Jesus. Only You can turn a painful place into one of beauty and joy.

I looked over at Derek, face beaming, arms open wide, inviting me closer. For better or worse, this big, bald man had my heart already. I was overflowing with hope.

What is hope? It's the promise of things yet to come. It's a bone-deep belief that God is good and His plans are good -- it's a divine gift that enables us to keep on believing that, even when eeverything falls apart.

I was baptized in hope . . . as soon as I was brave enough to put my head underwater.

Where will we go now, Lord? What path will our grand adventure take next?

"Therefore, since we have been justified through faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have gained access by faith into this grace in which we now stand. And we rejoice in the hope of the glory of God. Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us." (Romans 5:1-5)

Rag Doll Love Song

By Charity

Chapter One

"On the day you were born your cord was not cut, nor were you washed with water to make you clean, nor were you rubbed with salt or wrapped in cloths. No one looked on you with pity or had compassion enough to do any of these things for you. Rather, you were thrown out into the open field, for on the day you were born you were despised.

Then I passed by and saw you kicking about in your blood, and as you lay there in your blood I said to you, 'Live!'" (Ezekiel 16:4-6)

1987

There's a fine line between cuddling, and holding someone down so they can't get away.

If a girl misses that one, she might also mistake, "I want to drink your blood," for, "I love you."

I lack a good excuse. My childhood was happy, my family was caring and I never went without anything. Except, maybe, guidance.

I had counsel. Mom had an opinion on how everyone should do everything, in all ways and at all times. I ignored her and she didn't seem to mind. With Mom, there was no good or bad, right or wrong - as long as you didn't tell her she was doing something wrong. She wouldn't stand for that.

Dad was different. He counseled me to make something of my life. He suggested I become a singing star; I had the looks and the voice. But I didn't have the personality. I never admitted it, but I was pretty sure I'd faint if I had to go on stage.

I spent the first sixteen years of my life trying to earn Daddy's respect. He didn't talk much, so I don't know if he was ever proud of me, but I tried. I tried hard. He was a real good man, respected by all and a master of just about everything. I tried to be as well.

Growing up in Alaska, I learned that unless a girl can hunt, fish, drink and cuss as well as the boys, she doesn't deserve to suck air. When I was sixteen, I moved out to live with a boyfriend. He did a lot of hunting, fishing, drinking and cussing. I wasn't very good at any of that, but I tried hard.

I spent the next three years in this relationship that started out as a mistake and then went downhill. It was cuddling, with a twist. He loved me madly, he'd die without me. This justified his violence each time I tried to leave. For the record, I loved him as much as I was able. I wanted to make it work and stay forever - so I wouldn't have to admit defeat -- but our relationship was a volatile triangle: me, him and his best friend, Jack Daniels.

Then our baby girl came along and things got even more complicated.

After awhile I was a prisoner in our little, run-down trailer, shackled by denial, fumbling in the dark. I knew he was crazy and I wasn't happy, but I didn't know if that mattered. The last thing I wanted to be was a sissy. I figured Daddy would say, You made your bed, now lie in it.

So I lied.

When I was nineteen, I took a midnight flight out of Alaska. I was ashamed for running away, but I felt compelled to go. Now a single, teenage-mom, I stumbled into the wide-open arms of Jesus. Jesus Christ! Stumbled into His bright, glorious light. His truth set me free. Actually, I stumbled back into Jesus' arms. As soon as I prayed, long forgotten memories of Bible camp and knowledge that had been plucked from my mind trickled back to me. I'd forgotten that once upon a time when I was a little girl, Jesus was my first love. I'd forgotten Him for a long while.

But He never forgets.

He brought me back where I belonged and His love healed and filled me.

Six months later I hung a Jesus Loves You sign in my car, from the rearview mirror. No turning back now. It was my way of ending the double-take, triple-take, follow the girl around the block show, and the reruns. I was so tired of guys checking me out, chasing me and trying to get my number - and I was especially sick of my arrogant reaction to their attention. Now I felt free and happy. I hoped the sign would be a deterrent, but, regardless, I was fleeing temptation. I had done something that made my Savior smile.

Then Daddy came to visit.

It's hard for every believer the first time they walk out with their faith flag flying high and get spit on. Harder still when those mocking you are close friends.

But when Daddy walked around my car, saw my sign and muttered, Jesus freak (plus a few indecent words), it was a challenge. As usual, he didn't actually talk directly to me. But I got it. Take that down, he was saying, and maybe I'll consider letting you try to earn your way back toward my respect. Let you try. But leave that thing hanging from your rearview mirror, and I'll know what you're really made of. You're nothing but a woman who needs a crutch.

Words can't describe the pain of being spit on by the person who hung your moon. But I wasn't just a woman and I didn't need a crutch! Daddy didn't understand. I was a broken little girl, just a rag doll, and I needed so much more than a crutch! Jesus was my stretcher, body-bag and resurrection.

I gave Daddy up that day.

Chapter Two

Alaskan Interior

1976

With my duffel bag under my head, I stared up at the blue sky where it winked back from between the pines. It was a long, hot Indian Summer -- perfect weather for lying on my back in a patch of bright orange fireweed, contemplating Heaven, Hell, eternity and undying love. Deep stuff for a nine-year-old girl, but I was an artist, an Alaskan and a brunette; life and perception of reality depend on who you are and where you're standing.

Or lying.

Nearby, the church bus was parked in the gravel lot of the small community church. The bus driver drove us sixty miles from summer camp in the mountains back down to the tiny town of Ahtna. Now he napped in the driver's seat with his hat over his face. All the windows were down, music blared from the radio and Donna Fargo was singing, "skip-a-dee-doo-dah . . . " she was the happiest girl in the whole USA. But I was a close second.

On the grass in front of the church, the town-kids chased the youth pastor with open bottles of Pepsi. I wasn't from town, didn't know these kids and wasn't a chaser nor a screamer, so I stayed where I was.

"Baptize him," they screamed over and over again.

He was a good sport; round and round the church they ran.

It was Sunday early afternoon and one by one I heard the kid's parents arriving, cars crunching up the gravel driveway, doors slamming, one less voice giggling and screaming to baptize the youth pastor in Pepsi. After the light traveled from one side of the trees to the other and the clouds were drifting in, the youth pastor, alone at last, came and sat on a stump near where I lay in the fireweed flowers. All the parents had come and taken their kids . . . all except my parents. The young preacher sat there silently, then after a while, he got up and left. I think I fell asleep for a bit. When I realized where I was again, there was a bee on my arm. I brushed it off, then got up slowly and left it in the fireweed patch.

I sat on my duffel bag on the sidewalk by the church for a very long time. My hair wouldn't stay out of my eyes because I'd misplaced my barrettes, again, so I let it hang down toward the ground and watched the ends sway in the gentle wind and leave little designs in the dust.

Beautiful designs.

The youth pastor sat in the bus with the driver for a while, then walked around the church, then came and told me silly jokes. After he ran out of jokes, he went inside the church while the bus driver got up, shook out his hat and smiled and waved at me.

Pretty soon the youth pastor came out of the church and sat down next to me on the sidewalk. It was past dinnertime now.

"We called your house, but there's still no answer," he said. "But don't worry. We can drive you home."

"It's a long way," I said.

"Let's go get ice cream, then we'll take a drive," he replied.

So the bus driver and the youth pastor loaded me and my bag onto the bus and we went and got ice cream for dinner. Then we pulled out onto the bumpy highway and headed south toward the little town of Tikaanni.

They drove the big bus thirty miles down the highway, out to where the rivers meet and the whole valley is streaked with lines because the big brown one loves to change courses. That big, muddy river was deep, loud, fast and stretched at least a mile wide. It ate more of our property each year. Sometimes I'd go stand by it and let the roar of the rushing water fill my ears and make my adrenaline flow. I felt the river sucking the foundation from under my feet and the thrill of knowing the ground I stood on could tumble into the water - taking me with it - at any second. But that was before.

I might not do that anymore.

I gave directions and at last the big church bus turned onto the dirt road and lumbered down through the forest and around the corners until it pulled up in front of our house.

Home was an Airstream trailer in the woods with a house-in-construction tied to the side of it. Dad was building the house entirely out of free wood he'd hauled home when a Pipeline job site was dismantled. Dad and his friends were all there, currently lifting a pre-framed wall into place. The parking lot was crowded with dirty trucks, muddy dogs and family friends. The homemade Bar-B-Q was smoking, people were laughing and music blared from a stereo.

No, they wouldn't hear a phone ringing.

We parked and mommy ran out to greet the church workers. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said, "I thought Charity was getting back tomorrow!" Schlitz Beer in hand, Mom looked about two sheets to the wind and was packing heat. With her dirty blonde hair cut in a shag, t-shirt with cut-off sleeves, gun belt holding up her blue-jeans, (44-magnum riding on one side of her hip and a berry-picking bucket on the other) mommy was a 70's-Alaska fashion-plate.

The church workers didn't bat an eye, just smiled and said they'd enjoyed my company.

Dad finished securing the new wall, wiped his sun-bronzed brow with his hankie and climbed down off the house. The light shimmered on his oiled, black hair, gold-nugget belt buckle and well-polished snake-skin boots. Wearing his signature half-grin, he went to the cooler, then swaggered over to the bus and held out two cold beers.

"Hot day," he said. "Either of you good fellows care for a cold one?" Always a hospitable gentleman, my daddy.

"No, but thanks for the offer," said the youth pastor, with a sad smile.

I was only nine, but I knew that look. I was wearing the same smile right now. This was my family, my world. I looked like Mommy with my long skinny arms and legs, and I had Daddy's olive skin, half-Asian features and dark hair. But right about now, my familiar world didn't fit me like it had before I went to Bible camp.

The church workers helped me unload my duffel bag and then prepared to leave. Before they went, the youth pastor turned to me.

"We'll be praying for you," he said. "Remember, Jesus is with you. Always, everywhere and forever."

My parents didn't attend church, but one week ago they'd agreed to let me go away to vacation Bible camp. I left on a gray, rainy day with what was my usual outlook on life. But now the sun was shining and everything looked different.

Up at camp I'd believed the unbelievable. Jesus was God; he'd died to redeem me, then was raised to life again. He was real and He loved me. I was captivated by His love and I'd given my heart and my life to Him.

"Thank you," I answered. "I'll pray for you too." Then they got into the bus and I watched them drive away.

Behind me the stereo blasted out a Beatles song I'd heard a million times:

"Standing in the dock at Southampton,

trying to get to Holland or France.

The man in the mac said, "You've got to turn back."

You know, they didn't even give us a chance.

Christ, you know it ain't easy!

You know how hard it can be.

The way things are going,

tthey're going to crucify me."

Chapter Three

"Later I passed by, and when I looked at you and saw that you were old enough for love, I spread the corner of my garment over you and covered your nakedness. I gave you my solemn oath and entered into a covenant with you, declares the Sovereign Lord, and you became mine.

"I bathed you with water and washed the blood from you and put ointments on you. I clothed you with an embroidered dress and put leather sandals on you. I dressed you in fine linen and covered you with costly garments. I adorned you with jewelry: I put bracelets on your arms and a necklace around your neck . . .You became very beautiful . . ."

"But you trusted in your beauty . . . you did not remember the days of your youth, when you were naked and bare, kicking about in your blood." (Ezekiel 16:8-11, 13b, 15a, 22b)

1986

Growing up I was all about self-respect and making choices I could be proud of. So I set a few rules for myself, and I kept them very well. My first and greatest rule was: If you don't have a heart, it won't get broken. Secondly: Why waste hard-earned money paying for something you can steal? Lastly: There's no reason to tell the truth, if you know how to lie.

I lack a good excuse. But then I became a mommy.

At first sight she was a sticky little mess. A frog, perhaps. Wet and slimy, though pink not green. My first child was laid on my young chest and I held her in awkward, trembling arms.

"Her name is Ariana," I said to a nurse with an unknown name. As my words tumbled over tired lips she wasn't a frog anymore. She filled her tiny lungs with air, paused and then let it go.

"Waaaaaaaah!" she screamed. Ariana looked up for the first time and her smoky colored eyes met mine. She was an alarm, a warning ringing in my ears: It's time to grow up!

Despite wanting a boy, my boyfriend went out to celebrate with friends when his daughter was born. In the middle of the night, he stumbled back into the hospital and fell into bed with me. It was a small bed, meant for one recovering mother, so I lay on my side pressed up against the bars. He was content, and soon passed out. When the nurses came in, they were appalled. They tried to get him out of my bed. I begged them to let him sleep. He was in much worse shape than I was.

As the months went by, Ariana grew. She was soft and warm, my roly-poly. She taught me responsibility and gave me hope. She was a warm, fuzzy hug in my cold, dark reality.

Then my hug learned to walk. She was a giggle and a deep belly laugh with a grin on top. She waddled and toppled, climbed and slipped. I caught her every time. My love for her grew until I began to see through her eyes.

"Why is mommy crying, again?" her eyes asked. "Why is Daddy so . . . loud?" I'd chosen this life. I didn't mind it, as long as I didn't think about it. I deserved the bed I made. But now, Ariana shared my pillow.

I finally took her and left just before she turned a year old. But, of course, her daddy followed us as soon as he realized that hiding out in the basement with a shotgun to his head, then calling me and threatening to pull the trigger, wasn't going to bring me running back.

There was an echo in the back of my mind.

"Standing in the dock at Southampton,

trying to get to Holland or France.

The man in the mac said, "You've got to turn back."

You know, they didn't even give us a chance.

Christ, you know it ain't easy!

You know how hard it can be.

The way things are going,

they're going to crucify me."

Chapter Four

Two weeks later

His name was John, like so many others. But he was different.

If he noticed I was good looking, he didn't show it. He said he was a servant of Jesus. Just a humble guy with a low paying job, sharing the hope he'd found with anyone who'd listen. In the summers he volunteered at youth Bible camps up in the mountains.

A friend and I met him on a city street and he wanted to read his Bible to us. I was out of control. I'd been breaking my own rules lately. Especially the heart rule. I'd had a deep, heart and soul longing lately for . . . illumination. I kept wishing and hoping that there was more to life than what I saw. I even talked to the stars one night and begged them to answer me.

They remained silent.

I was all alone. I'd gotten away, but then Ariana's daddy came and tried to force me to return. When I refused, he took Ariana and left. Now I was free. Way too free. My arms were empty and the pillow beside me cold.

I knew I'd return to Alaska soon. I had no choice. But for a moment, I wandered. This particular night of wandering with a friend brought us into a long conversation with John the twenty-something-year-old guy who was way too good looking to be carrying a Bible. We listened far longer than we should have.

But I couldn't help it. He sparkled.

He didn't literally glow, but he was probably the first Jesus Freak I'd met since waving goodbye to the church bus when I was nine-years-old. He was so different. So alive, so bright, so . . . illuminated. I wasn't exactly mesmerized, but I sat and listened to him say things nobody else could get me to listen to.

For hours he read scripture to us.

At last I decided he was rude because he wasn't attracted to me. I had my pride to think of. Just before we left, John turned to me.

"I'll be praying for you," he said. I turned and walked away. Behind me, I heard him say something like, "Remember, Jesus is with you. Always, everywhere and forever."

True to his word, he prayed. Day and night, John fasted and prayed for me, a stranger without a name.

True to His word, God caught me and drew me in.

"Then Jesus declared, ‘I am the bread of life. He who comes to me will never go hungry, and he who believes in me will never be thirsty.’" (John 6:35)

"For my Father's will is that everyone who looks to the Son and believes in him shall have eternal life, and I will raise him up at the last day." (John 6:40)

"No one can come to me unless the Father who sent me draws him, and I will raise him up at the last day." (John 6:44)

Chapter Five

For no apparent reason, I went to see John again. "No strings attached, anytime you need someone to talk to," he'd said. So I took him up on it.

The scriptures he'd read haunted me.

Once again, he read his Bible to me. He played some music he thought I might like. I almost choked when Keith Green started jamming on his piano and singing. Is this guy for real? Oh . . . my . . . Apparently, it was an acquired taste.

Then the song changed, and the soothing guitar picking and voice of Don Francisco filled the air around me. This one resonated.

"I don't care where you've been sleeping,

I don't care who's made your bed.

I already gave my life to set you free.

There's no sin you could imagine

That is stronger than my love,

And it's all yours

If you'll come home again to Me."

John led me in a prayer of repentance and I asked Jesus to forgive my sins and live in my heart. I didn't feel anything. I started saying the prayer frequently, so God would know I meant it.

I didn't feel a rush, but my perception of reality began to alter, drastically. I gradually realized, without a doubt, God was in the room.

He was everywhere I went.

It was exciting - too good to be true -- but also embarrassing. Within a couple of days I'd had to redecorate the room I was staying in, throwing away my posters. I was sure they'd offend him. Then I stopped drinking, stopped cussing and tossed my cigarettes. I didn't ask anyone their opinion, didn't have a Bible yet, hadn't been to a church, but I was sure God didn't like booze, bad language or my smokes.

So I ditched them.

Little by little, memories returned. I was shocked to realize how much I'd forgotten about God. John started picking me up for church on Sundays and Wednesdays. He warned me that there was a battle in the spirit realm going on, and the fight was for my soul. He said Satan would try scare tactics and also temptation to make me change my mind about following Christ. He also gave me a little New Testament Bible and encouraged me to read it, to get to know Jesus, but also to be fed, and equipped for the battle.

"Always pray first," he said. "Ask God to reveal himself to you and speak through the words."

The second day I had that little Bible, I had a very strange thought. It kept coming back, seemingly from out of nowhere.

Read John 8:32.

Vastly different from my usual thoughts.

Read John 8:32.

When it just kept echoing again and again . . . and again, I finally got suspicious. Could it be divine guidance or something? I decided to find out. I was driving at the time, but as soon as I hit a red light, I grabbed the Bible off the seat next to me, opened up and read:

"Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free."

I looked up above, at verse 31 and found that Jesus was the one talking. I read that verse too and found out that His entire statement went like this:

"If you hold to my teaching, you are really my disciples. Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free."

I wanted that. Please, God, let there be more to this life than I've seen so far. Sweet Jesus, I wanted that so badly! Therefore I determined to hold to His teaching, come hell or high water.

Later that week, after church, John took me along when he and his group of friends went out to eat. Then, when the sun set and people I'd hung out with would be hitting the bars, John's crowd went to a playground that had a heavy-duty, oversized, vintage swing set.

I went swinging, of all things. It was gloriously uncomplicated. Oh . . . my . . . goodness. Could life really be this sweet?

Newness and brightness overwhelmed me. Never again could I doubt God was real. Nothing had ever been so clearly convincing as . . . what? I still hadn't seen lightning, nor heard any thunder. No voices from the sky. But every time I walked into a store and didn't check the location of the cameras or mirrors, or every time I opened my mouth and the truth came out, or every time I spent time around people - especially John - and I just relaxed and got to know them, instead of cataloguing their reactions to me, I knew God was real. He'd come to me when I called out.

I wasn't trying to be good - I didn't even believe in right and wrong, good or bad. But now, watching goodness saturating my life, I admitted its existence. It was brilliantly beautiful!

Without a doubt, God's righteous Spirit was living and reigning inside me. Mist and darkness fled away and life was colorful, vivid, musical and overflowing with promise. I hadn't been able to see it before. I was a prisoner recently pulled from a deep, black pit.

I knew the truth, and I was free.

John swung beside me, with the moonlight in his blue eyes, talking of life and God and things he hoped would come next. So passionate, artless, transparent. I listened, but also watched. I couldn't help it. He was mostly English, but with a little Cherokee blood. He was beautiful, and not only on the outside.

"I pray for my children, a lot," he said. "I ask God to protect them, to draw them near to Him and show them who He is."

It hurt to hear those words. "How many kids do you have?" I asked.

"None," he answered. "Not yet. But I figured I could get a head-start and pray for them now. God isn't bound up in time."

After that, I said two prayers regularly:

Jesus, please forgive my sins and live in my heart, and dear God in heaven, please let me marry John.

Amen.

Chapter Six

All too soon I was forced to return to Alaska.

Ariana's daddy filed a custody suit asking for sole-custody and claiming I had abandoned my daughter. Some people spend their first year as a Christian attending New Believer's classes. I spent mine soaking up my Bible, begging God to speak to me and finding out (through necessity) that God answers prayers.

Back in Alaska, fighting for the right to mother my baby and fighting the temptation to accept her daddy's offer -- get back in my bed and I'll drop the custody suit -- I moved in with a girl I met walking to the grocery store. Through a series of improbable coincidences and much prayer, God brought me to a church with a pastor who taught the Bible and a congregation who loved and watched out for me and Ariana. I also talked my new roommate into attending the only young adults' Bible Fellowship in our entire region of Alaska.

That was confusing. Most of us in the group were new believers. I was dying to learn more about Jesus and the Bible. I'd just woken from a deep, dark sleep and I was hungry for light! But at fellowship they rarely read more than one tiny scripture per week. The rest of the time was spent playing games and eating. I begged the leaders to teach us the Bible, but they declined.

"Too much Bible study causes divisions," they said. They wanted people from all faiths to feel comfortable in the fellowship.

So I started something in our apartment. People at my new church had given me a real full-length Bible now, from their unclaimed lost and found box, and our apartment was a hangout of sorts. My roommate didn't oppose my proposition, so I sat down and wrote up some signs, then hung them on the door and walls.

NOTICE: Quiet time (prayer and Bible study) starts at 9pm. Anyone who wants to stay after 9pm must sit in and pray and read the Bible with us.

Usually it was just me and my roommate after nine. But sometimes we had a few brave souls. It was an interesting year, even if I wasn't very popular. It was also a scary year; therefore, I learned to run to Jesus. I also learned that if an ex-boyfriend beats you up, you should get a restraining order - it really helps. It isn't foolproof, but it's a lot better than nothing. For what it's worth, it got him to go to church. Apparently he figured I couldn't keep him out of a public place like church with my restraining order, so he gathered up his friends and nephews and started showing up and filling the back row where I attended.

I praised God for this miracle.

Then when a year-long custody battle for Ariana was over, a joint-custody agreement had been signed and she and I had escaped Alaska again, suddenly I had new things to pray about.

For starters, John asked me to marry him. I was elated, and blown away by the fact that he wanted to spend his whole life with me without ever having dated. We'd never so much as held hands. I had only been myself and enjoyed his company as a friend during our short time together. Now he said he loved me, and I hadn't even tried to attract him yet!

But once we were reunited, he seemed different than I remembered. I felt really uncomfortable around him now. Perhaps I'd changed a lot in the time I was gone, or perhaps he had. Probably both.

He'd started working out again - apparently the time I'd met him had been the only time in almost a decade that he'd been away from his obsession with body building. He'd gained an absurd amount of muscle and he rambled often about how he'd given up his football career to follow Jesus. He had extreme mood swings that I'd never noticed before. He always insisted on being the center of attention everywhere we went and got really touchy if anyone didn't agree with his opinions - I felt like hiding, but instead would just tell him I wanted to go home. He was loud, he was a pig when it was time to eat and he had a serious temper problem.

How could I have missed all this before? It was confusing.

Sometimes he was still the sweetest, most sensitive and giving person I'd known - as he'd been when we met. He still made me feel loved and cherished, most of the time, like no one before. But I never knew what to expect from one minute to the next. I was head over heels in love, but some days it wasn't easy to stay that way.

But those were my pleasant problems. I had much worse to pray about.

Just after her second birthday, Ariana and I went into hiding. It was a few days into her father's scheduled over-night visitations, just before he was set to leave the state and take her on a road trip. I'll never know if paranoia or truth sent us into hiding. I like to think I was paranoid. At this point, I don't want to know. But the detectives believed that the clues and Ariana's toddler-speak added up to something sick. So with their blessing, Ariana and I disappeared when it was time for her to leave with her father.

But a few weeks later, the investigation reached its conclusion and I got a call. "I'm so, so sorry Charity," Detective Louise said. "If only Ariana were older, if only there was more convincing physical evidence. If only a judge would make exceptions for toddlers with minds well beyond their age -- if only she could testify on her own behalf. I'm sorry, there's nothing else I can do." Louise sounded like she'd cry. I wouldn't want her job. Her desk was piled high with cases like ours and she was surrounded by the shining black eyes of the plush teddy bears she gave to the children who, in misfortune, visited her office. She had reason to be sad. Still, I wished she could see things through my eyes. The world wasn't crumbling under our feet as she might imagine.

We were simply on hold, waiting for our deliverer.

"Thanks for all you've done." I hung up the phone and looked up to heaven.

What now?

People constantly asked me if I was eating. "Here, eat this, Charity," they said. "Every bite. We're not leaving you alone until you finish it." That was sweet.

But I also heard a lot of, "You've got to stand up for yourself! The squeaky wheel gets the oil! You don't complain enough." They looked me straight in the face and demanded that I demand my rights and show a little anger. After all, if anyone had a right to be angry, they said, it was me.

I listened quietly, praying, wondering how they missed the hand of God writing on the walls all around us. Just because I've started wearing pink sweaters with bunnies on the front, that doesn't mean my mind is pink and soft, I wanted to say. But I didn't. I used to daydream about revenge. But that was before I knew my Savior. I was sad that they couldn't see His overwhelming love surrounding us. His voice was whispering:

Be still; I’ve got you.

I wasn't afraid for Ariana. I knew my Jesus heard us.

Detective Louise had called me on a Monday because she'd known since Friday that she needed to call, but wanted to get the words right. She called right after my shower, while Ariana sat on the worn rug of our hideout house and read her books. She loved the same books I did when I was little. She had silky chocolate colored hair with just a hint of a curl. We shared the type of cheeks that would thrill a chipmunk and the same little nose, though I doubted hers would stay that way.

After the call, Ariana went to play in the sand outside. She sat there smiling, chattering about this and that, holding a little blue plastic shovel. The mountains towered behind her, creating an appropriate picture of her life. I sat on the patio, rocking slowly back and forth in a ragged, gray wicker chair; crossing and uncrossing my ankles like it was an art, contemplating our next move.

What do people in hiding do when the police detective says the case is closed and it's time to come out? What would Jesus do if it were time for Him to return His child to a violent, alcoholic, possibly abusive parent because it's that parent's turn for visitation?

Give me a sign, or a signal, or . . . something. About a million times per day I asked him.

Ariana came in for dinner, then went to bed and I went back out to the patio and sat there. Crossing and uncrossing my ankles while the last red light of Monday disappeared over the now black mountains. Just sat there and couldn't move.

Chapter Seven

I spent the week stalled.

Which way do I go? I'm in default of a court order now. My visitation time was up weeks ago.

The law wasn't on my side anymore. It was his turn for visitation and he was searching. Word on the street said there was a private detective looking for us.

God, what do I do? Give me Your direction!

If Monday were a test, then I suppose Friday was a serious, fiery trial. Friday was the type of day all parents dread. Still, there was this peace inside me that wouldn't go away. Don't get me wrong, when Ariana began to fall down, always to the left, I would have given my right arm if that would have made my legs carry me quicker, to have been able to catch her each time.

But I didn't and my baby girl fell quite a bit this week -- until it couldn't be explained away by lack of a nap or oversized shoes -- and at last I bundled her up and took her to the hospital for an exam.

Hours later, we had not one, but four doctors gathered around us in the chilled white room. After a battery of tests, they'd discovered why she kept falling over.

They looked terrified.

I knew why they were scared, and it wasn't just the cancer that frightened them. They imagined they were watching two young lives being destroyed by the wicked hand of fate, and maybe they were even thinking it could have been them. It could have been their daughter who developed a brain tumor.

But you know what I was thinking?

I saw Abraham, eyes toward heaven, crying quietly. "Lord, Your will be done." In his heart, he knew that God was faithful. He knew that the power of God could raise his son from the dead!

So he took his willing boy -- his only son, whom he loved -- placed him on the altar and raised his arms toward God in obedient surrender. His movement spoke louder than words:

"Lord, I love You above all others and I trust You explicitly. I will have no Gods before You."

Then he heard the voice of the Lord:

"Do not lay a hand upon the boy, do not do anything to him. Now I know that you fear God, because you have not withheld from me your son, your only son."

Likewise, God didn't withhold from me His only son when my sins needed to be atoned for - though I was undeserving! I knew just enough of the depths of God's love to understand; if He willed, He would heal Ariana. If she died, He had the power to awaken her from the dead.

He is the power, He is the resurrection -- He is life.

But even if He didn't heal, nor raise her, I would love God in any circumstance. I would be thankful when He shared His things with me and not throw a fit if He wanted them back. No, the wicked hand of fate hadn't fallen upon us. Everywhere, in all things, forever we are kissed by God!

The light had just turned green, and we were on our way.

"I don't care where you've been sleeping,

I don't care who's made your bed.

I already gave my life to set you free.

There's no sin you could imagine

That is stronger than my love,

And it's all yours . . .

If you'll come home again to Me."

Chapter Eight

Six months later

The day after Ariana died, I went to the market to buy food. I'd been passing out lately, and lost a lot of weight. I hadn't had any to spare, so I forced myself to hang on to what was left.

It was the strangest feeling wandering the aisles in silence, pushing an empty cart. Not empty of groceries; my daughter wasn't in her usual seat.

The apples were overflowing their bin, so I stopped to put a large red delicious farther up the pile, as it was teetering on the edge. When I was sure it was safe, I moved on. I'd always been a picky eater, more so lately, but vegetables and fruit were my favorites so I chose a few from the produce section. As I compared the peaches, I felt the man across the fruit display staring at me.

"Nice day," I think he said. I nodded, but I didn't look up, until he spoke again. "Do you have any children?" he asked.

I raised my eyes slowly. I searched his face. Just a stranger making polite conversation or trying to get my number. I prayed silently, and then shook my head.

No.

No, I guess I don't.

I moved on.

This wasn't the cheapest grocery store, but I preferred organic. Ariana and I came here as often as we could afford to. Now, for the first time, I pushed past the juice-boxes and honey sticks without picking them up or hearing a voice say, "Can I have it, Mommy? Can I have two?" The highest, clearest soprano I'd ever heard.

Maple yogurt was on sale. I put some in my cart and went to check out.

The clerk recognized me and smiled. I returned her smile and put my items on the conveyor belt.

"So where's your pretty little baby today?" she asked.

Oh, God, I prayed.

Oh . . .God . . . help.

Jesus, I’m sunk. Please carry me . . .

Get me through this day.

One week later:

To my fiancé:

Today I picked up my photos. The most important roll of film imaginable.

Finally, I have my pictures of Ariana back.

John, I can't stand the idea of spending my life anywhere but next to you. Holding your hand, walking where you walk. I love you with a flood of devotion. I love you with more than I'm made of. I love you despite the stomachache you give me so often.

But . . .

Dear God, this hurts so bad!

Why are you mad at me, John? Why, when I love you so much, are you hating me? You're breaking my already crushed heart. I don't understand.

There was one photo of Ariana's father in this roll of film. He'd come to town to visit his dying child. Could that be helped? Did I plan her illness somehow, so I could get a glimpse of a man I want nothing to do with? You make no sense.

Why does this photo threaten us? You knew my past from the day we met. You knew my past before you asked me to marry you. You've even admitted that my past is sparkling clean compared to yours.

You snatched the photos away from me. I fought to keep them, but I lost. I never fight to keep anything because I know I'll lose. But these pictures . . . I couldn't let them go. I struggled so hard. You pried them away from my scratching, clawing hands. I don't claw. I don't scratch.

I don't bite, but I'd have bitten you if I could have.

You threw my precious pictures on the floor. You cursed me. I don't cry easy. But I sobbed, then got on my hands and knees and plucked them up one by one. They were the very last pictures of my baby girl. When you saw my tears, you turned away and stared out the window.

Fuming silently.

I gathered my photos and held them to my heaving chest, gasping for breath between sobs that wouldn't let up. Through my tears, I stared at the picture on top. Ariana . . . blank eyes, defeated little body lying still on the couch, beaten by cancer, about to die. I smoothed the creases where your angry hands marred her face . . . I smoothed and smoothed, with little results, still choking on my sobs. I kept smoothing. I'll smooth her face until it's healed. Or until the face disappears.

Why, John?

Dear God, why?

My tears fell to side, away from the pictures. I was careful not to ruin them more than you have. So careful. These pictures were the last things I'd ever have of Ariana. I didn't want to hate you, but every emotion I had threatened to swamp me.

Stop! I cried out to my mind. Don't take that road; you know where it ends! Forgive! John doesn't understand how precious these are.

Dear God, help me, I cried silently.

John, I've loved you since we met. You just don't understand.

Father, forgive him, I prayed. He doesn't know what he's doing. Oh, God, help me, help me . . . it's more than I can bear.

So much more.

Chapter Nine

After Ariana died, I went away for a time.

I walked on the boulders at the edge of the ocean and let the roar soothe and surround me. I went to the mountains and considered the size and strength of God. I wandered the desert and thanked Him for my cool drink of water.

After I'd been gone awhile, my fiancé called me. He felt guilty and needed to confess. He'd started spending time with an old girlfriend recently, just hanging out, going to the movies. But then, somehow, someway, next thing he knows, they were making out. He needed my forgiveness. He cried. He asked me to pray for him, which I did. I always prayed for him, a lot. Then he asked me something else.

"Will you please come home so we can move our wedding date up? I can't wait another six months," John said.

If my life is music, what's the key? Just after John proposed to me, he'd picked up his guitar and played a song he wrote for me. His guitar playing was pretty, but he wasn't a talented songwriter. I was touched.

A lot of things about John bothered me, but his honesty was arresting. He didn't even flinch before baring his soul. He admitted his weaknesses, his inadequacy and even his shameful failings. He was without a doubt the most straightforward, genuine person I'd ever met.

When Ariana died, I asked for a memorial service, not a funeral. We had balloons and we worshiped God in song. I thanked Him for letting me know her. I'd kissed her little broken body goodbye, but everything that she was - all the things inside that made her who she was - were not dead. She'd passed over, into the presence of God. One day we'd be together again. But John? If I kissed him goodbye now, because he was a disappointment and a heartache, we'd take separate paths and I would never hold him again.

After saying goodbye to Ariana, I couldn't say goodbye to John too.

No, I had already promised to love him, no strings attached. Of course, when I made that vow, I didn't realize I'd be asked to pay up so soon . . . but I knew God was a miracle worker, and He loved me. God had changed me so that it was hard for me even to recognize myself - oh, I knew my sinful nature was still in there, but it wasn't mastering me. When I breathed in, I felt God's peace and love filling me. Despite Ariana's death, my faith and hope were burning bright. God only allowed things if they were the best plan, for an unseen reason that only He understood. He was both sovereign and good. It would be a small thing for Him to change John, especially since John was confessing and asking to be changed.

"Pray for me, Charity," John asked frequently, sometimes in tears.

"No sweat," I answered.

"Help me stay straight with Jesus," he asked. Oh . . . my . . . goodness. I couldn't promise that one. How can one person keep another right with God? I wished he were joking, but he was serious. I determined to try to encourage him toward that goal, but I wasn't sure I'd succeed.

So I went home, we prepared for a quick wedding, and I began praying fervently for the gift of encouragement.

Lord encourage John through me, please!

John was teaching Bible studies this year, so I went with him. We attended three different churches as well. John liked to be in church every night of the week and three times on Sunday.

Sometimes he was asked to lead worship for Bible studies and youth groups. The first time I helped lead worship, I was surprised. It seemed odd that I could be so filled with love for my savior, could sing these beautiful prayers to Him with all of my heart and soul, and a room full of young people could be sitting there watching - none singing -- looking bored and put out.

A lot of things surprised me in my early years as a Christian. Some of my initial beliefs were misconceptions. I made mistakes, despite my sincerity. But in the big things, like marrying John, I sought God fervently for direction, and I truly believed He confirmed I was on the right path.

I fell in love and got engaged while my life was in crisis. Then, the whole time I was engaged, my baby was dying of cancer. Could that have impaired my thinking? Maybe.

Just before we got married, a wise, old man came up to me. I knew him from the prayer group that he ran. "If a man is a glutton," he said, "then he is carnal. He lacks self control in all things."

I knew he was talking about John; everybody knew John was a pig. But I didn't understand. I thought he was saying that enjoying food was a sin. It sounded legalistic. It confused me.

Next, a good friend from Tuesday Bible study group - whom I'd asked to be in our wedding -- spoke to me. "Charity," she said, "I cannot be in your wedding."

"Oh, but why!?" I asked. "I really want you as my bridesmaid!"

"God spoke to me," she said. "You're unequally yoked. I love you, and I can't be part of this."

Now this one was really confusing. Unequally yoked? To the man who shared Jesus with me? How could she say I was unequally yoked, to the man who led the Bible study that was hosted in her house every Tuesday night?!

There were those two odd voices, but I wasn't the only one who saw God's anointing on John. He was asked to lead Bible studies, to lead worship, to lead everyone in prayer . . . When he shared his faith with people and prayed for them, their lives were changed. I knew this from experience.

He had a photographic memory of the entire Bible - he didn't just know what the scriptures said, he knew where each one was on every page of his Bible, and how they correlated with other similar passages. He was passionate about sharing the Gospel, and he was a gifted worship leader; his fervency and love for Jesus were catching. Pastor, evangelist, worship leader, toilet scrubber -- whatever. I didn't care. I just loved being with this man.

Most of the time.

Together we planned to follow God, wherever He led us.

A few months after we got married, God led me to a ministry that was looking for a young couple to live and work in their mission-home for troubled-teens. They hired us and we began a ministry that lasted through the first few years of our marriage. It was the first time a "job" had ever felt so right. When we had a day off, I longed to return to the young people we shared our lives and love with.

But it wasn't easy. With every challenge we faced, John became overwhelmed and angry. At one point, I had to call our boss and ask for help.

"What's happened?" he asked.

"Well . . . John was teaching the kids a Bible study, and they weren't paying attention," I answered. "So, um . . . he got really mad and smashed the guitar to pieces on the wall. In front of them."

"Oh, wow," said our boss. "Oh, boy."

"Well, that's not all," I said. "After that, they were scared, so they grabbed their backpacks and ran away from home."

The man on the other end of the phone was quiet for awhile.

"We understand we're fired," I said. "But we don't know what you want us to do. The kids are all missing."

"No," he said, "you're not fired. These kids can really get to you. I'll be over and we'll see if we can track them down."

It was a miracle we weren't fired. But things didn't get better. I prayed so often and so hard for John. I was terrified. What if I forgot to pray about something, or took a break from praying right at the moment John met with a trial, or temptation? He'd fall into sin, again, and it would be my fault. Praying for John felt more like panic than prayer. Was I doing all I could to help him?

Eventually I had to slow down. I wasn't responsible for John's choices - it couldn't be my fault! I wasn't that powerful.

I begged God to help me loosen the cords that bound me to John. I was attached too tightly; each time he struggled, I nearly suffocated.

Oh, God! Help me! Pry us apart so I can breathe, regardless of what my husband does!

We finally left that ministry when I had our first baby to take care of and John was on staff at the big church we attended.

John was going to be a pastor.

Chapter Ten

People said they longed for a marriage as happy as ours.

"I wish my husband loved me the way John loves you," women said. I didn't argue. John was sweet and devoted, often. He loved to talk and wanted to hear my thoughts, unless they opposed his. He encouraged me and melted away my fears, but then he'd give me new ones. He included me in everything, and hated being away from me. That made me feel guilty because sometimes (honestly?) I wished he'd leave. He said he loved me often, and he tried hard to show it too. He succeeded, but only when he was in a good mood.

Yes, he was beautiful, and he sparkled. When I first met him, he brought God's light into my previously dark world. He introduced me to real friendship, Bible study, and to worship. Glorious worship . . . with my eyes closed I felt I could listen forever to the powerful words and his soft voice; like rain drumming on my roof in a summer storm, it soothed me. But I'd open my eyes, and there wasn't any rain -- just this passionate man worshipping God in songs. His strong, tanned arms gently cradled a singing guitar, while his long fingers fluttered back and forth, playing with the strings.

Through John, God opened my eyes to many beautiful things.

But sometimes . . . this man who shone so brightly was dark. Really dark. Sullen like a midnight breeze and the sounds of an old house at night. Since giving my heart to Jesus, I knew unknowable things. I had discernment and read people really well, except for one person. John didn't make sense. The way I saw it, he wasn't one man, but two -- which made it easier to tolerate the one, but harder to smile with the other.

We had beautiful times together; he thanked God often for me. He flattered me, he spoiled me and he wondered aloud what it must be like for those poor people who don't have someone they're so deeply in love with. How sad, how alone they must feel. I agreed with him in my head and with my mouth - John's words were almost always right on -- but my heart fought against me, reminding me of his actions, telling me that things weren't as lovely as John seemed to believe.

Though I tried to forget and just enjoy our life . . . I couldn't help remembering that there were times John returned to the vomit of his old life -- the habits that Jesus had freed him from -- and he broke my heart and shattered my trust and I'd go hide in the shower where I could scream at the top of my lungs -- silently, because that's how I am -- and the tears could pour straight from my soul down my cheeks and no one would ever know because I had my face in the water.

And I would pray, God help me . . . help me . . . help me . . . help me . . . help me . . . help me . . . help me . . . this is more than I can bear.

So much more.

Please wash Your cleansing blood over this rage and poison inside me. Put love in my broken -- unwilling -- heart for this man, this horrible, horrible man, the father of my babies . . . our beautiful, beautiful babies.

God is faithful. So faithful. My heart has experienced miraculous forgiveness. But why did it have to, for the one person in the world who said he loved me most? Was this roller coaster really necessary? My destiny? My sick, sad, convoluted destiny?

No, I remember making a choice.

I might have been ignorant and blind before we were married, but it only took a couple of weeks, or less, before I understood something was wrong. Sick and wrong. My newlywed bubble burst from the dynamics of my new marriage. We'd been through the marriage counseling; I knew I wasn't supposed to have expectations, because people inadvertently (or not) will always let you down. No, a marriage was a commitment to love unconditionally, not expecting to receive, but wanting to give and to bless and to nurture.

Okay, I got that, and I determined to live it. Moment by moment, one hard decision after another. Strengthen me, Jesus! But I was the only one giving, blessing and nurturing.

"Pray for me, Charity! Have you been praying for me?"

"Yes, I have been. So, so much."

"Pray more," he'd ask.

In our fresh new marriage, he could be an emotional basket case, tossed on his head by every single thing that came his way, and he always had a friend on his side. Always. He always had my shoulder to cry on.

But when I needed a friend . . .

When I really, badly, desperately needed a friend, I had to go lock myself in the bathroom, get in the shower and put my weeping face in the water and pray. And pray and pray and pray, because I knew going into marriage that we aren't supposed to have expectations.

So after we were married a few months, the first time he confessed he'd betrayed me . . . I had a choice to make. Do I ditch him, because he's a loser and a nut-job? Or do I love this man too much by now to really care about all that?

I later would hate my 20-something-year-old, idealistic self for this decision, but at the time my faith was way bigger than my brain. My heart was filled with God's love, and I knew, just knew, that God could do anything!

God could turn these putrid ashes, that used to be my newlywed bliss, into something beautiful, if I continued to trust and pray for my husband, and continued to let Jesus be the ultimate love of my life.

Yes, my soul answered, I do love this man too much to care if he's a loser. I love him more than I love myself. Even if my God does not deliver me from this fire . . . the love trumps the pain. Place me like a seal over your heart for love is as strong as death.

Idiot or not, I cherished him.

Would I walk through fire for you, Baby?

Oh, yeah. Watch me.

So I chose to stay when I knew I was free to say goodbye. After that, he asked for babies.

Babies would complicate the situation -- I knew from experience. But he asked if he could please have ten or so. He had a big heart and wanted more people to share our happy family with us. It seemed cruel to refuse him, but I didn't agree to ten.

Then later, when he confessed he'd stumbled into sin again, and again, when I probably did not love him more than myself anymore, I loved our beautiful babies. I knew it would wound them if I sent him away. I wanted so much to protect them, regardless of what it might cost me. They adored their daddy, and I just couldn't take them and get off the merry-go-round . . .

leaving him

spinning off into the distance

somewhere,

while they cried and watched him go.

Would I walk through fire for you, my babies?

Oh, yeah, without a doubt. Watch Mommy.

Ignore that clown in the corner.

Anyway, he seemed sincerely repentant.

Repentance and change are possible through Jesus, I knew that, and he appeared genuine. Quite a bit more genuine than necessary, actually. I myself have never shed so many tears over my sin -- nor have I run in circles screaming like a dying animal while punching myself in the head and yelling obscenities at myself.

He was very sincere.

Thank God he controlled himself when the children were watching -- most of the time. Other times, I prayed, God help us, fill our home with Your peace! When I asked -- and I asked a lot -- God put love in my heart for this man, replacing the anger and bitterness that tried to take root, and I comforted myself with the fact that he was just another saint who at times was a mere man.

But when he was a mere man -- and not a great one -- I missed his knowing glance and understanding words. When he sank down and the light went out, I missed his faith, and the wisdom God gave him. I stood watching as the cares of life washed over him. I gazed on in frustration as he sat in their wake -- eyes downcast, chin pulled back into his unshaven neck -- and I cried.

I listened as he raged like a tyrant in the island of our home and I prayed the sun would shine on him again. This was the man who showed me who Jesus was.

Yet sometimes, I wasn't sure he knew.

Chapter Eleven

I stopped wearing makeup and listened to a lot of Keith Green music the year we left the teen ministry. Around that time John said God had given him direction.

"God wants us to move to a place he's shown me," he said. It was a place neither of us had ever been. John was ready to start a church and I started packing. Our church agreed and said they'd send us out with their blessing.

But then John decided against moving and time went by.

We stayed where we were and I prayed, asking God to guide us. We had one baby and another on the way when I was asked to co-lead a women's Bible study group. John was also leading a big Bible study in our apartment on Friday nights. I'd help lead worship, then go into the back room so our baby girl could play without distracting the group, and so I wouldn't distract John. I didn't hear God speaking when John taught the Bible. I wasn't worried about it, and I had tried not to mention it, but he kept asking, and asking. He insisted I tell him what I thought of his teaching. It confused me, but I couldn't lie, so I'd told him.

Now he hated teaching when I was in the room.

Also, the women's study I helped teach confused me. I'd leave study with a sick feeling, knowing in detail every vile deed each of these women's husbands needed prayer about. But it was difficult to get them past the prayer request time and into the actual prayer. Harder still to stop the "fellowship" conversations long enough to study the Bible together. I prayed for forgiveness, because it didn't make sense that all of those Christian women were wrong, and I was right in what I felt God wanted us to do. Nevertheless, I prayed that we could encourage each other to fix our eyes on Jesus more, and I determined to never speak a negative word about John. Pray for John and I, would have to do.

What was the point of sharing details? God knew.

John was his erratic self. He got angry and quit a few jobs because the bosses didn't respect him, and he asked me to pray harder for him because he felt like he was slipping backwards.

"Pray for me, Charity. Ask God to help me love you faithfully," he'd say.

Oh . . my . . . Oh . . . dear God, help me. It was too much. If I prayed any more for that man, I might hyperventilate.

Sometimes my insecurities swamped me. I felt the Holy Spirit nagging me, telling me to stop running from my fears and give Him my worries. Then I thought the Spirit said:

Take a huge step of faith and stop wearing makeup.

Makeup? Did He really say that? Ridiculous and terrifying.

I was a child of my era - beautiful meant expensive clothes, big hair, a deep tan and lots of makeup. But when I gave my life to Christ I left most of that behind, replacing the high maintenance beauty treatments with a gentle, quiet spirit and good works. My makeup was subtle now.

I tried to ignore that voice for awhile. But it only got louder.

Get behind me, Satan! I said. I am not Amish - I have freedom in Christ! Makeup is not a sin and I will not let you make me feel guilty for hiding behind it! There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ!

But the Holy Spirit whispered:

Charity, it’s me.

Beloved, will you go unadorned if I ask you to? Will you stop trying to be beautiful enough to hold your husband’s affection, if I ask you to?

Could this be God? I'd been saved through grace, by faith. This request reeked of legalism. Didn't it?

But He whispered:

Beloved, it’s called obedience. Trust me.

Would God really ask me to give up my beauty? My one anchor in this storm called my life?

Oh . . . my. The minute I heard myself describe it as my anchor, I repented. Jesus was my only anchor and He was jealous about that position. I stopped wearing makeup that day.

The first day I left home without it, I was approached by friends and relatives, all asking the same question.

"Charity, are you sick? You look horrible!"

Yes. I know.

It seemed absurd. I felt so sorry for myself. Poor Charity. God is picking on me. Humiliating me. Natural was not in style . . . John came to me, saying his friends felt sorry for him and had called me homely, but he'd stood up for me.

"They just don't know true beauty," he said.

Still, I remained unadorned, fasting makeup. The more I prayed for help to feel better about myself, the more I heard this one scripture playing over and over in my mind:

"I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me."

Could I go about unadorned, my flaws unhidden, leaving things in God's hands? Could I say, God, if You want me to be loved, then I will be, but if You let me be rejected and unappreciated, You have that right as well? I reminded myself how much God loved me and who I was in Christ. Mantras upon mantras meant to build me up and make me feel loved and special.

But the scriptures fought against me.

"Whoever finds their life will lose it, and whoever loses their life for my sake will find it." (Matthew 10:39)

"I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me." (Galatians 2:20)

All of a sudden, I saw it! I have been crucified. To be crucified was to be killed - not coddled and comforted. Not reminded of my worth. Killed!

I no longer live!

Oh . . . my . . . goodness. I finally understood what was wrong. Keith Green sang it best:

"Lord, it's so hard to see, when my eyes are on me."

I was fighting so hard to fix or hide my imperfections and the truth that nobody really thought about me all that much. I was just another face among billions, daily confronted by evidence that my sinful nature was still rotten, lurking there, waiting for permission to rule me. But now I got it.

I didn't need to convince myself that I was better, or good enough to be loved, or somehow special. I just needed to bring my self to Jesus, lay down my life - as he'd done for me - and let Him live.

Die to my self, and let Him live. It was beautiful and liberating. It was grace.

I sang one song, over and over a lot that season.

"Turn your eyes upon Jesus.

Look full in His wonderful face,

And the things of earth will grow strangely dim,

In the light of His glory and grace."

My frantic thoughts ceased spinning as I focused on Jesus' beauty, His goodness, His adequacy, and His love. After that I started writing songs to my savior. I didn't care if anyone else ever heard them. He loved it when I sang to Him.

During this time, I felt God compelling me to teach Bible Studies for pre-teen girls. The church needed to split their pre-teen class up; it was too large. So one of John's good friends, a guy named Eddy, taught the boys and I took the girls. They were so full of life and dreams and flip-flopping emotions. I loved teaching them. But when I was handed the curriculum for the year, my heart ached for these girls.

Most of them came from broken families and their parents had just started attending church. I knew that many of these girls might attend church for just a short season before making their own choices in life. Yet the curriculum asked me to spend every minute I had with them teaching them to recite the books of the Bible in order! There wouldn't be any actual study of what was in those books. Whoever wrote the curriculum must have expected they had a decade or more to build, lesson upon lesson. I was filled with a sense of urgency, so I put the canned lessons away. Instead I took the girls through a personal study of the Bible, showing them that Jesus is the way, the truth, the life and the answer to every single one of their God-given longings. It was a beautiful class and we learned much together.

But at home, things were still odd. Just before our fifth anniversary, John quit working at the church, quit leading Bible study, stopped playing his guitar and quit reading his Bible.

He never said why.

But Jesus put a song in my heart, and I sang it over and over:

"I cast all my cares upon You, Jesus.

I lay all my burdens down at Your feet.

And anytime I don't know what to do,

I will cast all my cares upon You."

Chapter Twelve

John got better after this. Or, at least, he changed. Unlike the first five years of our marriage, now he no longer came to me asking for prayer or saying he was struggling with sin and needed help. He still argued the scriptures with people, but more often he just slept through church. He stopped trying as hard to be the center of attention and deferred all decision making to me.

"You know best; you're the smart one," he'd say. Then he'd fall asleep on the couch. Whatever I wanted, I got. Even when I didn't want it - if I mentioned it, then he wanted it for me. It was both flattering and exhausting. I didn't want to be encouraged to have things I didn't need and we couldn't afford. I also didn't want to be forced to decide everything, all the time.

John gained weight and grew lazy. In a way it was nice to see he'd made it past his stressful struggling years, and I was comforted by the fact that he wasn't as attractive as before, and he didn't have a charming personality - maybe that would keep him out of trouble. But now he struggled with depression.

He also had some health issues -- he'd been on medication since childhood -- but his health problems didn’t usually slow him down. More than anything, I worried that maybe the medications were causing his depression and mood swings. I also wondered if they were the cause of his (sometimes) impaired reasoning. He argued with everyone, about nearly everything -- I loved him and was embarrassed for him. I wanted to help him, but when I tried he'd get angry with me.

My prayers for him now turned to his depression. John claimed he was fine; he didn't believe in depression. But that didn't stop me from praying for his depression and researching, trying to find ways to cure it. At one point I cried out to God over and over again to heal my suffering husband. But suddenly, clear as anything, I knew God was answering, and it wasn't the answer I'd anticipated.

Stop, Charity; I heard you. Don’t pray about that any more.

But Lord, You haven't healed him yet.

Be still, Charity. I’m teaching him.

Teaching him? I didn't really understand, but trusted that God knew what He was doing. So I stopped praying that God would heal him. I started praying more for the children and I, that we could keep our eyes on Jesus and stay cheerful, despite John's illnesses and moods.

During this time, I knew God wanted me to start a Bible study for young mothers who often go without fellowship because they're home caring for babies and toddlers. So I did. But as soon as I was teaching again, it felt like my whole family had been thrown into the fire. The kids were out of control, I was losing my patience with them, and things were really bad with John. His moods grew darker and sometimes he was scary.

I had recurring thoughts. At first I ignored them, but the longer they played over and over in my mind, the more sense they made.

The Bible says not to appoint a man as an elder if he can't manage his family. How much more a woman teaching the Bible whose family's emotions and tempers are burning out of control? Physician, heal thyself. Get your own home-life in order before you try to teach others.

So I canceled the Bible study. Just then I found out I was pregnant again. I wept. I was so terribly attached to John, but I was scared. Would his moodiness damage the children? Were my efforts to keep a happy, praise-filled home working? Or did the kids notice his countenance?

Then John was seen somewhere he shouldn’t have been -- by someone on staff at church -- and he came to me, confessing he'd betrayed me. Again. I told him this was the end. If things didn't get better right away, and stay better, I wanted a divorce. It was the first time I'd ever used the word . . .

Since our first month of marriage John had thrown it at me frequently -- anytime I didn't agree with him. "Fine!" he'd scream. "Do you want a divorce then?" Shaking my head, bewildered, I'd just stand there, mouth probably hanging open . . . wondering how in the world he'd gotten that out of the fact that I didn't like something or didn’t agree with something he said.

But now, finally, it was me who said it.

"If it happens one more time, I'll divorce you," I promised. "I love you, but I can't do this anymore." So John also made a promise. He promised he would do better, and that if he didn't, he'd set me free.

My home-life was a mess.

Still . . . I felt bad for canceling the Bible study. So when I was asked to teach Bible at the Gospel Hope Shelter, I agreed. But the first study was a disaster. When I shared the message, my small audience looked tortured. They'd been told they had to sit through my lecture if they wanted their dinner. So they sat.

I'd studied long, prayed and believed God gave me this message. I somewhat expected it would encourage and bring hope to the hearers. But if their faces were any indication, that wasn't happening. Then one of the pre-teen boys fidgeted too much, talked too much, or did something too much and the resident director grabbed him up out of his chair and physically assaulted him, right in the middle of the Bible study. It was the weirdest thing I'd ever experienced.

I never went back. But I was called to testify about what I had seen, since I was the only one on the premises who wasn't a homeless person come in out of the rain. Okay, so I wasn't really there to teach, I concluded. I was only there to witness that the mission needed a new director. Made sense.

I knew I wasn't really a Bible teacher. The looks on those poor people's faces when I taught testified to that. And yet . . . well . . . I wasn't sure what to think. So many thoughts bombarded me, most of them accusing me of being presumptuous - thinking people wanted to hear me talk!

I went to John for advice, because he'd taught so many Bible studies. But instead of giving me guidance, John started teasing me and I lost the plot. To him, humility looked like fear; it was a weakness he'd never had and didn't understand. Also, John didn't think I was a teacher of anything. In fact, it seemed he thought I was a joke. I'd been hearing the same from other people for awhile.

Charity is sweet, and she means well, bless her ignorant little heart.

No one respected me.

I forgot to turn my eyes upon Jesus and admire His beauty. Instead I stared into the mirror and wondered what I could do to fix my marriage and my self. John always claimed to love me, but I knew he didn't like me. I wanted so badly for him to like me.

I started trying to find things that got his attention. I bleached and died my hair, over and over again, trying different colors and different styles because I only felt better when I was changing something. I tried to be less girly and more like the strong, athletic women John respected. No matter how hard I tried, I was still a pitiful athlete, but at least I got rid of all my pastel or colorful clothes, and those with flowers -- or, God forbid, bunnies.

After our baby was born, I started running, stopped eating and lost everything but my bones. I wore way too much makeup and tighter clothes. I wanted everyone to notice me, because my husband didn't. My skin and bones began to hurt; my wedding ring burned on my finger and I had to keep moving it from one hand to the other to relieve the pain. I tried to make my heart stop hurting by letting it grow hard.

It worked.

But God spoke gently and quietly to me, again and again:

Charity, be still. I’ve got you.

Lord, help me. I don't want to fall away from You.

Then our baby grew, and learned to talk and he was unlike any child I'd known. He spoke of God as if he knew Him and repeated the scriptures to everyone he met. Before he could even read, he approached his father with words of wisdom. When I was walking on eggshells and the other kids were hiding, this calm toddler would walk right up to his angry father, look him in the eyes and say, "Daddy, the Bible says only a fool vents his anger."

Thank God, John would turn and run away to go boil somewhere else.

I later learned that the older kids had coached their baby brother in the verses, but only this child had the courage to walk up and share them. When we needed it most, God brought us a light, in the person of a bold little boy. He inspired me and I was encouraged in the faith.

Then, in His great mercy, God led me to get involved in a ministry to needy children. Suddenly, I was on the right path again. I stopped running and ate because I needed strength. I was busy, day and night, caring for the helpless. With children surrounding me, not only mine, but now others, life was challenging, but sweet again. They noticed me . . . and they loved bunnies.

Thank You, Jesus.

He sent me all of those children to keep me out of trouble.

It worked for a long time.

Then, just after our fifteenth anniversary, my wedding ring broke in half and I felt the Spirit nudging me.

Charity, get up. I’m going to take you somewhere you’ve never been before.

Chapter Thirteen

We'd been at the same church for over fifteen years when I started staying home. It just hurt so much to go there. Heartache, but also guilt. I saw plenty of Christian men like John; boastful, loud, foolish jokers. But inevitably there would always be one who was different.

One who sparkled with humility, quiet peace and the love of Jesus.

It would make me want to cry. I felt so bad, knowing I wasn't content with my husband as he was. I felt so sorry for John. He worried constantly about everything and needed me to encourage him. He seemed to hate himself. From time to time he'd make a vow that he was going to change and be a better person. He'd start eating healthy, exercising and being nicer . . . but no matter how hard he tried, soon he always returned to his depressed state, sleeping on the couch, eating way too much junk food, losing his temper often, saying he hated himself and everyone else.

I was sad for him. I wanted to help him, and I wanted to be thankful for him. Most of the time, I could. But it was impossible when I was confronted with a humble, transparent and passionate believer who reminded me of the John I'd once known.

Also, going to church meant taking John around people. I hated watching John argue with everyone. The minute we left the house together, the burning knot in my stomach would heat up. I knew somebody was going to make him angry and there'd be a scene. Or, worse, he'd get mad at me for something I said - or didn't say -- while we were driving. He'd pull over to the side of the road, slam the car in park, get out and run off into traffic or down the side of the road -- leaving me alone in a car full of scared, crying kids.

"Mom! Why do you always do that?" they'd ask. I would have stopped doing it, if I could've figured out what it was.

Finally one year, my legs hurt so badly from the stress that some days I could hardly walk. I told him I was done.

"From now on, I'm not going anywhere with you, ever again."

I kept my word and it was much easier to like him when I didn't have to see him blowing up at people, or at me for no reason. So much easier to dance and sing praise songs, to enjoy laughing and playing with my children. My legs hurt much less too. But it also meant I stopped going to church, because he was there.

For awhile I took the kids and my own car and tried other churches, without John. But none felt like a good fit. So eventually, I stayed home and let the kids go to church with John. They said his behavior was much better when I wasn't around.

Besides, I reasoned, John needed church more than I did. I was happy he kept going.

But then, on top of the constant knot in my stomach and burning pain in my legs, I developed insomnia. Nagging thoughts of moving kept me awake at night. I didn't want to move. We were secure and planted. We were poor, but we owned a home. We had friends and family. We had pets, lots of pets.

John's health had grown worse over the years -- and he was often depressed -- but that doesn't mean he was mellow or calm. In fact, every year he grew more reckless and had more accidents and injuries. I wasn't sure why, but I had a strong feeling that he'd die soon. When a motorcycle accident left him laid up for awhile, I looked around and contemplated this. Our city, neighborhood and even our little house weren't my idea of the best place to be a widow raising a pile of kids. The crime rate had risen, our neighborhood was deteriorating and sometimes I couldn't even let the kids play in the back yard due to the activities in the alley.

But move cross-country to a place I'd never lived -- as I felt God suggesting - to where I didn't know anyone? Give up my precious house, my children's security, and all of our things and just go? With nobody to help me but children?

With John being frequently ill, often depressed and -- well . . . um . . . rather lazy -- I figured he'd be twice as much trouble and no more help than all the pet dogs, cats and birds we'd need to bring with us. Then Eddy, one of John's best, long-time friends came to stay with us. Eddy had been falsely accused of some things in the city he'd been in, so he was out of a job and home.

Lord, did You send him to help me move this family? I prayed. Thank You, God! With Eddy to help, I thought it might be possible.

I could see Eddy was also struggling with depression, so I was glad that we could be there to support and encourage this brother in the Lord. He and John had always been close - though all they did was argue - and our children considered Eddy their honorary uncle. I figured maybe God was calling him to a change of scenery as well. I truly hoped so. It would be nice for John to have a friend with him if we had to move to an unfamiliar place.

But then God showed me undeniable evidence that Eddy hadn't been falsely accused.

Eddy was guilty.

I told John what I'd discovered, and he confronted his friend. Eddy denied everything.

So I prayed, Lord, should I call the police?

I was waiting for an answer when I got a call from the police. They'd found Eddy passed out in his car and he had our phone number on him. The police asked me to come and get him because he was too inebriated to drive. I picked him up, brought him home and he went out into our back yard and passed out face down in my children's playground. When he sobered up, he moved his sleeping bag out of our house and into the children's playhouse in the yard. He lived out there for awhile.

At last, I found him a new place to live and moved him out. After he was gone, he called all the time wanting to talk to John or the kids.

I heard the Holy Spirit whisper:

No, Charity.

I don't know if he noticed, but I began subtly separating my family from Eddy. John didn't notice, but the kids whined. Eddy had promised them a lot of gifts and trips to fun places, now Mom was spoiling everyone's fun. Mom was always left to spoil everyone's fun, because Mom was the only one who didn't live for fun.

Dad is fun. Mom is boring and thinks everything is a sin.

Uncle Eddy was fun too.

Then one day, not long after leaving our home, Eddy killed himself.

Charity, when the cloud lifts, follow me.

But, Lord, I'm so scared! I can't do this alone!

Beloved, I’ve got you. Let me carry you out of here.

Chapter Fourteen

After Eddy died, John got to know a man named Marcus. Whenever that man came around, I left the room. I loved my husband dearly and was thankful for him.

But Marcus sparkled.

Then Marcus started coming over every Monday night and having a Bible study with John; just the two of them. Bless his heart, he was one of the only people I'd ever met who seemed to really, truly care about John. I prayed that God would pour out blessings on this man for reaching out to my belligerent husband. Marcus appreciated John's knowledge of the scriptures and passion to study hard. It was odd, but he actually seemed to like John.

Together they pored through the scriptures, talking about every angle of every interpretation that had ever been conceived. It made my head spin when I'd walk through the room where they studied.

John started reading his Bible again so he'd be ready for Marcus's myriad of hard questions every Monday night. Then a large Bible study group, where Marcus sometimes taught, needed a worship leader. They asked John to do it, so he picked up his guitar again and started leading worship for the first time in over ten years.

Meanwhile, I packed, worked on the house to get it ready to sell, and watched for the miracle that was going to make it possible for our big family to move.

Then just when I'd concluded that I made a mistake - obviously, we weren't supposed to move because nothing was working out -- everything around me started slamming shut. When I was drained and had given up and decided to stay put, God compelled me to go. He worked things out and I bought a run-down farmhouse on a beautiful piece of property in the country -- over fifteen hundred miles away. We loaded up the kids, animals and few things that would fit in a borrowed RV and left the city behind.

The first night on the road, I drove until I was literally seeing double. I pulled over at a truck stop and parked in a gravel lot. After everyone fell asleep in the RV, I dropped my everything-is-wonderful face and wept silently, crying out to God:

Lord, I'm so scared! All these beautiful children, and even John, are relying on me. They're so excited, so joyful . . . so naive. They trust that I'm leading them to the promise land! But I'm terrified! What if I was wrong?

What if I'm making a mistake?

Along the side of a lonely stretch of highway, I wept quietly in the dark and fought to calm my thundering heart. But then, like a wave of peace, my mind was flooded with a familiar scripture.

"Trust in the Lord with all of your heart, And lean not on your own understanding; In all your ways acknowledge Him, And He shall direct your paths." (Proverbs 3:5-6 NKJV)

It began as a thought and I turned it into a silent, rhythmic chant. I repeated the verse, again and again and again until my crying stopped. The stress-induced pain in my legs faded. Peace washed over me, and I slipped into a deep, restful sleep.

My insomnia went away that night, and never returned.

Nine months later:

To my husband,

I want to write you a letter, but when I've tried before you just glance at it and then throw it away. So I'll write this in my mind where it has a chance of lasting longer. Maybe someday I'll share it with you, or maybe I won't.

Last night I lay by your side in darkness while waves of emptiness poured over me, sucking at my soul . . . with a roaring pulse breaking, crashing, churning in my ears, reminding me of when we had another kind of energy together. You never wake up when I finally make myself lie down next to you. I held myself and rocked with silent weeping. I was freezing from the inside out, and my body burned with pain. I didn't know what was wrong, and I prayed and prayed,

Oh, God . . . what's wrong with me?

He spoke to me then:

Charity, it’s called loneliness.

He spoke words of love over me and I felt warm. The pain left me, my sobs quieted and I fell asleep.

But in the morning, it was back. Now I'm outside, working on this old house as I've been for months, every spare moment I have. Its February . . . Monday or Friday or Saturday; doesn't matter when you won't get out of bed anymore and there's only me, alone, in a frozen land of nothing but dying hope and needy children. Children waiting inside for me to feed them, clothe them, teach them . . . love them. Bless their poor and troubled souls. I'm trying. But my heart's leaking over you.

There isn't much left.

I'm whining; I know. I'm cold, it hurts, and you won't hold me anymore. I'm whining, and I'm not sorry. I'd cry, but my tears would freeze. It's pointless.

John, you and the kids take for granted that I always fix everything. But do you understand that I wasn’t created for this work? Do you know how hard it is for me? I raise the hammer at least ten times before I finally connect with each nail on the board before me. My face goes numb, my arms shake, muscles burn and I bruise constantly. Just recently, one of my wrists has quit working. Carpal tunnel, perhaps. You only see the results of my work. Sure, the old deck on the back of the house isn't going to fall down now, but there's still so much more to do and my little body is falling apart.

John, in a perfect world, I'd look and be awed by the lacy crystals of ice and snow on the trees and the tall leafless birch shimmering bright white against a pale sky as clear as it is cold. I know I should stop and enjoy the view of the mountains in the distance. But my world is far from perfect; the beauty around me is a painful reminder of where I am, and that, once again, you're not okay.

I'm beyond whining now. I think I'm going numb, from the inside out. Why am I left to care for your children, your house and you?

You again.

Why am I always caring and giving, never being cared for? Never receiving anything . . . except more people to take care of.

Last month my mom came to visit us; she went into the room where you were. Five minutes later she came out, her expression grim.

"That man's going to kill himself," she said.

"Oh, so you noticed," I replied. I wondered if she'd feel it like I did. Entering the room where you sat hunched down in your chair, in your filthy robe and slippers as you'd been for months, was like entering a black cave. Though we didn't see any black winged creatures swirling around the room, we expected to.

Your health has been so much worse lately; you’re having neurological problems and there aren’t any decent doctors way out here. You won't take care of yourself, so I have to. I never relax; I need to follow you around in case you need help. Through much prayer, and by God's miracle power, you're well cared for and safe on my watch.

Well . . . usually.

There was one time I let my anger at your cruel words get the better of me. I saw you staggering around the corner, not looking okay. I knew I should follow you. But instead, I stayed where I was. Serves you right if you fall and smash your head open.

Later, I felt the dread building, knowing that you would've come back if you were okay. When I found you in the other room, you were face down in a pool of your blood. Sometimes you're the most horrible person I've ever met and you've broken my heart enough that I'm not always sure it's even there anymore . . . but I guess it is; I was very sorry.

I cried and asked God's forgiveness. Then I cleaned you up, got you back into your chair and gave you some ice cream.

Later, in a rare moment of lucidity, you told me you were losing your mind and wanted me to move the family away from this ghost town. "Please get us out of here before it's too late," you begged. Sometimes I wonder if you can see me.

Do you understand just how little and weak I am?

Oh, but I knew you were right; we needed to go. We needed God's light. You needed better doctors and we needed to be in church -- not just any old church like what was available out here. Not just you, but the whole family was now floundering.

We needed a pastor who taught from the Bible, instead of one who held the Bible up and told us that it was an unnecessary book if we'd all just trust our experiences. We needed friends. Our new pastor had been coming to visit you a lot, he liked you and I guess you could consider him a friend. But he gave me the creeps.

Really bad.

I was starting to believe it had been my imagination that there were Christians who read and believed their Bibles, who loved each other, loved God and didn't think it was fine to meet up after church for a few beers. We needed true fellowship and most of all, someone to pray for us. But we bought an old house in the middle of nowhere -- we planned to spend years working on it. Now we've been here less than a year, you aren't helping me fix anything, the family is going downhill fast and the house needs tons of work before it can sell for enough to get us out of here.

You've told me for a long time that you think you're going to hell. I'm not arguing so much as I used to. Still, you said, you want to preach the Gospel and see people set free from the enemy, even though you yourself can't be saved.

I wonder . . . whose jawbone are you planning to slay this enemy with?

I think you were sort of okay until you went too far in your search for knowledge. That old competitive streak. You used to read the Bible, then you read twenty-pound Bible commentaries and theological dissertations. But eventually that wasn't enough; you just had to know more than everyone else so you began to expand your horizons. First just the Gnostic Gospels, but later I saw you reading the Koran. I don't know where you got it, but once that book entered your life, I sensed something dark and evil in the air all around you. I know that would sound crazy to most people, but I think you understand.

You justified reading the Koran because you needed more knowledge for your weekly phone-call Bible studies with your friend Marcus and your conversations with your new pastor. But after awhile you started making excuses to skip the phone call with Marcus.

Then you said something I never thought I'd hear you say: "I'm not sure there really is a God."

As soon as the words left your mouth, I nearly stopped breathing. I knew you were troubled, but this terrified me. No God? From you? The man who used to talk about loving Jesus with all your heart? The man who was more filled with passion and zeal than anyone I'd ever known?

After that I prayed and asked God to help me get our family out of there.

And prayed. And prayed.

Now it's been months and I'm still here, still praying, looking up at the peeling paint and the looming house. It seems to mock me in my incompetence, and loneliness. Someone needs to fix this place up and sell it. Someone has to do all this work, and it won't be any of those inside it. They're all just sitting in there waiting for me to take care of them.

Does anyone see me? Doesn't anyone see how little and weak I am?

All those kids, and you. Covers pulled up over your greasy hair, face unshaven, you. With eyes that won't meet mine even when I force you to look at me.

Oh, God.

I’m so lonely.

Chapter Fifteen

One night in September I decided it was time to give up. The house hadn't sold in six months and school was starting. I was confused, because I'd been sure God was prompting me to move again. But I knew it was quite possible for me to be wrong. So I made an announcement to my family.

"Sorry, I guess I was wrong," I said. "Tomorrow I'll call the realtor and take the house off the market. Apparently, this is where we belong."

They weren't happy about the news, so I went to the store, rented a few movies and bought everyone more ice cream. But the next morning, before I called the realtor, she called me.

We had a buyer for our house.

Thank You, Jesus, I prayed. I'm so sorry for losing hope, again.

Then it was time to find our new home. I started looking. The first realtor I tried got me into a big mess and I ended up losing all of my earnest money. Again my hope was weathered.

Oh, God, help us. Please.

Then I met a realtor named Hal. Suddenly things felt different. In a short time my family stood inside a beautiful house with this gentle-spoken older man, looking around in awe. Could we really afford this? It was close to a city, but surrounded by pine trees and gorgeous views. It was the first house John had viewed because he hadn't been feeling well enough to go with us when we looked at the others. Even now, he was in bad shape, but he was there. Then Hal, the realtor, surprised me.

"Do you mind if I ask you a personal question," he asked. We nodded, go ahead.

"Are you Christians?"

I nodded, yes.

"I believe, but I'm not living up to it," John answered. Typical John-talk. A troubling, but genuine response, as always.

Hal smiled and nodded. "Would you mind if I pray with you?" he asked, holding out his hands.

Would we mind? Oh . . . my . . . goodness. It hadn't been my imagination? Christians like this really did exist!

Six months later

To John,

Our home sale and purchase of the new place finally went through. But by then, I'd run out of faith, hope and love -- for you -- and I needed to quit on you. Just before we moved, I told you I was done.

"If you send me away, I'll die," you said.

"Probably," I said. No matter how hard I tried, I could not imagine you taking care of yourself. But I had an ominous feeling . . . I figured you were going to die soon even if you stayed and I kept taking care of you. "But I have to save the rest of the family, and you're killing us," I said.

You cried and said, "Okay. Let me stay and help you get moved." So you stayed with us and we moved.

After we moved closer to civilization and got back into a Bible-teaching church, you seemed a little better and I wasn't sure how to just send you away, after all those years and with all those kids who call you Daddy. You started working again and I felt some hope; maybe things were going to get better, or, if they didn't, maybe I was getting another wind. My second wind was some years ago and - through a miracle -- I'd been blowing along on empty ever since.

I opened my eyes one cold morning and was overwhelmed with beauty and hope. Even in winter, the light of sunrise shimmered bright and bounced around our new bedroom. God's glorious blessings surrounded us. I felt a burning excitement, remembering that God was good. So good.

Lord, Your plans for us are good, because that's Your nature. I love You, Jesus. Please forgive our sins, forgive my apathy. Please walk with us and show us Your way.

Beside me, you were just waking. I held onto you tightly and prayed, hoping today you'd be in better spirits.

You weren't.

"You can't see it, can you?" I asked.

"What?" you replied.

"We're surrounded by God's beauty and promise and light," I answered. "All around us, new things to learn, new places to go, new people to meet. Life is beautiful!"

"No, I don't see anything," you answered. "I'm just waiting to die."

As always, a lot of things about you were hard to live with. But your honesty, after all these years, was still arresting. You never flinched before baring your soul. Yes, you were a pain, but you were still without a doubt the most straightforward, honestly genuine person I'd ever met.

And, most times, I still loved you with a flood of devotion.

So I was waiting, praying for guidance, and help. But sometimes I got so tired. For every scowl you had, I had to offset it by smiling twice as hard, for the sake of the children. Every time you said a harsh word, I had to counter it with a double dose of encouraging ones to cheer everyone up. Caring for the kids - and you -- consumed my days and nights. You didn't make much money, so I found ways to work from home. I earned enough to keep our kids in comfort through freelancing and the selling of things. Also, I spent a lot of my time learning, researching and just searching for things to occupy my mind, so I could keep a positive outlook. Time-wasters, but they relaxed me and made me able to smile - for you and the kids -- and I figured anything was better than dwelling on our problems. But no, I wasn't reading my Bible as often as I used to, though I kept hearing a nagging voice whispering silently:

Read your Bible.

I'm still reading it, I answered, just not all the time. The Bible takes too much mental energy. I need a mindless distraction, to take my mind off my problems.

Then, in roundabout ways, God sent people into my life who were nagging me to join them in praying for people who were bound up in sins.

"Pray with us," they said, "that God will set people free." One man in particular would not leave me alone.

"Look," I said, "I pray about most other things. But my husband used to be just like those people you're praying for. In fact, during the early years of my marriage, things happened that broke my heart . . . I'm only over it if I keep my mind on the present and never think about it. I'm sure God doesn't want me dwelling on the past, so you'll have to find someone else to pray with you."

But he came again. "Charity," he said, "I asked God again and he gave me the same answer. You are supposed to join us in praying that these people will be set free."

Why me? Poor Charity. God was picking on me again. I finally gave in and said a half-hearted prayer.

Dear God, You understand this is personal? John, and those like him, ruined our marriage, shattered the bond we had and damaged our family forever. Ultimately, they sinned against You. You forgave and forgot. I forgave . . . Now I'm trying so hard to forget! But he didn't love me like I loved him, and it still hurts if I'm reminded. Nevertheless, please set people like this free from their sins. Amen.

All of a sudden, you lost your mind. You'd been half-cracked for awhile, but now you went over the edge. On the fifth or sixth night that you stayed awake all night pacing, crying, saying crazy things and hitting yourself, I lost hope again. For better or worse, this was my life. Things would never change.

Be content, the Bible says.

It was probably three or four or five a.m. when you woke me again, wailing, "You and the kids are making me act like this! All you do is mope around looking like you want to die." As usual, you projected your attitudes onto other people. I knew you couldn't help it. Over the years - through God's mercy and miracle power - I only let a cruel word slip once or twice, and this time, when I opened my mouth, I hadn't intended to be cruel. Just honest.

"Honey," I said, "when you leave the house, the children and I dance and sing."

You roared some obscenity, ran into the bathroom and slammed the door behind you. I drifted back into an exhausted sleep.

Later I was only half-awake when I knew the Holy Spirit was talking:

Charity, wake up. John’s trying to kill himself; he needs you to stop him.

But, Lord, I prayed, do I want to stop him? Suddenly my eyes snapped open and I was wide awake.

Chapter Sixteen

"Dear friends, let us love one another, for love comes from God. Everyone who loves has been born of God and knows God. Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love.

This is how God showed his love among us: He sent his one and only Son into the world that we might live through him.

This is love: not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins." (1 John 4:7-10)

When John saw me coming, he spit a lot of pills into the toilet and flushed them away. He stood, wild-eyed, hair a mess, tears pouring down his face, with an empty pill bottle in his hand, waiting for me to tell him what to do.

I took him to our bed and held him and rocked him while he sobbed.

"I love you so much," he said, "When I'm gone, you and the kids can sing and dance all the time." Typical John madness: I love you, I'll kill myself to show you how much. Crazy man. Now he thought he was Jesus or something. I stroked his hair and rubbed his back and prayed. He bawled and I got a tissue and wiped his nose.

"Did you spit them all out?" I asked.

"Maybe. No, not all. Most? I don't know," he replied. He had no idea how much he'd actually swallowed, so I prayed, and prayed some more. Peace surrounded me and I had direction. I got on the Internet and did some research. Then I tucked John into bed and drove quickly up to my favorite health-food store. When I came back, I began giving John activated charcoal and bentonite . . . and then waited.

I waited and prayed and hoped. But he progressed through the list of symptoms of overdose. When his talking became slurred and he couldn't walk anymore, I knew from what I was reading that it was a lethal overdose. He hadn't spit most of the pills out as he'd thought.

"Oh, John." There was nothing else to say.

I called the ambulance and prayed. While I waited, I wrapped my skinny arms around John and pulled him hard against me; I pressed my face deep against his neck. He had the softest skin I'd ever felt. Beautiful, crazy man.

When we'd arrived in this city, John had gotten a new doctor. The doctor was concerned, like none before him, about the medications John was on. "These are outdated because they have dangerous side effects," he said. "Safer alternatives were discovered since you were first put on medication. Besides," he said, "these aren't helping you." So he'd begun to wean John off his old medicine.

Unfortunately, he forgot to mention John would go through withdrawals. Insomnia, trembling, pacing, anxiety attacks, hallucination and even death were all possibilities.

The early morning light was just coming around the mountain and brightening our snow-covered yard when the ambulance drove up. The living room, where I'd moved John before he stopped walking, was dimly lit with one small lamp. The kids were all still sleeping and the house was silent. The paramedics worked for awhile, getting John ready to go. He couldn't form words anymore, so I answered the questions for him.

"You gave him activated charcoal and bentonite?" they asked me, looking back and forth among themselves.

"I'm a health-nut," I answered. "I've used it for internal cleansing diets."

They still looked highly suspicious. Rightly so, for I was lying. I told them his medicine levels were messed up due to a med-change, thus he was really confused right now and he'd accidentally taken too many pills.

When they asked if he knew he was taking too much medication, I said no.

"You're sure he didn't know?"

"I'm sure," I said. It was sort of true. Even when he thought he knew, when did John really ever understand what he was doing?

Before they took him outside, I woke the kids. "Daddy's medicine levels are messed up," I told them. "He has to go to the hospital, so come kiss him goodbye."

One by one, my sleepy children came and gave their daddy a goodbye hug.

"We love you, Daddy," they told him. "Don't be sad, Daddy. You'll be just fine."

They went back to bed and he was carried out the door.

I stood outside in slippers and the cold winter morning chilled everything that wasn't already numb. I watched the paramedics attach little wires to John, poke him with needles, move him to a different stretcher and take notes. When John suddenly regained the ability to speak, he did it in style, shouting and cursing at the paramedic closest to him.

Oh, John.

I went back inside to warm up, and when I went outside again, John had calmed down. Still the paramedics weren't ready to go and John was talking again.

"Sir," he said to the paramedic taking his blood pressure. "Can you please tell that man over there that I want to talk to him?" He pointed toward the paramedic he'd cussed out. The man came over and John rambled on and on and on, apologizing, saying he was a Christian and knew better than to act like that.

Then they loaded him into the ambulance at last, crunched down our driveway, pulled out onto the road and disappeared around the bend.

Chapter Seventeen

"You only have I chosen of all the families of the earth; therefore I will punish you for all your sins." . . . "When disaster comes to a city, has not the Lord caused it?" . . .

"This is what the Lord says: 'As a shepherd saves from the lion's mouth only two leg bones or a piece of an ear, so will the Israelites be saved' . . ." (Amos 3:2, 6b, 12a)

The paramedics said it would take awhile for John to get checked into the hospital and that I should call before showing up. I wrote a note for the older kids, in case anyone woke up while I was gone. Then I put away my sweats, pulled on some jeans and a black sweater, laced up my black work-boots, set my favorite leather bomber-jacket by the door and then looked for the phone number.

Before I found it, John called me from the hospital.

"Charity, God's going to do a miracle," he said. He was crying quietly. His voice was soft, but urgent. "It's going to be okay, He showed me. Charity I cried out to the Lord, from the pit, and He answered my cry. I told Him I know I deserve to die, and I'm ready to die and go to hell, but if there's a way, if He could grant me another chance, if somehow things can be fixed, for you, then please -- I begged Him - show me. Show me what I must do. I heard Him answer. Charity, he's going to fix this. I asked Him to show me, and He gave me a sign." He went on and on and on, not making a lot of sense, though he seemed to know what he was saying. So much for not being able to talk.

"Oh, okay," I answered at what seemed the right times. "That's nice."

"The doctor said you can come get me now," he said. "Will you, please?"

"That was fast. What did they do?" I asked.

"Nothing," he answered. "By the time we got here, I was fine. They didn't have to do a thing. Will you please come get me?"

Oh, okay, sure . . . beautiful, crazy man. I'll be there soon.

Story of my life.

But when I got to the hospital, the John I'd known for all those years wasn't there. In his place was a stranger who resembled someone I'd met almost twenty years earlier. I was so confused.

"Charity, I can see," he said. "I can really see. I've never seen like this before." We sat in the parked car with the radio playing softly; John cried and held my hands. He buried my face against his chest and stroked my hair. He pulled back and looked into my eyes for a long time. Tears ran down his face, but he didn't look crazy.

On the way to the hospital, I'd stumbled across a radio station I hadn't found before. Now one of our favorite pastors, whom we hadn't heard in years, was speaking. His voice filled the car, suddenly much louder than the setting on the dial.

"I call heaven and earth to witness against you; today, I have set before you life and death, blessing and cursing; therefore, choose life, that both you and your posterity may live." He was reciting from Deuteronomy. "Choose life," he said once more.

John bowed his head and continued to cry, then looked up and into my eyes again. "I can see, Charity," he said, "and you're so beautiful, but so . . . fragile." John sounded really surprised. "I can finally see," he said, "and it's bad, so bad. I'm so ugly. I didn't know. I really didn't know . . . this is me."

He held me and wept for so long that I thought he'd never stop. But eventually, he did. "Oh, Charity," he said. "I am so, so, so, so, so sorry."

"It's okay," I said. He was making me really nervous. There was a stranger in my husband's body . . . a nice stranger, but still. It was freaky.

"No, it's not okay," he said. "I love you so much, and it's not okay. It's never been okay. I've never been okay . . . until today. I never want to hurt you again," he said. "But I'm going to."

What?

"I don't want to do this because it will cause you more pain . . . but I have to. My Heavenly Father says I must . . . I have secrets to confess to you, Charity," he said. "So many secrets."

Chapter Eighteen

"He has showed you, O man, what is good. And what does the Lord require of you?

To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God." (Micah 6:8)

My name is Jonah.

The Ninevites repented and I'm dumbfounded.

I'm the brother who stayed home and honored the Father.

When the prodigal son came home, it wasn't fair and I said so.

Besides, nobody even told me he was gone!

How unfair is that?

I'm the story of Samson too.

God used me to liberate His children.

I'm the bone of the ass.

To my husband,

Please don't misunderstand me, I'm still here, with you, because obviously I love you more than I love myself. When I'm given the chance to leave you, I stay. But it isn't just blind devotion to you. I believe God spoke to me and said:

You know you’re free. What do you choose?

So I asked, If I stay, will that be better, or worse, for the children?

I believe He answered:

If you stay, I will bless you and the children through him from now on.

So, I'm here, at least in body.

John, I'm glad you finally understood what it means to give your life to Jesus, as opposed to just believing in him. Also, I thank God often for bringing us to a place where you finally found a doctor who helped you. After all these years. He says your old medications not only weren’t helping, but had a severely intoxicating effect. Now that you’re "sober" there’s no denying he’s right. I can’t imagine what it would feel like to suddenly wake up and see clearly -- soberly -- after decades of drug-clouded perception. Its been amazing to see God answer every one of my prayers for you - to look at you now, who would ever believe you'd been a miserable, angry, crazy man?

Now God has blessed you with good health as well. It's a glorious thing to see you free, whole, happy and sane. You sparkle with the love, humility and peace of God. Don't worry about me so much either, God reminds me that he's got me. There's a song that He makes play on the radio lately, just for me. Every time I walk past the radio in our house, every time I get in the car, it's on.

"This is what it means to be held. How it feels when the sacred is torn from your life, and you survive," she sings, over and over again.

I can't say how I know, but I know he's holding me; he's speaking gently to me. I repented; I'd grown distracted, consumed with you, the kids and our life. Not God's plans, but our little world. I wasn't keeping my eyes on His lovely face, nor seeking Him with all of my heart. I repented. I ran through our home and purged it of every idle thing that didn't honor and glorify him. I begged Him to fill our home with His light and His Holy Spirit.

Oh, Lord, I cast down my idols! Come, Holy Spirit, we need You. We need You so badly.

The serpent nearly charmed me to sleep, and I had no idea. I was working too hard to distract myself!

Recently, I believe God showed me you'd die soon. Despite your change of heart, your time was up. I felt the reaper of death, that ominous foreboding I've had about you, and it was stronger than ever. Every coincidence, every sign, every song and repeated phrase that friends and strangers said, declared I would be a widow soon. Then one night, I dreamt I saw you die. We walked together, laughing, kissing and holding hands beside an old house atop a little hill. We strolled down the hill and stood in the middle of a freshly dug-up dirt road. Then you collapsed and stopped breathing.

I held you and my broken heart poured out in screams and moans, Dear Jesus, please no!

In my dream, the Lord spoke clearly to me:

Don’t be afraid to let him go. He’s okay now.

I held you and sobbed when I saw your soul drifting out the top of your head and flowing heavenward. It was beautiful, jewel colors, sparkling and shimmering.

After the dream, I turned my face to the wall and wept. I showed God, in the scriptures, how He responded to Hezekiah when that man turned his face to the wall and wept, begging God to reconsider and let him live.

Dear God, I want to keep him. I don’t know why, but I would much rather die than say goodbye to him! For me, please can You reconsider?

I believed God said yes.

So I asked, What will be the sign?

I thought He replied, in a silent whisper:

Would you like time to move forward, or backward?

It's an easy thing for it to move forward, I said. Let time move backward.

The reaper of death left the house. I was sure I felt him go -- a thick, pressing fear and heaviness lifted from me -- and I went and looked into the mirror. Woven throughout my brown hair, each of my gray hairs had turned brilliant, sparkling jewel colors; copper, ruby, bronze, gold . . . I still wasn't sure I’d heard what I thought I heard.

I might just be crazy.

But I definitely saw what I saw. And I looked years younger. So I prayed, John. Do you know what I prayed?

I said:

Thank You, Jesus. You are so sweet to me. Thank You for answering every request I ever prayed for my husband, all at once. In Your own time.

You are God and entitled to taking Your own sweet time.

But dear God, did it have to take so long?! I don't understand. Also, You used me, Lord, and forgive me, but I'm really confused. I would say I'm angry, but I'm very much afraid of You. You used me like the jawbone of an ass and You didn't tell me. You ignored me all those years ago when I said I wasn't willing to love my husband anymore if he betrayed me again.

I said I'd quit.

So from that day on, he stopped confessing and You never let me find out he was lying to me.

I truly had no idea. Dear God, from then on, I stayed because I thought I was obligated to. I raised my children with a crazy man for a father because I thought I was bound by vows . . .

John, I'm sorry I've cried so much, and thank you for crying with me every time. I know I should be happy for you. I am, with my thoughts and words. But. . . I'm sorry that when you look into my eyes, they're empty. You didn't do this. This is between me and God.

I thought I understood a lot of things . . . in Christ of course. Always in Christ, always through prayer, always trusting that He was leading and I was, by His power, following.

And.

Yet.

Reality, as I knew it, was not real. The husband I thought I knew inside and out was a lie. Likewise, I thought I knew Jesus, and He was my anchor. But if I was wrong about Him too, then am I really just lost-at-sea?

John, my spark is gone. That's what I'm most sad about.

I'm grieving the death of my burning passion that used to warm me and light my path. But now I'm cold and blind -- my eyes gouged from my head. Nothing I saw before was real, therefore, I realize I cannot see. I'm shamed, humiliated and bound with chains of unceasing pain. I accept this fate. I choose to love God, whoever He is.

But . . . if the world I understood doesn't exist, then how can I walk? What do I set my feet on?

God told me so many things, but He didn't tell me the one thing I'd have wanted to know most, so I could bail out. He betrayed my trust. He let me be deceived. That goes against my understanding of my Savior.

The God I knew and understood was my life. So if I find out I misunderstood Him . . . am I truly alive?

I will try to keep breathing, but I suspect I might be dead.

Pray for me, John.

Chapter Nineteen

[Jesus speaking] ". . . I know your deeds; you have a reputation of being alive, but you are dead.

Wake up! Strengthen what remains and is about to die, for I have not found your deeds complete in the sight of my God. Remember, therefore, what you have received and heard; obey it, and repent. But if you do not wake up, I will come like a thief, and you will not know at what time I will come to you."

(Revelation 3:1b-3)

Compared to John and Eddy, I was a saint. Compared to a lot of people we went to church with, I was a hardcore Jesus Freak.

But I despised my idealistic, 20-something-year-old self. I was ashamed of that simple girl dressed in pink who sang love songs to her savior in the rain and let God's love pour through her to every undeserving fool. Over the years I'd hardened. If God and I met at a crossroads, I didn't always yield.

If He whispered, Follow me, sometimes I replied, What's the pay?

I was still terrified of the consequences of sin and begged Him to rescue me every time I felt myself slipping, but much of the time I was building my happy home, not God's Kingdom.

I called Him Savior, but not always Master.

When I was a little girl, Santa Clause gave me a teddy bear for Christmas. It was soft and brown, with little wooden wheels by his feet and a golden chain around his neck. When I opened this gift that Santa had neatly wrapped and addressed to me, I was so confused. The teddy bear inside looked exactly like the one I'd accidentally, (from around the corner) seen my mother buying at The Cracker Barrel store in Ahtna. I put my beautiful new bear down and searched under the Christmas tree for the box from my parents, so I could compare the two bears. But I'd already opened everything from my parents. There was no bear from Mommy and Daddy.

"Mommy," I asked, "where's the bear you bought me?"

"I didn't buy you a bear," she answered.

I spent weeks trying to figure it out, and never once did it enter my mind that my mother had lied. I wasn't capable of conceiving that idea -- until my older sister told me I'd been deceived.

Understanding changed me, and not in a good way.

Now I'd spent my life loving John and it never occurred to me that I didn't know him. He was the last person in the world I would have expected to be a deceiver. But in fact, he was so good at it, he'd deceived himself too.

I finally understood, and it was changing me. How it would change me remained to be seen.

I now lived with a stranger. He resembled the young man I met on the city streets so long ago, except this man was even brighter.

By the time spring came, John and I had worked out a way of communicating. He understood that everything about him made me nervous, and he patiently answered my constant stream of questions. It was my radar, taking a sounding every few seconds, listening to the tones to see if I was in deep water. He knew I didn't trust him, and I wasn't trying to, or expecting myself to ever trust him again. I didn't even trust my own self or my own eyes anymore. Even Jesus said He didn't trust men because He knew what was inside a man. Yet Jesus loved them. I knew it was possible to love - through the Holy Spirit - without trusting a person.

But living with this way wasn't easy. I was always looking over my shoulder. John was so gentle and quiet now. The John I'd lived with most of my life was never quiet, unless he was so angry he was about to blow . . . Now he rarely talked, saying that he didn't feel he had much to add and was just enjoying hearing what everyone else had to say. He was patient, happy, and helpful. He was generous, self-controlled and he actually seemed to be trying to take care of me; the opposite of what I was used to. He also felt God was calling him to go enroll in a Bible School course, simply to learn more. The John I'd known before knew everything and didn't need or want a teacher.

He was so different now.

"Read to me, Charity," he asked one night. So I read my Bible to him when it was normally my quiet time. Afterward he asked me to explain it.

When I told him what I saw in the text, he smiled and took me in his arms. He kissed my face, my neck and my forehead.

"Father God, thank You for giving my beautiful wife such wisdom!" he prayed aloud.

Oh . . . my . . . goodness. He was so different.

"I have a question," he said, "but first I want you to know I'm not accusing anyone. I know everything in my past was my fault, my choice. But did anyone try to teach me?" he asked, with tears in his eyes. Since his sickness and all the medication he'd been on, or maybe it was just God's mercy, John had trouble remembering. "Did you tell me these things, Charity? All these brilliantly wise things that God shows you? Did you try to help me understand?"

I shook my head. "Not very often," I said. "You only wanted to hear encouraging words, to be told that you were right. Anything else hurt your feelings and made you freak out."

"No," he corrected me, "not my feelings. It hurt my pride. Oh, how I wish people who loved me had hurt my pride more often, instead of telling me I was doing good! But I understand, if you had told me more often, I would have just made your life all that much more miserable."

There had been times, over the years, when the Holy Spirit compelled me to confront my angry husband, instead of agreeing with him or being quiet when he was twisted. Those times I had spoken, and then prayed God would take him somewhere else to have his meltdown. But those times were rare.

Yes, I should have been more concerned for him, instead of trying to keep the peace by saying only gentle things. I thought I was being a peacemaker, but really I was just trying to be non-offensive, so my life would be smoother and John would like me.

Realization was humbling.

But did God have the right to call me to do or say things that would make people hate me? Did the potter have the right to create me to be under everyone's feet, rather than lifted high? If God created me for His glory, not for my own, and if He gave me the life He thought best, who was I to accuse Him of neglect?

Every new realization and every encounter I had with God left me humbled. Woe is me, I'm undone. I was stilled by His vastness, His power, His personality, His amazing love and beauty.

His mercy.

God judges His people, but He always saves a remnant. Like two leg bones or a piece of an ear, He saves from the mouth of the lion.

We were torn up, but we were safe.

I looked around. This was my house, my world. But my familiar didn't fit like it did before. My reputation as a real good person, respected by all and a master of just about everything, missed the point. Everything I owned proclaimed strength and confidence. I didn't even have anything to wear now; I didn't own anything soft, sweet or feminine. Oh, how I longed for my old clothes -- even the pink ones with flowers and bunnies on them.

I looked in the mirror and saw my daddy. I hadn't minded before, but now I wanted to see my Heavenly Father shining through me instead!

I'm not strong; I'm just a rag doll. But I’m His rag doll!

It was time to go shopping.

"But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me." (2 Cor 12:9)

Chapter Twenty

One year later

We moved again, and things were good like I'd never known they could be. John understood me so often. He liked to hear me talk, even if I was disagreeing with him. He had a lot of regrets and was working hard to build a trusting relationship with each of his children. But that wasn't going to be easy, especially with the older kids; he'd been inconsistent and unreliable for so long. Yet he was determined.

I also had a lot of regrets. Somewhere along the way, I'd grown weary and begged John to take a more active part in raising the children. He'd complied and they were excellent students. They were now following in their daddy's footsteps, holding tight to every lesson he taught them. They were angry, rebellious and proud. They suffered from depression and the consequences of their bad attitudes. I grieved for them, knowing that I should never have begged an angry man to get more involved in teaching my precious children . . .

John and I prayed together often, begging God to have mercy on our family and fix the mess we'd made. But besides that, things were good. We took walks together -- laughing, kissing, holding hands - and we bought an old house that sat atop a little hill. If you strolled down the hill, you'd be in the middle of a street.

But then one day, the street was closed for road construction and men came with loaders, backhoes and other heavy equipment. They dug up all the asphalt. When they were done, I walked beside our old house, went down the little hill and stood in the middle of a freshly dug-up dirt road. I'd been there before, in a dream.

Soon after that, John was in a full-speed, head-on collision just down the street. Our vehicle was totaled, but apart from serious wounds on one side of John's face, no one was hurt.

It was truly a miracle.

Then, within a few months, all of the wounds to his face had healed and disappeared. The doctors and all who saw the wreckage were speechless. But I knew what to say. I looked in the mirror at the sparkling jewel colors woven throughout my hair, then looked up to heaven.

"Thank You," I said aloud. "Holy God, You are so good to us."

When spring came again, I felt a fleeting happy emotion for the first time in years. I'd never stopped smiling, laughing and being of good cheer - for the sake of my family - but my emotions were a deep pit and I rarely dug there. Each time I did, I was reminded that I only had two emotions: grief and sorrow.

But then one warm spring morning, John held me in his arms and I felt happy. Truly happy from the inside out. Just for a few seconds. Then it was gone.

"Charity," John said, "God showed me something, and I hope I can explain it to you."

"I hope so too," I replied.

"I saw my past. Not just saw it, but understood it more clearly than ever before," he said. "I had my life all planned out, from the time I was a little kid. My life." He went into a detailed description of those plans, which were all about playing football, (as he'd spent nearly his whole childhood doing) and working his way up to eventually playing pro-football.

I'd heard this story a thousand times.

When he was in college, John was a quarterback for a top-ranked college team; many of the guys he played with finished up their college ball days and went pro . . . on and on the story goes. My eyes have always glazed over when John talks football. John had three more years of college, thus, in his mind he was exactly where he always planned to be. Moving right along, on schedule.

But then John's eyes were opened to spiritual things. He knew Jesus was calling him, saying, "Forget football. Follow me."

"So I gave up everything that I thought was my life, and set out to follow Jesus," John said.

Yes, I'd heard this story a thousand times. That happened a year or two before I met John.

"But then, Jesus asked me to die to my self, become a man of no reputation and let Him live through me. I didn't do it," he said.

Okay, this was a new twist to the same old story.

"I decided to use all of the things I'd learned from a lifetime playing football to follow Him instead," John said. "I wouldn't let Him tell me how He wanted to be worshiped and served. I borrowed my game plan -- for my Christian life -- from the one I'd used in worldly pursuits.

"But people didn't mind," John said. "They cheered for me."

I'm a star, Baby. A Gospel preachin star. I'm a hard-hitter. Followin Jesus ain't for wimps, and by God I've never been one!

John never actually said that. But yes, the John I knew before had the attitude. He was one hard-hitter; within just months of getting saved, John was leading Bible studies. Within a year or two, he'd memorized most of the Bible and could recite it, plus tell anyone who asked (or didn't ask) what page that was on in his Bible, and where it was on that page. Within a few years of getting saved, one of the fastest-growing, biggest churches in town (if not the biggest, later on) asked John to be an intern pastor, with hopes of training him so he could go out and start a church.

"Everyone cheered," John said now, "except one person. I couldn't understand why she opposed me. But I hated her for it."

John didn't have to tell me who that was. I was there.

"Charity, I'm sorry. At the time, I didn't really understand that I hated you, because I was also so attracted to you. I couldn't stand to be away from you. But I was following God hard, and you didn't approve of my methods or say 'Good job,'" John said. "You were speaking the truth, but it went against my plans and hurt my pride.

"I was working so hard for God, and for you, but you were never satisfied. I was determined to be the best Christian, the best dad and the best husband I could. But I kept failing. Most of all, I failed to love you like Jesus loves you; just seeing you reminded me of my weakness. But I wouldn’t let that drive me to my knees, to show me that I was incurably warped and needed to let go of my self; instead I fought harder to get better, do better, be better. It felt like you and Satan were taunting and attacking me, trying to make me stop following God. Eventually, I felt defeated and quit trying. I'd hit it with all I had, and I was sacked.

"I'd never lost before. I didn't know how to handle failure. I was a slave to my sins, and I knew I deserved hell. But for the sake of the kids, I kept going to church. I kept begging God to save our children, but my only prayer for myself was, God pluck out my eye, cut off my hand . . . You do it! You stop me from sinning. I wasn't willing to give up my pride. I wasn't willing to come to Him and say, I'm ready to die for You, die to myself, lay my life down. I'm ready to surrender.

"No, I wouldn't do that. So God had to take me to that point . . . and it took a lot of years. When I finally got to where I could really see myself -- and realized I wasn't a star -- I was at the point of death. Then, finally, I was ready to die to my self, and let Him shine."

This explained a lot. I'd been there, never really understanding what was wrong with John. I only knew what wasn't wrong with him. I was a born deceiver, the queen of all liars. Therefore, I'd always known without a doubt that John didn't have the character of a deceiver. That belief threw me off . . . because it was true. He wasn't a typical deceiver or a clever trickster. He was a self-deceived, warped and blinded soul, bound tightly by his pride and love of himself.

"Charity, I'm asking God to show me that spot in my life where He told me how He wanted me to worship and serve him, and I said, 'No thanks, this is my life, so I'll call the play.' I was wrong, all wrong. This is His life! I need to return to that spot and follow from there because that's where I'll find him, waiting to continue our conversation."

You inspire me, John. Don't get me wrong; I'm not saying I trust you, though from all outward appearances you appear a trustworthy and a faithful friend. Even that part of my heart that's been purified by faith and hears the Spirit, vouches for you. But no, I'm sorry, the best I can do is admit I'm confused, sometimes. Or maybe confused a lot of times. Or . . . well, I don't really know. Just confused.

At this point, and it's the only point I've reached, I still have only one anchor . . . one unfailing hope, one -- and only one -- truth to hold onto. His name is Jesus.

But John, even though I don't know if I trust you or not, you truly do inspire me. I know what you're saying, about the time in your life where God's calling wasn't answered, and he's just sitting there, waiting for you to come back and finish the conversation. I have a spot like that. From the time I met Jesus, He called me to teach the Bible. But I stopped. I grew distracted, and filled my days with things that didn't cause so many sparks. Now I'm sorry. Truly sorry. I'm anxious to return to what he's asked me to do, regardless of how hot the fire gets.

Once again, I'm focused on Jesus' beauty, His goodness, His adequacy, and His love - and I see that after all these years, He hasn't changed one bit.

Oh . . . my . . . goodness . . . My spark has returned.

Will I walk through fire for You, Jesus?

No way.

I'll fall face down, with outstretched arms and mouth open, then I'll inhale.

Holy Fire, consume me.

I may be only two leg bones, or a piece of an ear, but I'm all Yours.

Use me for Your glory, my beautiful, beautiful Master.

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~ THE END ~

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Study Guide

Keep a journal nearby to write scriptures and answers in. If studying in a group, take turns reading the scriptures aloud. Before you begin, pray something like this:

Lord, I ask for eyes to see, ears to hear and a heart soft enough to heed your voice even when it contradicts my desires or own beliefs. Through Jesus' atoning sacrifice and resurrection, please forgive my sins. Purify my heart through faith and fill me with Your Holy Spirit. Now teach me Your ways, please. In Jesus name, Amen.

LESSON ONE

What is faith?

faith: strong belief or trust in someone or something.

"Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see." (Hebrews 11:1)

"Consequently, faith comes from hearing the message, and the message is heard through the word of Christ." (Romans 10:17)

We might put our faith in many things other than God. But those things will disappoint us.

"Woe to those who go down to Egypt for help, who rely on horses, who trust in the multitude of their chariots and in the great strength of their horsemen, but do not look to the Holy One of Israel, or seek help from the Lord." (Isaiah 31:1)

"For all can see that wise men die; the foolish and the senseless alike perish and leave their wealth to others. Their tombs will remain their houses forever, their dwellings for endless generations, though they had named lands after themselves. But man, despite his riches, does not endure; he is like the beasts that perish. This is the fate of those who trust in themselves, and of their followers, who approve their sayings. Selah

Like sheep they are destined for the grave, and death will feed on them. The upright will rule over them in the morning; their forms will decay in the grave, far from their princely mansions.

But God will redeem my life from the grave; he will surely take me to himself. Selah" (Psalm 49:10-15)

God alone is worthy of our trust. He does not disappoint those who have faith in Him.

"Some trust in chariots and some in horses, but we trust in the name of the Lord our God." (Psalm 20:7)

"The Lord is a refuge for the oppressed, a stronghold in times of trouble. Those who know your name will trust in you, for you, Lord, have never forsaken those who seek you." (Psalm 9:9-10)

"Those who trust in the Lord are like Mount Zion, which cannot be shaken but endures forever." (Psalm 125:1b)

What does faith in God look like?

Read these scriptures for examples:

Read Psalm 27 (whole chapter) (write it in your journal)

Read Hebrews 11 (whole chapter) (write it in your journal)

"Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego replied to the king, 'O Nebuchadnezzar, we do not need to defend ourselves before you in this matter. If we are thrown into the blazing furnace, the God we serve is able to save us from it, and he will rescue us from your hand, O king. But even if he does not, we want you to know, O king, that we will not serve your gods or worship the image of gold you have set up.'" (Daniel 3:16-18)

"Though the fig tree does not bud and there are no grapes on the vines, though the olive crop fails and the fields produce no food, though there are no sheep in the pen and no cattle in the stalls, yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will be joyful in God my Savior. The Sovereign Lord is my strength; he makes my feet like the feet of a deer, he enables me to go on the heights." (Habakkuk 3:17-19)

"We live by faith, not by sight." (2 Corinthians 5:7)

Faith that produces no action is dead faith.

"Produce fruit in keeping with repentance. And do not begin to say to yourselves, 'We have Abraham as our father.' For I tell you that out of these stones God can raise up children for Abraham. The ax is already at the root of the trees, and every tree that does not produce good fruit will be cut down and thrown into the fire." (Luke 3:8-9)

[Jesus said] "'No good tree bears bad fruit, nor does a bad tree bear good fruit. Each tree is recognized by its own fruit. People do not pick figs from thornbushes, or grapes from briers.'" (Luke 6:43-44)

"In the same way, faith by itself, if it is not accompanied by action, is dead." (James 2:17)

"People will be lovers of themselves, lovers of money, boastful, proud, abusive, disobedient to their parents, ungrateful, unholy, without love, unforgiving, slanderous, without self-control, brutal, not lovers of the good, treacherous, rash, conceited, lovers of pleasure rather than lovers of God -- having a form of godliness but denying its power. Have nothing to do with them." (2 Timothy 3:2-5)

When we suffer, our faith is being tested so it might be proven genuine.

". . . for a little while you may have had to suffer grief in all kinds of trials. These have come so that your faith--of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire--may be proved genuine and may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed." (1 Peter 1:6b-7)

"Now it is required that those who have been given a trust must prove faithful." (1 Corinthians 4:2)

When tested, the character Faith proved her faith was genuine. What are some choices and actions Faith took

as a result of her faith in Jesus?

LESSON TWO

What Is hope?

hope: desire accompanied by expectation of or belief in fulfillment; also : expectation of fulfillment or success.

"For in this hope we were saved. But hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what he already has? But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently." (Romans 8:24-25)

"Command those who are rich in this present world not to be arrogant nor to put their hope in wealth, which is so uncertain, but to put their hope in God, who richly provides us with everything for our enjoyment." (1Timothy 6:17)

"Though he slay me, yet will I hope in him . . ." (Job 13:15a)

Apart from God, hope perishes unfulfilled.

"When a wicked man dies, his hope perishes; all he expected from his power comes to nothing." (Proverbs 11:7)

"The desire of the righteous ends only in good, but the hope of the wicked only in wrath." (Proverbs 11:23)

Only by hoping in Jesus do we receive: His love in our hearts, strength for the journey, the glory of Christ in us, His righteousness, an anchor for our soul, salvation and eternal life.

"And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us." (Romans 5:5)

"Do not let your heart envy sinners, but always be zealous for the fear of the Lord. There is surely a future hope for you, and your hope will not be cut off." (Proverbs 23:17-18)

"He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak. Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall; but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint." (Isaiah 40:29-31)

"Once you were alienated from God and were enemies in your minds because of your evil behavior. But now he has reconciled you by Christ's physical body through death to present you holy in his sight, without blemish and free from accusation -- if you continue in your faith, established and firm, not moved from the hope held out in the gospel. This is the gospel that you heard and that has been proclaimed to every creature under heaven, and of which I, Paul, have become a servant . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

To them God has chosen to make known among the Gentiles the glorious riches of this mystery, which is Christ in you, the hope of glory. " (Colossians 1:21-23, 27)

"We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure." (Hebrews 6:19)

"But by faith we eagerly await through the Spirit the righteousness for which we hope. For in Christ Jesus neither circumcision nor uncircumcision has any value. The only thing that counts is faith expressing itself through love." (Galatians 5:5-6)

Read these scriptures:

Romans 4:17b-21

Romans 15:1-13

How does God feel about those who put their hope in His unfailing love?

" . . . the Lord delights in those who fear him, who put their hope in his unfailing love." (Psalm 147:11)

"The Lord is good to those whose hope is in him, to the one who seeks him; it is good to wait quietly for the salvation of the Lord." (Lamentations 3:25-26)

What are some choices and actions the character Hope took as a result of putting her hope in Jesus?

LESSON THREE

What is charity?

charity: benevolent goodwill toward or love of humanity 2 : generosity and helpfulness especially toward the needy or suffering; also : aid given to those in need 3 : lenient judgment of others

The word charity is used in older translations of the Bible. In some modern versions the same word is translated "love":

"Now that you have purified yourselves by obeying the truth so that you have sincere love for your brothers, love one another deeply, from the heart." (1 Peter 1:22)

What does charity look like?

"If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing.

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.

But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when perfection comes, the imperfect disappears. When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me. Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.

And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love." (1 Corinthians 13:1-13)

" . . . Knowledge puffs up, but love builds up. The man who thinks he knows something does not yet know as he ought to know. But the man who loves God is known by God." (1 Corinthians 8:1b-3)

God created humans -- and even birds and animals -- with the potential for natural love or the ability to bond (to their young, etc.) Even sinners can have natural love. But God's charity love is different.

[Jesus said] "'If you love those who love you, what credit is that to you? Even 'sinners' love those who love them. And if you do good to those who are good to you, what credit is that to you? Even 'sinners' do that. And if you lend to those from whom you expect repayment, what credit is that to you? Even 'sinners' lend to 'sinners,' expecting to be repaid in full. But love your enemies, do good to them, and lend to them without expecting to get anything back. Then your reward will be great, and you will be sons of the Most High, because he is kind to the ungrateful and wicked.'" (Luke 6:32-35)

God commands us to love our enemies. But how can we? It isn't natural. Only God can create peace or love where enmity exists.

"The wolf will live with the lamb, the leopard will lie down with the goat, the calf and the lion and the yearling together; and a little child will lead them. The cow will feed with the bear, their young will lie down together, and the lion will eat straw like the ox. The infant will play near the hole of the cobra, and the young child put his hand into the viper's nest." (Isaiah 11:6-8)

God's love is not natural, and it comes from a pure heart.

"The goal of this command is love, which comes from a pure heart and a good conscience and a sincere faith." (1 Timothy 1:5)

Yet our human heart is deceitful and wicked.

"The heart is deceitful above all things and beyond cure. Who can understand it?" (Jeremiah 17:9)

[Jesus said] "For out of the heart come evil thoughts, murder, adultery, sexual immorality, theft, false testimony, slander." (Matthew 15:19)

If charity love comes from a pure heart, is there any hope for us? Yes! Our hearts can be purified by faith.

"God, who knows the heart, showed that he accepted them by giving the Holy Spirit to them, just as he did to us. He made no distinction between us and them, for he purified their hearts by faith." (Acts 15:8-9)

"Flee the evil desires of youth, and pursue righteousness, faith, love and peace, along with those who call on the Lord out of a pure heart." (2 Timothy 2:22)

"Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God." (Matthew 5:8)

"Submit yourselves, then, to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you. Come near to God and he will come near to you. Wash your hands, you sinners, and purify your hearts, you double-minded." (James 4:7-8)

"Create in me a pure heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me." (Psalm 51:10)

God is the one who purifies our hearts when we place our faith in Him. Likewise, charity love is a "fruit" of God's Holy Spirit.

[Jesus said] "He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"Remain in me, and I will remain in you. No branch can bear fruit by itself; it must remain in the vine. Neither can you bear fruit unless you remain in me.

I am the vine; you are the branches. If a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"This is to my Father's glory, that you bear much fruit, showing yourselves to be my disciples." (John 15:2, 4-5, 8)

"But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. Against such things there is no law. Those who belong to Christ Jesus have crucified the sinful nature with its passions and desires. Since we live by the Spirit, let us keep in step with the Spirit." (Galatians 5:22-25)

"For you were once darkness, but now you are light in the Lord. Live as children of light (for the fruit of the light consists in all goodness, righteousness and truth)." (Ephesians 5:8-9)

Read Ephesians 5:1-20

When God's fruit grows in our lives, we cannot boast. God's fruit is evidence that His Holy Spirit is living and working in us.

. . . "he saved us, not because of righteous things we had done, but because of his mercy. He saved us through the washing of rebirth and renewal by the Holy Spirit." (Titus 3:5)

"But if Christ is in you, your body is dead because of sin, yet your spirit is alive because of righteousness. And if the Spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead is living in you, he who raised Christ from the dead will also give life to your mortal bodies through his Spirit, who lives in you. Therefore, brothers, we have an obligation--but it is not to the sinful nature, to live according to it. For if you live according to the sinful nature, you will die; but if by the Spirit you put to death the misdeeds of the body, you will live, because those who are led by the Spirit of God are sons of God." (Romans 8:10-14)

We are slaves to the one we obey. To be set free from sin and bear much fruit, we must become God's slaves to righteousness.

"Therefore do not let sin reign in your mortal body so that you obey its evil desires. Do not offer the parts of your body to sin, as instruments of wickedness, but rather offer yourselves to God, as those who have been brought from death to life; and offer the parts of your body to him as instruments of righteousness. For sin shall not be your master, because you are not under law, but under grace.

What then? Shall we sin because we are not under law but under grace? By no means! Don't you know that when you offer yourselves to someone to obey him as slaves, you are slaves to the one whom you obey--whether you are slaves to sin, which leads to death, or to obedience, which leads to righteousness? But thanks be to God that, though you used to be slaves to sin, you wholeheartedly obeyed the form of teaching to which you were entrusted.

You have been set free from sin and have become slaves to righteousness." (Romans 6:12-18)

What are some choices and actions the character Charity took when she realized "goodness" existed, that God was real -- and that He was "in the room"?

LESSON FOUR

What did the character Charity mean when she said, "There's a fine line between cuddling, and holding someone down so they can't get away," and "If a girl misses that one, she might also mistake, 'I want to drink your blood,' for, 'I love you'"?

Have you ever thought someone loved you, then discovered that they were just using you? Have you ever been selfishly more concerned about what you could get from a person than about their well-being?

Christ showed us what His love is like: He offered his blood and His very life, by dying on the cross to pay a debt we owed.

"The Lord Jesus, on the night he was betrayed, took bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and said, 'This is my body, which is for you; do this in remembrance of me.' In the same way, after supper he took the cup, saying, 'This cup is the new covenant in my blood; do this, whenever you drink it, in remembrance of me.' For whenever you eat this bread and drink this cup, you proclaim the Lord's death until he comes.

Therefore, whoever eats the bread or drinks the cup of the Lord in an unworthy manner will be guilty of sinning against the body and blood of the Lord." (1 Corinthians 23b-27)

We take communion, obeying Christ's command that we do this in remembrance of Him. But do we drink the cup in a "worthy manner"? He gave us another command as well:

[Jesus said] "A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another." (John 13:34)

"It was just before the Passover Feast. Jesus knew that the time had come for him to leave this world and go to the Father. Having loved his own who were in the world, he now showed them the full extent of his love. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

he got up from the meal, took off his outer clothing, and wrapped a towel around his waist. After that, he poured water into a basin and began to wash his disciples' feet, drying them with the towel that was wrapped around him. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

He came to Simon Peter, who said to him, 'Lord, are you going to wash my feet?'

Jesus replied, 'You do not realize now what I am doing, but later you will understand.' . . . . . . . . . . .

When he had finished washing their feet, he put on his clothes and returned to his place. 'Do you understand what I have done for you?' he asked them. 'You call me 'Teacher' and 'Lord,' and rightly so, for that is what I am. Now that I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also should wash one another's feet. I have set you an example that you should do as I have done for you.'" (John 13:1, 4-7, 12-15)

We gladly accept His blood to cleanse our sins. But what if He asks us to imitate His attitude? Lay down our hopes, dreams -- even our self-respect -- and serve one another? Consider others better than ourselves?

"You, my brothers, were called to be free. But do not use your freedom to indulge the sinful nature; rather, serve one another in love." (Galatians 5:13)

"Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit, but in humility consider others better than yourselves. Each of you should look not only to your own interests, but also to the interests of others.

Your attitude should be the same as that of Christ Jesus: Who, being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be grasped, but made himself nothing, taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness. And being found in appearance as a man, he humbled himself and became obedient to death--even death on a cross!

Therefore God exalted him to the highest place and gave him the name that is above every name, that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father." (Philippians 2:3-11)

When asked to serve, or share in Christ's sufferings, do we say, "No thanks, Lord, I'm just here to drink your blood"? Unlike the character Charity, Jesus cannot be tricked. He knows when we're just trying to use Him.

"Now if we are children, then we are heirs--heirs of God and co-heirs with Christ, if indeed we share in his sufferings in order that we may also share in his glory." (Romans 8:17)

"And he died for all, that those who live should no longer live for themselves but for him who died for them and was raised again." (2 Corinthians 5:15)

Simon the Sorcerer wanted to use Jesus for his own selfish purposes; he confessed Christ, but did not love Him. The seven sons of Sceva wanted to use Jesus for their own purposes; they cast out demons in His name, but they did not love Him. They were those who will hear, "Away from me, for I never knew you," at the time of judgment.

Read these scriptures:

Acts 8:9-24

Acts 19:13-16

"All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate the people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats. He will put the sheep on his right and the goats on his left.

"Then the King will say to those on his right, 'Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.'

"Then the righteous will answer him, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?'

"The King will reply, 'I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.'

"Then he will say to those on his left, 'Depart from me, you who are cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels. For I was hungry and you gave me nothing to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, I was a stranger and you did not invite me in, I needed clothes and you did not clothe me, I was sick and in prison and you did not look after me.'

"They also will answer, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or needing clothes or sick or in prison, and did not help you?'

"He will reply, 'I tell you the truth, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.'

"Then they will go away to eternal punishment, but the righteous to eternal life." (Matthew 25:32-46)

"And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love. Follow the way of love and eagerly desire spiritual gifts, especially the gift of prophecy." (1 Corinthians 13:13-14-1)

What are some choices and actions the character Charity took to "follow the way of love" and let Christ's servant-attitude guide her?

LESSON FIVE

Why Do We Suffer?

Often suffering results from our own poor choices or sin, but not always.

"His disciples asked him, 'Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?'

'Neither this man nor his parents sinned,' said Jesus, 'but this happened so that the work of God might be displayed in his life.'" (John 9:2-3)

"For it has been granted to you on behalf of Christ not only to believe on him, but also to suffer for him," . . . (Philippians 1:29)

"To keep me from becoming conceited because of these surpassingly great revelations, there was given me a thorn in my flesh, a messenger of Satan, to torment me. Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. But he said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.'

Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ's sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong." (2 Corinthians 12:7-10)

"But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed." (2 Corinthians 4:7-9)

God could have kept Paul and Silas out of jail; He could have kept Daniel out of the lion's den; He could have kept Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego out of the fiery furnace -- but God doesn't promise to keep us from suffering. What does He promise?

Look up and write these scriptures in your journal:

He promises that we will be His heirs and share in His glory, if we share in His sufferings: Romans 8:16-18

He promises us comfort: 2 Corinthians 1:4-7

He promises that if we hope in Him, hard times will produce perseverance, character and hope within us: Romans 5:2-4

He promises He will never leave us, nor forsake us: Deuteronomy 31:5-7, Hebrews 13:4-6

His Word promises that: "If we died with Him, we will also live with Him; if we endure, we will also reign with Him."

Read all of 2 Timothy chapter 2.

Now consider Job.

"Then the Lord said to Satan, 'Have you considered my servant Job? There is no one on earth like him; he is blameless and upright, a man who fears God and shuns evil.'

'Does Job fear God for nothing?' Satan replied. 'Have you not put a hedge around him and his household and everything he has? You have blessed the work of his hands, so that his flocks and herds are spread throughout the land. But stretch out your hand and strike everything he has, and he will surely curse you to your face.'

The Lord said to Satan, 'Very well, then, everything he has is in your hands, but on the man himself do not lay a finger.'

Then Satan went out from the presence of the Lord." (Job 1:8-12)

Read Job, chapter 31.

It's no small thing that Job kept himself pure, day after day, year after year; God himself declared Job was blameless and upright.

It was no small thing that the characters Faith, Hope and Charity made an effort to stay in step with God's Holy Spirit.

Likewise it was no small thing when the faithful brother of the prodigal son (Luke 15:11-32) stayed home all those years working and honoring his father. They all possessed sinful natures, just the same as men who choose to live wickedly. Remaining faithful to God was not the easy choice for these saints -- it required that they crucify their sinful nature with it's desires -- and we know that God commends them and blessed them for their faithfulness.

When one calamity after another destroyed Job's life, he knew he was blameless. In his pain and suffering, his righteous -- but troubled -- heart cried out, Why? Why? Why?!

His "miserable comforters" rebuked him. Job, they said, you must have hidden sin. Repent and your life will be sweet again.

Now not only had his world fallen apart, but his friends had turned against him and accused him falsely. Therefore, he sought an audience with God.

Read Job chapters 38-41.

Upon God's reply, Job's troubled heart stopped crying out "why?" Job's perspective changed and he replied with two sentences:

"Then Job answered the Lord: 'I am unworthy--how can I reply to you? I put my hand over my mouth. I spoke once, but I have no answer--twice, but I will say no more.'" (Job 40:3-5)

Again the Lord spoke to Job, (chapters 40-41) and again, Job replied in humility:

"Then Job replied to the Lord: 'I know that you can do all things; no plan of yours can be thwarted. [You asked], 'Who is this that obscures my counsel without knowledge?' Surely I spoke of things I did not understand, things too wonderful for me to know. [You said], 'Listen now, and I will speak; I will question you, and you shall answer me.'

My ears had heard of you but now my eyes have seen you. Therefore I despise myself and repent in dust and ashes.'

After the Lord had said these things to Job, he said to Eliphaz the Temanite, 'I am angry with you and your two friends, because you have not spoken of me what is right, as my servant Job has. So now take seven bulls and seven rams and go to my servant Job and sacrifice a burnt offering for yourselves. My servant Job will pray for you, and I will accept his prayer and not deal with you according to your folly. You have not spoken of me what is right, as my servant Job has.'

So Eliphaz the Temanite, Bildad the Shuhite and Zophar the Naamathite did what the Lord told them; and the Lord accepted Job's prayer. After Job had prayed for his friends, the Lord made him prosperous again and gave him twice as much as he had before. All his brothers and sisters and everyone who had known him before came and ate with him in his house. They comforted and consoled him over all the trouble the Lord had brought upon him, and each one gave him a piece of silver and a gold ring. The Lord blessed the latter part of Job's life more than the first. He had fourteen thousand sheep, six thousand camels, a thousand yoke of oxen and a thousand donkeys. And he also had seven sons and three daughters. The first daughter he named Jemimah, the second Keziah and the third Keren-Happuch. Nowhere in all the land were there found women as beautiful as Job's daughters, and their father granted them an inheritance along with their brothers. After this, Job lived a hundred and forty years; he saw his children and their children to the fourth generation.

And so he died, old and full of years." (Job 42:1-17)

Job did not author the book that bears his name, but we know that Job was a real man -- not an allegorical character.

The Lord Himself mentions Job in Ezekiel 14:14,20 and James mentions him in James 5:11.

Job's story was most likely written down by a prophet. The information in the prologue was obviously revealed prophetically.

Therefore consider this: was Job in heaven when God spoke with Lucifer? No. When God answered Job, did He tell him about the conversation He'd had with Satan? No. Then apparently Job never knew (until he went to heaven) why he suffered. But without knowing, he loved God and responded to him in humility.

"Though he slay me, yet will I hope in him;" (Job 13:15a)

Job kept his heart loyal to his creator, even when his world fell apart. He wasn't told that, in the spiritual realm, Satan (the accuser) was doing what he always does -- trying to drive a wedge between God and His people.

Satan claimed that Job would love God only when being blessed. Unknowingly, Job proved Satan wrong.

Dear Lord, help me to do the same!

Amen.

Bible Basics

For those who want to read the Bible but get overwhelmed or don't understand it, this simple Bible Study highlights the main points of the Bible. Children and adults alike may use this to jumpstart their Bible reading. Pray for understanding before you begin and you'll find it even easier. Be sure to look up the scriptures listed.

God loves you.

He loves you more than anyone ever has or ever will. He made you to be his friend. He thinks about you more than you think about yourself. He wants you to know him, like he knows you.

He has a beautiful and important plan for your life.

"God so loved the world that He gave His one and only Son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish, but have eternal life." (John 3:16 NIV)

"How precious concerning me are your thoughts, O God! How vast is the sum of them! Were I to count them, they would outnumber the grains of sand..." (Psalms 139:17-18)

[Jesus said] "I came that they might have life, and might have it abundantly" [that it might be full and meaningful]. (John 10:10)

Most people aren't living a meaningful life as God's friends.

We have a big problem; God is all things right and righteous. He is love and truth; He is holy and perfect -- we're not. We've done wrong things (sin); it came natural to us...

Our sin separated us from God; now we can't hear him when he calls and our guilt makes him turn his face away when we pray.

"All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God." (Romans 3:23)

"The wages of sin is death" [spiritual separation from God]. (Romans 6:23)

"...the eyes of the Lord are on the righteous and his ears are attentive to their prayer, but the face of the Lord is against those who do evil." (1 Peter 3:12)

We might try to convince ourselves that we're okay. We may compare ourselves with others and say, "See? I'm not that bad."

The world is filled with false religions, psychology, and philosophies that tell us we're good enough; we may believe and try each one, but they won't set us free.

No, not even religion can save us - we've already broken one law thus we might as well have broken them all; we can't be good enough to make up for it. Even if we're good compared with most people, there's still a canyon of guilt between our perfect God and us. Our souls remain hopeless; our spirits lifeless and lonely.

"For whoever keeps the whole law and yet stumbles at just one point is guilty of breaking all of it." (James 2:10)

"My guilt has overwhelmed me like a burden too heavy to bear. My wounds fester and are loathsome because of my sinful folly. I am bowed down and brought very low; all day long I go about mourning." (Psalm 38:4-6)

However, God loves you and he made a bridge over this canyon.

"...the law requires that nearly everything be cleansed with blood, and without the shedding of blood there is no forgiveness." (Hebrews 9:22)

God sent a savior to suffer and pay the penalty for our sin.

Jesus Christ was the only person who ever lived a perfect and sinless life. He claimed to be God in human form; He proved it by fulfilling hundreds of prophecies, healing sick people, casting demons out of others, bringing dead people back to life, and by rising from the dead himself.

His death was an acceptable substitute for ours, because unlike everyone else, he was not dying for his own sins; He was dying for ours.

There are many false beliefs and useless religions, but (this is important!) there's only ONE bridge to God! Jesus Christ is God's ONLY provision for forgiveness from sin; through Him, we can know God's love and plan for our lives.

He Died in Our Place

"God demonstrates His own love toward us, in that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us." (Romans 5:8)

He Rose From the Dead

"Christ died for our sins... He was buried... He was raised on the third day, according to the Scriptures... He appeared to Peter, then to the twelve. After that He appeared to more than five hundred..." (1 Corinthians 15:3-6)

He Is the Only Way to God

"Jesus said to him, 'I am the way, and the truth, and the life; no one comes to the Father, but through Me.'" (John 14:6)

"'Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?' The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God! He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ." (1 Corinthians 15:55-57)

If we don't know Jesus, we are not God's friends yet because we're still stained by the things we've done wrong; we're separated from God who is perfect; we can't be good enough.

However, we can cross over on the bridge God worked so hard to give us.

"Therefore, my brothers, I want you to know that through Jesus the forgiveness of sins is proclaimed to you. Through him everyone who believes is justified from everything you could not be justified from by the law of Moses." (Acts 13: 38-39)

"...a man is not justified by observing the law, but by faith in Jesus Christ. So we, too, have put our faith in Christ Jesus that we may be justified by faith in Christ and not by observing the law, because by observing the law no one will be justified." (Galatians 2:16)

We can be God's friends. We can be set free from our sin, guilt, and shame.

We can accept Jesus' payment for our sin. We can be forgiven and considered righteous, because Jesus wants to share His righteousness with us. What does he ask for in exchange?

Us! He wants us wholly; hearts, minds, bodies and souls.

"Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength." (Mark 12:30)

We must believe. We must ask Jesus to take away our guilt, give us clean hearts, and carry us over the bridge and into friendship with God.

[Jesus said] "I tell you the truth, whoever hears my word and believes him who sent me has eternal life and will not be condemned; he has crossed over from death to life." (John 5:24)

"He commanded us to preach to the people and to testify that he [Jesus] is the one whom God appointed as judge of the living and the dead. All the prophets testify about him that everyone who believes in him receives forgiveness of sins through his name." (Acts 10: 42-43)

"If we claim to be without sin, we deceive ourselves and the truth is not in us. If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness." (1 John 1:8,9)

If we believe, are forgiven, and ask, God will send His Holy Spirit to live in our hearts.

The spirit will explain spiritual things to us, give us power to change, and help us discover the important plans God has for our lives.

"At one time we too were foolish, disobedient, deceived and enslaved by all kinds of passions and pleasures. We lived in malice and envy, being hated and hating one another. But when the kindness and love of God our Savior appeared, he saved us, not because of righteous things we had done, but because of his mercy. He saved us through the washing of rebirth and renewal by the Holy Spirit, whom he poured out on us generously through Jesus Christ our Savior, so that, having been justified by his grace, we might become heirs having the hope of eternal life." (Titus 3:3-7)

"I will pray to the Father, and He will give you another Helper, [the Holy Spirit] that He may abide with you forever." (John 14:16)

If you believe the things you've read in this Bible Basics study, talk to God about them. Ask him to forgive your sin through the work Jesus did. Ask him to fill you with his Holy Spirit, open your spiritual eyes and give you the ability to understand him.

Begin to study the Bible and pray that God will explain it to you.