On the way home, I asked David if he would really consider another line of work, because he certainly had my support.

"I have to do what God asks," he said.

"That's what I was afraid of," I said in resignation.

We did get the invitation to pastor the church. That country church was our training ground, and the deacon who asked the awful question turned out to be one of David's staunchest supporters.

While David had a job description to define his responsibilities, I had none. I was Mommy. I was spouse. I was homemaker. I was pastor's wife. I was also pregnant. When a hormonal wreck tries to chart new territory, you have a prescription for calamity. While this may be overstating matters a bit, I felt like I was adrift on a piece of floating rubbish as floodwaters rushed past familiar landmarks that were out of reach.

Just as I thought I had begun to get the hang of the spouse and parent roles, nosy parishioners with nothing better to do than put the new preacher's wife under a microscope redefined them.

"Do you really think it a good idea to give him tea in his bottle, dear? He might be less hyper and sleep better without the extra caffeine."

"You know, sweetie, the Bible tells wives to be submissive. Why don't you serve your husband's plate? I'll hold the youngun for you."

"Apple juice gives toddlers the runs, honey. If you let him drink that much, we'll all regret it."

"Forget that 'time out' business. The Bible tells us to 'spare the rod and spoil the child.'"

"Here, fix your husband's coffee. He shouldn't have to interrupt his conversation to do it."

"Do you really think you need that helping of banana pudding? You'll never loose that baby weight that way."

The unsolicited advice came from all sides. I suddenly belonged to the whole church. Nothing was off limits. One woman even suggested in a loud whisper during the offering that perhaps we should consider getting David's tubes snipped after Zach's successful delivery.

I seemingly took everything in stride. I should have called my experienced mother and asked for advice, but I didn't want to appear to be a weakling. Besides, I'd grown up in a pastor's home. Surely I could handle a few well meaning "Sue Sue Mayas." (I have no idea how the term is spelled. When I was a child, a lady in our church had a dog named Sue Sue Maya. She said it was 'Finnish' for busy body.)

I didn't complain to David. I thought he had his hands full with learning how to be a pastor. On our dates I pretended everything was kosher. I prattled on about mundane inanities, while inside I felt inadequate and resentful of my husband's inability to perceive my plight. Surely his husband antenna should have picked up distress vibrations.

He assumed the surface calm was a reflection of an inner peace, one he secretly envied. He, too, was hiding his feelings. His masculine pride told him that he needed to be strong and that any hint of uncertainty would demean him in my eyes. As a man, he believed he was responsible for providing for his family. When his salary proved to barely meet our needs, he chastised himself inwardly. David was also a perfectionist when it came to preaching and growing a church. He put most of his energy into those tasks, leaving little for the boys and me.

The day I threw Zach's urine-soaked diaper at David, I was forced to take a long look at where our relationship was heading. I feared our camaraderie had been sucked into a vortex and would soon be torn to shreds. I wasn't even sure our love could survive.

That night when I got home, I went into a frenzied bout of housecleaning. Sanitation engineering is probably the thing I abhor the most – cooking comes in a close second. However, when I'm overwhelmed by feelings of doom and despair, I become a cleaning wizard. As I vacuumed the living room, I heard a metallic clinking. I assumed I had sucked in a nail or thumb tack and continued my chore.

That night as I prepared for bed, I looked into the bathroom mirror. One of my earrings was missing. As I frantically searched the sink and floor, the tinny disruption of my vacuuming replayed in my mind. Rushing into the kitchen, I removed the bag from the machine and sliced it open. The task was daunting. My eyes beheld a mound of dirt with hairs intertwined. Bits of Kleenex dotted the mess with morsels of color. As I resolutely plunged my fingers into the mass, a drunken cockroach staggered out of his prison and onto the counter top. Realizing I needed a more systematic search method, I took out a large tea strainer and began to sift through the grit. In the last cupful, I found the earring. I washed it off and then took polish and rubbed it until it sparkled.

Standing at the sink holding my rescued treasure, my pessimism ran full tilt into my commitment. I had promised David a lifetime. Our children deserved loving, caring parents who would give them a lifetime. My 'all-is-never-lost' alter ego went into action.

I called a friend and asked her if she would take the boys for a couple of days. Calling a bed and breakfast that was owned by another friend's sister, I begged a ministerial discount and cajoled a particular favor. Fortunately, her husband was a retired pastor, and she completely understood. Using our eighth anniversary as an excuse, I secured a salary advance from the church treasurer and planned a two-day retreat. I made David a card and gave it to him.

It read: "Eight years ago I promised you a lifetime. To celebrate those vows, I have arranged a two-day retreat. Reserve Thursday and Friday. Bring your birthday suit and your imagination. We will be leaving the parental and pastoral zones."

Our retreat was in the Piney woods of Mississippi. David thought our church was located on the backside of nowhere. He was right. The bed and breakfast was beyond the backside and smack dab in the middle of nowhere. If you weren't going there, you wouldn't end up there – even if you were lost. The main structure was an antique three-story wonder built by a reclusive timber baron. The owners rented out rooms to people who wanted to 'get away from it all.'

To get to the retreat I begged as my favor, we passed the mansion and followed a trail into the forest. After hiking for a quarter mile, we came to a clearing. Four giant oaks formed a canopy over a landscaped picnic area. In the center of a flower garden a sign swayed in the breeze. It read "Eden." A stairway wound around the trunk of one of the back trees. Built in the branches, 25 feet in the air, was a tree house. A rope bridge led from the porch of the house to a platform in a twin tree. A three-foot high protective wall ringed the platform.

This was the couple's personal hideaway, but it was ours for two days. Later the owners shared that my request gave them the idea to offer it to burnt-out pastors whose marriage and/or ministry needed revival. While they still used it themselves, they shared it with pastors for years afterward.

Upstairs we found a one-room paradise. A large bed dominated half the room. A small television faced a comfortable two-person loveseat recliner. Attached to the TV was an expensive marvel, the newly marketed VHS machine. The TV got no reception; it was simply the companion to this newfangled machine, where we could watch movies recorded on tapes. A small tape library of comedies was available for viewing. A well-stocked kitchenette completed the room. The complete wall opposite the bed was glass. A sliding door led to the swinging bridge. We made our way across and found a partially sunken hot tub.

In this secluded hideaway, I told my husband of my fears. In tears I asked if he still loved me. He was astounded that I could doubt his love. Slowly we bared our souls, discovering that both of us were hiding our true feelings, thinking the other was strong and wouldn't understand. Some of the true confessions were pulled out of reluctant partners like a dentist extracting an impacted molar. Others came pouring forth like a torrent over a damn breached by raging floodwaters.

I learned that my talented husband harbored misgivings about his fitness as a preacher. Anxieties I thought long banished still populated his mind with grown-man boogie monsters. I discovered that sometimes he wanted to hide in the men's room rather than shake hands, certain his homily was trite and perhaps even boring. I resolved to find a positive aspect of every sermon and tell him about it each Sunday. Had I kept that resolution, I would have filled his love tank weekly. While I started strong, as his confidence grew, my resolve faded. I hadn't yet discovered the love languages. I thought David knew he was the most talented preacher in the parish, perhaps even in the state. Sometimes it seemed redundant to tell him the obvious. Looking back, I regret the lapse.

He learned that I needed him to offer to help me sometimes. His offering to clean the kitchen or cook a meal without being prodded would make me feel loved. Giving me an afternoon away from the brood would do wonders for my outlook. I needed more than his words; I needed action.

When we weren't talking, we rekindled a lagging love life. Children tend to interrupt couple time. I revealed to David that one of my fantasies was skinny-dipping with my love. Late that night, we donned the terrycloth robes provided by our thoughtful hosts and made our way across the swaying ropes. By candlelight, high above the primordial Mississippi forest, my fantasy came true.

That weekend was the proverbial ripping open of the vacuum bag. Among all of the muck that life had sucked into our marriage, we found again the jewel of love.

#

Faith was wiping away tears when the doorbell pealed.

"What's the matter, Faith?" Josh asked with a concerned frown as he noted her red eyes. "Are you crying just thinking about whatever it is you want to talk to me about?"

"No. The tears weren't brought on by what I need to tell you, although I have cried a bucket or two over it. This time I was just reading. Sometimes I get emotional."

"As if I didn't know that. We always rated movies by how many Kleenex you and Mama went through. Remember?"

"I wish this was nothing more than a sad chick flick. It's all too real, Josh."

Leading him into the kitchen, Faith put on the teakettle. As she busied herself fixing a tray, Josh interrupted.

"You're stalling, Faith. Why not just spit it out?"

"Don't interrupt the ritual," Faith said as the kettle started to whistle. "This is how I work up the nerve."

Pouring water into the teapot to prep it, Faith then poured it down the sink. Filling the warm pot with more water, she added the leaves to steep. Finally bringing the tray with steaming pot, china teacups, and sugar and cream to the table, Faith sat down. After serving them both a cup, she took a sip. Looking down pensively, she started.

"It's about me and Aaron. The day before Mama died, he told me about something in his past." Faith put down her teacup and looked up at Josh. She knew her anguish was etched on her face. She felt her eyebrows draw together, and no matter how hard she tried, she could not induce her mouth to curve upward. "When he was 17 he got his girlfriend pregnant. He found out two months before graduation. He had been saving to buy a car for college. He took the bulk of the money and paid for an abortion. He, he killed his own child, Josh," Faith said, as tears slowly began to run down her cheeks. "How can I marry a man who could kill his own child?"

"No one is forcing you to marry him, Faith," Josh said.

"But I still love him," she whispered.

"And no one is telling you to leave him, either."

"I know, Josh. I just don't know what to do. I think I can forgive him, but I'm not sure if I can really trust him. I need someone to use as a sounding board. I was planning on talking to Mama. She always knew the right questions to ask to help me sort through things. What would you do, Josh?"

"I can't answer that, Sis. You think you would act one way when you hear about things that other people go through, but then when it's you," he trailed off. "All I can tell you is that God believes in second chances. If He made me pay for all of my sins, I'd be one miserable S.O.B. Whether you two get married may be a question better addressed later. Have you considered postponing the wedding?"

"I have. I've considered all kinds of things. My emotions have been all over the map. I've grieved for Mama, but strangely enough, I've also mourned for that little baby who died before it ever had a chance to live. I guess I've been lamenting my loss of innocence, too. I thought I'd found the perfect man," Faith said sadly. "Don't get me wrong. I knew he had personality quirks, but I didn't believe he had any major character flaws."

"Is it still a flaw if it's been dealt with? I mean, he has repented and received forgiveness from God, or he wouldn't have told you about it. He would still be trying to hide it. A lot of us continue to hide things even after we've given them to God. It's easier. If we admit our past mistakes, God might want to use them to comfort others who make similar mistakes. God has a way of using flawed vessels; the Bible is full of them."

"Yeah, I know. King David wasn't such a prince."

"And Zacchaeus had his short comings," Josh added with a grin.

"Enough, already." Faith's pun had been unintentional, but when Josh followed up, she couldn't help but smile. "Do you think Ivy could handle talking about this?"

"I think so, Faith. She's not as fragile as you might think. If she appears to be getting upset, I'll give you the old throat slash, only on the wrist, more subtle."

Leaving the rest of the tea, the two headed off. By mutual agreement, Faith waited until after the meal to speak to Ivy. While they were cleaning up, Josh retired to his recliner. In the large open room, he could watch inconspicuously while Faith and Ivy talked.

Faith told Ivy while she was leaning over the dishwasher. Ivy looked up, a profound sorrow on her face, and then slowly straightened, her hand going to her back as though to aid it in lifting her ballooning belly. Placing her other hand on Faith's shoulder, she squeezed it softly and then leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. Looking towards Josh, she called, "You can turn that TV up now and quit your gawking. I'm fine. Faith and I are going into the study for a girl's talk." Wiggling her fingers at him, she led Faith into the other room and closed the door.

Sitting down on the couch facing Faith, Ivy said, "You're going to have to work through this at your own pace, Faith. My mother had an abortion three years before I was born. I didn't know that until someone gave me a tape of a women's conference where my mother was the featured speaker. She told the group about the abortion. It was the first time she allowed God to use her past to touch women in the present. The problem was that she hadn't told her daughters. She planned to tell us when we were out of college. She thought she was safe at the conference, because it was thousands of miles from where we lived. Unbeknownst to her, the mother of a friend was at the conference. She sent the tape to her daughter. Her daughter gave me the tape, asking if the woman with my last name was anyone I knew. She thought it was cool that it was my Mom, and I did too, until I sat with my dorm Bible study group listening to the tape and heard that I had an older sister that my Mom killed in utero."

"How awful," Faith breathed.

"It was," Ivy said. "I was mortified, and I couldn't say anything because my friends assumed I knew. One of them even started crying and admitted that her parents forced her to have an abortion when she was 16. She wanted to know if she could call my Mom and talk to her. She said she struggled with salvation because she didn't really believe God could forgive her."

Ivy ran her fingers through her hair and then dropped her hand onto her belly.

"I told her my Mom was gone to a conference, but I would call and ask her as soon as she got back. That was a lie. I just needed time to confront my mother before I could let my friend talk to her."

She rubbed her belly as she talked, almost as though she were soothing the infant inside who was privy to such disturbing information while in the womb.

"It was so hard to believe that the woman I knew had killed her own baby. What was even worse was that the father of the child was my father, too. The pregnancy happened before they got married. Neither one was a Christian at the time. Mama was neither ready to be forced into a marriage commitment, nor to be a single Mom."

"What did you say to her?"

"I was angry. I ripped her to pieces – verbally. I told her there was no excuse for murder. She didn't try to defend herself. She told me I was right and that all she could do was the same thing she did with God, throw herself on my mercy. I wasn't feeling particularly merciful. I was full of self-righteousness. At that moment my father chose to come home. I heard the front door slam. He called out, 'Hey, where's my girl. I saw that Jeep out front.' Suddenly I deflated like a balloon whose knot came untied."

She stopped speaking for a moment. She slumped a little in her chair as though she were feeling the emotions again as she talked.

"My mother and I were too much alike and often had a stormy relationship, but I'd always been Daddy's little girl. In that instant I realized that my father was guilty of the same sin that tainted my mother. I screamed, 'I hate you,' and turned and fled down the back stairs and outside, while my father bounded up the front stairs."

"How long did it take to forgive them?"

"It took me a while," Ivy admitted. "I cried all the way back to school. When I got back, my roommate told me my father had been calling. I didn't call him back. I couldn't lambaste him the way I did my mother, but I wasn't ready to talk to him."

Ivy's eyes took on a faraway look, as though she were staring at something Faith couldn't see. She clasped both of her hands in front of her belly. Her top thumb pushed down on the one below. It looked painful. Faith wanted to reach out, take her hand, stop her, and tell her she didn't have to finish, but Ivy's words flooded forth.

"I nursed my hurt. I justified my anger as righteous indignation, but I knew I was in the wrong. God kept reminding me of that through uninvited scriptures that would flash through my traitorous mind. When I would pride myself in my holy fury, he would remind me to 'be angry and sin not' or prick my conscious with 'pride goes before a fall.' When I would rationalize my unforgiveness, he would remind me to forgive '70 times 7,' or I would hear Jesus cry, 'Father forgive them for they know not what they do.' I refused to talk to God. I didn't want to hear what he had to say."

Her eyes focused once again on Faith.

"I suddenly found scheduling conflicts with my dorm Bible study group. I made weekend plans that would keep me away from church. One weekend when I was driving, I hit the seek button on the radio. It would stop for a few seconds on each station. When it came to the Christian radio station, a voice read, 'Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.' I pulled into a scenic turnoff, laid my head on the steering wheel, and sobbed. For the first time in a month, I prayed. I asked God to forgive me and to help me forgive my parents."

"So you think I should make up with Aaron and go ahead with the wedding?"

"I didn't say that. You need to let God help you with forgiveness, but just because you forgive doesn't mean you have to continue with your marriage plans. Only you can decide if your love is strong enough to get beyond the sense of betrayal. Marriage requires trust. You might need time to regain your faith in Aaron, if that's even a possibility."

"I want it to be. I still love him so much it hurts. But I just keep seeing him throwing this fetus in a trashcan. Then my heart hurts again, but it's a different kind of ache."

"I know," Ivy said. "I'll be praying for you, Faith."

"Pray for wisdom," Faith responded. "I'm going to call Aaron tomorrow."

When she got home, the knot in her stomach was gargantuan. She flipped through television channels like she'd suddenly had an injection of testosterone. She bit off several nails and ended up filing them all down close to her fingertips. Finally, she decided to go back to the journal.