The Runaway Pastor's Wife (14 page)

“Of course, it’s basically open season on anyone
at all, but the target usually finds its way back to David in one way or
another. Why is that? Just because he’s the pastor? Because he’s kind and
considerate and approachable? Everybody
loves
David. So why do they pick
on him all the time?”

The cabin grew quiet as the verbal outburst gave
way to pounding thoughts.
It wouldn’t be so difficult to handle if they were
just open and honest with us. Tell us what they dislike or why they’re upset.
But why is it Christians seem to prefer the back door when it comes to
criticism? They call me under some false pretense to take a back-handed slap at
my husband. They pick on our kids unmercifully instead of coming directly to us
if they have a problem or complaint. I mean, who in their right mind would
harass an eight year old child just because they don’t like the color of carpet
his father approved for the new sanctuary? Or who would bother complaining to
the pastor’s teenage son just because they don’t like the turn of a phrase in
the Sunday sermon? Or just because they have some bone to pick with David, why
would someone accost me in the parking lot at the grocery store—

Annie stopped, the memory burning in her mind.
Her chest heaved with the anger. She wiped her brow, surprised to find it damp
with perspiration.

“Oh God, forgive me,” she whispered. “I sound
like such a whining child. Here I am, wailing and grumbling about each and
every little burr that has pricked me at one time or another. I’m no better
than any of them, am I? Oh God, how tired You must be of hearing me whine.”

She took another lap, slowly passing the
fireplace, deciding to give the blaze another jab or two. The words continued
pouring out, like a dam unleashing its fury. “For
so
long
I’ve
put on my little mask and marched off to church every time the doors opened.
Ever the happy little pastor’s wife. Always careful to hide behind a plastered
smile, even at times when my heart was breaking into a thousand tiny pieces.
When I was missing David so much I could hardly function. Playing the part,
going through the motions, and hating myself for the lie I was living. I
constructed this huge wall around myself to try and keep the hurt out. To
protect myself from the arrows aimed at my David and the kids and myself.

“And I’m so tired of having to stay on constant
guard against potential friendships that might prove traitorous, when all I
wanted was someone to be my friend. I need a
true friend.
Is that so
much to ask? Yes, I know I have friends—people I have lunch with, go to Bible
study with. But sometimes I need someone to talk to. Someone I can open my
heart to. Someone who won’t use our friendship for some hidden personal
agenda.”

She plopped down on the sofa, tired of her treks
around the room. She grabbed a throw pillow, wrapping her arms around it. “It’s
even worse to sit by and watch when someone befriends David for all the wrong
reasons. David, with a heart the size of
Texas
, who
never met a stranger and tries to believe the best of everyone. How many times
has he been betrayed? Only men play the game a lot tougher
.
They use a
whole different strategy.

David,
take the afternoon off and let me take you out to the club for some golf.

David,
I want you and Annie to come over to my dealership and pick out any new car on
my lot! It’s my gift to you—a way to say thank-you for all your hard work!

David,
you and Annie come by sometime and pick out some house plans to best suit your
needs. I’ll build it for you at cost. After all, you deserve it!

Pastor!
We want you and your family to join us for a week of skiing up at Vail! Our
treat!

“It all sounds so nice and generous and
innocent. But it always backfires. It’s nothing more than a bribe. A power
play.” Annie pounded her fist into the pillow, harder and harder. Faster and
faster.

“What makes it even more disgusting is this,
this ‘residue’ of suspicion it leaves on my heart. There are so many wonderful
people—folks who have hearts filled with nothing but genuine love, whose only
ambition is to honestly serve. No strings attached. No hidden agendas. They’re
just human extensions of Your love in everything they do. Yet I find myself
immediately skeptical of
everyone
who comes along. They’re completely
unaware of the fact they must prove themselves to me before earning my trust.
And I utterly hate myself for even having to doubt their sincerity.

“Oh Lord! Why do You put up with it? If it makes
me
this crazy, it’s got to be exasperating to You!”

She threw the pillow aside, jumping up to reach
for the poker again, nervously tapping it against the stone hearth. “I just
don’t get it. How did Christians get so
screwed up? When did we all stop
living in your love and start being so cruel to each other? Surely you despise
all this skepticism and criticism and suspicion a lot more than I do. You never
meant for it to be like this, did You? Why don’t you just—I don’t know, send
another flood or something. Or blast us out of here. Just be done with us, once
and for all.”

She stopped beating the hearth when she noticed
tiny chips of stone flying with each strike. She carefully put the poker back
into the stand with the other fireplace tools. She stared into the dancing
flames, losing herself in the silence. Minutes slipped by.

Suddenly, she noticed her thoughts drifting away
from all the disappointments of church life and hitting much closer to home.

David.

The ache in her chest was real.
When did we
cross the line, David? Did we even know it? When did you sell your soul to the
church? Do you remember when it happened? When the line between serving God and
serving the institution became so completely blurred? When did it enslave you?
When did it bind you in chains so strong, you stopped trying to fight it?

When did it blind you from seeing the family you
left behind? Blind you to what we once had? Do you even realize you’re never
home? Never available? I know your work is important. Your ministry is
important. I get that. But don’t we even register on the radar screen anymore?
Can you remember the last time you worked us into your schedule? Made even the
slightest effort to get home on time or have dinner with us?

And what about
us
?
You and me. Can you tell me the last time we went out, just the two of us? Can
you tell me the last time you even thought of me more than just in passing? For
more than a quick kiss on the cheek on your way out the door? Or to hand me a
list of social appearances we have to make dictated by the church calendar?

A sob caught in her throat. The tears burned
trails down her cheeks.
David, do you have any idea how long it’s been since
you held me in your arms? Since you made love to me?

Annie buried her head in her arms and cried. The
sobs racked her body until she thought she would be sick. Her head throbbed,
but the tears kept coming.

Finally, completely drained, she raised her
head. She wiped her tears with the quilt, still trying to catch her breath.
Mentally, she steeled herself against the pain. She closed that door, unable to
face another second of so much sorrow.

Forcing her mind to change tracks, she faced one
last frontier. This time, her words stammered out in a hushed whisper. “But
worse than all of that, God—what bothers me most . . . is that
I’ve lost
You.
” The lump in her throat caught her words. “I’ve lost you
because of all this.” The flames hissed against her silence. “And I can’t seem
to find my way back.”

She tried to take a deep breath, but couldn’t.
“God, I need you
so
much. Please let me find You.”

Annie finally collapsed. The process had begun.
The suffocating burdens in her heart were now laid out on the altar of her
soul. She fell back into the open arms of the easy chair, thoroughly spent and
exhausted. Surprisingly, she found it difficult to regain control of her
breathing. It seemed as if her heart itself would surely tear away, unanchored
from her soul.

When at last the storm inside her began to subside,
she sat in silence, absorbed by the truths she had finally forced herself to
confront. She waited. Patiently at first, then not so patiently.

Where was the peace? Shouldn’t there be some
kind of relief flooding over her now? Some afterglow of satisfaction for
her unveiled confession? A feeling of accomplishment for facing this monster
she had avoided for so long?

God, where are You?

Nothing. Only a chilled numbness. Even the quiet
voice of the Lord had vanished in a deafening hush. Annie pleaded, screaming
through stunned anger, “
God, where are
You
!”

Only the soft ticking of the clock echoed her
pleas. The silence filled her with frightening doubt. This was not how it was
supposed to happen. She was not even close to feeling any sense of resolution.
Instead, she was even more confused than ever before.

And deeply, deeply disappointed.

CHAPTER 9

Seminole,
Florida

“Dad? What’re you doing home? Are you sick or
something?” Max yelled from the kitchen. After bursting through the back door
after school, he had peeked around the corner at his father stretched out on
the sofa in the family room.

“I guess you could say that, Max. But I’ll be
all right,” David answered, trying to sound much more positive than he felt. He
sat up and rubbed his eyes. “How was school today?”

“All right, I guess. But I could kill Mr.
Harrison. He kept needling me in class today. The whole hour! He kept asking me
all these outrageous questions. I didn’t finish reading the chapter last night
because I had to study for my Advanced Latin exam. So I couldn’t answer all his
stupid questions to his satisfaction. What a jerk!”

“Max—”

“But Dad, he really is a jerk! He’s like, ‘Mr.
McGregor, one would think that a pastor’s son could see the importance of
understanding economics.’ Max donned the imaginary and quite sarcastic posture
of his teacher, complete with proper voice intonation. ‘After all, good
stewardship is one of the fundamentals of being a good Christian. Perhaps you
should spend some time discussing this subject in depth with your father. I’m
sure he has an acute perception when it comes to fiscal responsibility.’ Then
he peers over his half-glasses sitting on that schnauze of his and says ‘If
not, perhaps you can enlighten him on the basics, Mr. McGregor.’ I wanted to
smack those glasses right off his big fat face!”

“Whoa there, buddy. That’s a little harsh, don’t
you think? Granted, I don’t appreciate his comments, but I don’t want to hear
any more of this ‘jerk’ business or regrets because you didn’t punch him out.
Got it?”

“Yeah, but Dad—”

“No buts, Max. I mean it. Whether you like the
man or not is beside the point. You may not enjoy being picked on like that—and
I don’t blame you. But I want you to show respect to him if for no other reason
than the fact he’s your teacher.” David stood up and squeezed the shoulder of
his oldest son. “You can’t stoop to that level. Just don’t let him get to you.
It isn’t worth it, believe me.”

“But Dad, listen to me. He’s
always
taking
shots at you. It makes me sick. And it’s not fair. If he doesn’t get along with
you
,
he shouldn’t hassle me because of it.”

David stood face to face with Max who stretched
only an inch shorter. He grasped both of his shoulders. “Trust me, Max. It just
isn’t worth it to get that upset. Old Chet has been giving me fits since my
first day on the job here. For some reason, which God only knows, he apparently
feels called to be our resident devil’s advocate. Every church has at least
one, and Chet Harrison is ours.

“When Dr. Billings died, a year before we came
here, Chet moved himself into a position of leadership while the church was
without a pastor. He pretty much called all the shots. He hired the interim
pastors, he oversaw the day-to-day details in the office, took care of the
payroll, you name it. And I’m sure he enjoyed having a free run of power in the
process. Naturally, a lot of folks admired him for such a ‘sacrifice’ of his
time and effort. They looked up to him and rallied behind him.

“He was also chairman of the search committee
for a new pastor, of course. And initially, Chet and I hit it off pretty well.
I think he really liked me. Must have, or I’m sure it wouldn’t have been a
unanimous vote. But not long after I came, we began to butt heads. Chet
realized I wouldn’t be the puppet he hoped I’d be, and he began to fight me on
every issue that came up.

“Then the final straw was when I steered the
building committee away from choosing his son’s company to build the new
sanctuary. I had done my research and learned that Junior’s company had a bad
reputation in
Pinellas
County
. You
wouldn’t believe some of the stories I heard about him. I wasn’t about to lead
this church into that kind of fiasco. And old Chet has never gotten over it.
He’s not used to having someone stand up to him, and he can’t handle it.