The Story That Must Be Told E-Book

• Herausgeber: Loving Healing Press
• Kategorie: Ratgeber
• Serie: Reflections of America
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2007

Seitenzahl: 272

Beschreibung

What will you do when life puts you to the ultimate test?

This slim volume contains 21 true stories of courage, love, endurance, and undying hope from people around the USA and UK. Follow each of our authors as they detail what it took to face impossible circumstances and powerfully transform them into forgiveness, understanding, and grace.

Are you...
haunted by a past event? hoping to make a brand new start? unhappy with how your life turned out? searching for the secret to full self-esteem? blocked by unfinished business you can't resolve? wanting to explore or renew your relationship with God?

If you answered "Yes" to any of these questions, then this is the book for you to start (or re-start) your personal journal of transformation.

What one person achieves creates new possibilities for everyone in what it is to be human

Leseprobe

The Story That Must Be Told:True Tales of Transformation

Volume I

Ed. by Irene Watson andVictor R. Volkman

The Story That Must Be Told: True Tales of Transformation Copyright © 2007 Irene Watson and Victor R. Volkman No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, or stored in a retrieval system, without the prior written consent of the publisher.

First Edition: July 2007

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

The story that must be told / ed. by Irene Watson and Victor R. Volkman. -- 1st ed.

    p. cm. -- (True tales of transformation; v. 1)

ISBN-13: 978-1-932690-38-5 (pbk. : alk. paper)

ISBN-10: 1-932690-38-7 (pbk. : alk. paper)

1. Life change events--Psychological aspects. 2. Change (Psychology) 3. Adjustment (Psychology) 4. Adaptability (Psychology) I. Watson, Irene, 1946- II. Volkman, Victor R.

  BF637.L53S76 2007

  155.2'4--dc22

                                                              2007018693

Distributed by:

Baker & Taylor, Ingram Book Group, New Leaf Distributing

Published by:Loving Healing Press5145 Pontiac TrailAnn Arbor, MI 48105USA

http://www.LovingHealing.com [email protected] [phone]

Loving Healing Press

Transformation Creates Wisdom, Resilience, and Rebirth from Life’s “School of Hard Knocks”

“I realize now that memories and life itself can begin to melt away, just like snow. I treasure life and memories and I tell those I love that I love them every day.”

—Elizabeth A. Wheeler

“But to say that one changes the habits of a lifetime in a single event would mostly be untrue. One chisels away at himself until he finds the inner beauty. In finding that beauty within himself, he finds beauty in the others who love him, for love is beauty”

—Russel A. Vassallo

“It was as if the locked gates of my own inhibitions had been thrown wide open and I could step through to a fresh, new start.”

—Donna M. Kendall

“Ultimately, I only knew how to help my husband through my heart, through my love. I used that love to take notes and ask questions, to challenge and push back. I forced the care providers to accept me as a partner in my husband’s survival.”

—Jari Holland Buck

“What energizing aliveness now flooded my being, transcending the hurting power of any unforgiven thing or person! In some mysterious way, I simply felt moved beyond such hurt as though it no longer existed.”

—Christy Lowry

“We were people who had journeyed together briefly through life, searching for ourselves, all of us having experienced a prison of some sort. Somehow, we discovered a way to become one another’s standing ovation. We separated with a spiritual and physical kinship that would bind us for life.”

—Frances Shani Parker

“Transformation to me is not a life change for the worse, but a change for the good. It’s when a human can contribute to this world something of value. If my story helps one person learn the value of family, or if it causes another person to see his fellow human as a living soul, then I hope my story travels throughout the entire world and find a home.”

—Robert L. Davis

“No transformation occurs overnight. It requires faith, strength, thought… and oh, much, much thought. It requires remembering the times a loved one cried. It requires asking again and again: Why? It requires introspection and objectivity. Most of all, it requires determination.”

—Russel A. Vassallo

“The one thing I have discovered is forgiveness, and sometimes this includes forgiving Jesus because he allows things to happen for the betterment of self, and to bring us all into a closer relationship with Him.”

—Glenda Branscum

“I realized that if my happiness was going to depend upon being in complete control of my life, I would never be happy. That’s not how life works. The process of identifying and then realizing a new vision for my life was challenging and a lot more difficult than learning new professional skills.”

—Marilyn A. Gehner

“Strangely it seemed that the Viet Nam Memorial Wall had some sort of power over our emotions. We were not at all afraid to show them to each other or to members of the volunteer group…. We wanted to touch, or hug and show that we cared and understood when they were in desperate need of support.”

—Karin A. Hancuff

What One Person Achieves Creates New Possibilitiesfor Everyone in What It Is To Be Human

Table of Contents

Chapter 1 - New Beginnings

Lessons from the Wisdom Within By Peggy M. Fisher

Divorcing God By Sylvia Dickey Smith

Chapter 2 - Listen to Another Culture

Asylum By Mark Plimsoll

A Call From Africa By Jari Holland Buck

Chapter 3 - Understanding Our Parents

Closure By Michele VanOrt Cozzens

A Heart in Bloom By Donna M. Kendall

Chapter 4 - Caring in the Hour of Need

A Snowflake Elizabeth A. Wheeler

The Conundrum By Jari Holland Buck

My Leroys By Frances Shani Parker

Chapter 5 - The Power of Forgiveness

Forgiveness: A God Thing? by Christy Lowry

A Heart Betrayed By Russell A. Vassallo

Sunrise of the Soul By Christy Lowry

Chapter 6 - Taking Personal Responsibility

Cop Out Robert L. Davis

Anne’s Journey To A “Good Death” By Dirk Chase Eldredge

Chapter 7 - Addiction and Recovery

Overcoming My Sexual Addiction By Glenda Branscum

A Stroke of Genius by Richard Lee Taylor

Chapter 8 - Overcoming Disability

When the Branch Breaks Marilyn A. Gehner

Chapter 9 - Learning to Love Yourself

“…But That’s Who You Are” Jenny Ayres

Playing the Notes of Life Erin Joslyn

Chapter 10 - Lest We Forget

The Healing Wall By Karin A. Hancuff

Viet Nam Redux: The Year of the Cock By Nick Rizzo

Preface

What is Transformation?By Victor R. Volkman

“Transformation” is a catchphrase that everyone seems to be adopting these days. Even the marketing people have picked it up, which means it has become truly pervasive in American culture. Overall, this is probably a good thing in that it opens the horizons of possibilities. However, I see it as more than just the next buzzword for “business re-engineering”. The essence of transformation is metamorphosis: the radical change of state from the comfortable numbness to a bold unknown.

Transformation can take many forms: a new beginning, stepping outside your culture, rediscovering the bonds of family, caring in the hour of need, giving up destructive attitudes, honoring the past. These are but a few of the themes that are part of learning this new melody of the heart. Transformation is not easily boxed into little compartments because it infuses your whole being through all these aspects and more. Many of the writers who have contributed to this slender volume have also offered a key ingredient. This factor, sometimes stated and sometimes not, is the role of forgiveness.

Before we can honor the past, we must forgive it all of the hurts it has laid on our souls and all of the blame, regrets, confusion, and shame we have empowered the past with having. What comes after this acknowledgment is completely unexpected and leads us into a new domain where we find ourselves so completely different as to be unrecognizable to our former selves. Without spoiling the denouement of the various stories before you devour them, I will give some examples. At least one author recovers the ability to love herself by letting go of a past relationship which created an unhealthy conflict between her body and soul. Another writer forgives himself and finds the courage and resolve to take confront actions taken decades ago and hidden in shame. Another author discovers forgiveness in the sympathy that she gains by meeting a person in remorse who has accidentally wronged another the same way she herself was hurt. I could go on, but my purpose here is to whet the appetite for discovery.

Another surprising theme underlying many of the stories is the rediscovery of a personal relationship to God, a higher power, or Love itself. The influence of a power beyond ourselves can take place in many forms. It might be heavens opening up with visions of angels. But not always. Sometimes it is only a glimmer of hope, seen from a distance. Something outside ourselves beckoning to be given a chance. It may come in the darkest hour of the soul, when we feel the need to give up fighting for a few minutes to step into a stillness or wholeness that we had forgotten was possible. Again, the rediscovery of relationship to spirit results in reconciliation, an ability to move on, recover dignity, and understand the frail bonds of humanity that link us all together.

What does it take to start your transformation? I think a key ingredient is the decision itself: to confront the unknown, take a chance, create who you know yourself to be. The decision itself may be spurred by an insight, a new perspective on your life and its path. However, insights alone will not achieve your dreams. Were it only that easy! It is everything that follows the insight and/or decision that makes the difference: how you act consistently with the new person you have created yourself to be.

One of the best ways to do this is to find someone to hold you accountable to who you’ve promised yourself to be. For some contributors to this book, it was a teacher, counselor, confidant, or trusted family member. Share your truth and the truth will set you free. If this book encourages even one person to rediscover themselves, what’s stopping them, and take action, that will be the sweetest reward we could ever hope for.

Victor R. Volkman

([e-mail])

June 1st, 2007

“What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the master calls the butterfly.”

—Kahlil Gibran (1883-1931)

1New Beginnings

Lessons from the Wisdom WithinBy Peggy M. Fisher

Synopsis: A woman’s marital crisis in mid-life spurs a brave new beginning through Eastern practices. She discovers both inner wisdom and the courage to change.

The year was 1970 and I was approaching my fortieth birthday when I became uprooted. Didn’t they say that life begins at forty? Wasn’t I a survivor: a person who moved from one bump or collision in the road to a more viable path? Hadn’t I conquered my fears and walked with determination as a young student nurse, an Army officer, a teacher and now a counselor?

But after twelve years of marriage and three children my marriage was falling apart and I was slipping into a cave of darkness that tormented me. I spent hours searching in my library of psychology textbooks from Sigmund Freud to Harry Stack Sullivan. I bought new books about the theories of depression, but the words on the page had no meaning. I had earned the title of a clinical specialist in psychiatry and thought, / can find my way out of this. There had to be something out there that would be helpful to me, but I didn’t have a clue as to where I would find it.

My church attendance which had been sporadic, now folded. There were conflicts surrounding the removal of the minister that were troubling to me. Because my spiritual roots were strongly anchored, my daily prayers remained constant. It was my lifeline to the next day.

I struggled to refresh my survival skills. I took belly dancing and line dancing to elevate my spirits. I hid the intensity of my pain behind multiple masks. During the day, I wore the mask of a serene and organized counselor helping my students to make decisions. When I arrived home, I became the loving mother involved in my children’s needs. The weight of the masks was tiring and the living room couch became a resting place between my family chores: cooking dinner, helping them with their homework and finally getting them ready for bed.

I dreaded the nights because I knew my sleep would be interrupted by the haunting questions of “Why?” I was tired of wondering when, or if, my husband was coming home by morning. The questions gnawed at me. Why did Ross agree and then turn his back on me when the time arrived to keep our appointment for marriage counseling? Why did he ignore my words and rush out the front door without telling me when I would see him again? How did Ross expect me to stay in a relationship that had become a battleground? But the answers were hidden in the darkness of my nightly anxiety attacks of rapid breathing, followed by exhaustion. I watched the clock, waiting for my morning chores to mobilize me.

We had all the ingredients for a happy marriage: good jobs, healthy children and supportive families, activities that we enjoyed together and marvelous sex when he came home. But Ross continued to struggle with his adjustment to civilian life after serving twenty years in the Navy. I knew that he loved to gamble—something that he had done for years—but I thought I could deal with it as long as he contributed his share of the expenses. Was there another woman involved? I felt that I could compete with her; however, there were no conclusive answers for me. Most of the time Ross would sleep for a few hours, shower, change his clothes and head right out the door. He seldom ate any meals at home, and if he did so it was on-the-run. I knew he was spending less time at the college where he worked because sometimes they called when he left his student assistants for prolonged periods.

My love for Ross was entangled with feelings of pain and frustration. The churning knots in my stomach seldom relaxed. It was though I was being slowly strangled and left gasping for breath throughout the day. The face in the mirror was that of a stranger because I had allowed the omnipresent darkness to claim me.

As Ross’ unexplained absences and gambling problems escalated, I became armed for a battle. A battle that I didn’t even care who won. One morning just before dawn, I heard Ross drive up and shut the engine off. Every sound echoed in the quiet of the morning. I waited for him to unlock the front door and come upstairs. I hadn’t seen him since he left for the weekend. Ross slowly made it up the stairs, visited the bathroom, and finally made it into our bedroom.

I was waiting for answers. Ross undressed in the shadows of the morning light, climbed in bed and turned his back on me. When I asked, “Where have you been?” He said, “Can’t you let me get some sleep?” I smelled the odor of alcohol on his breath, but I knew he must be sober enough to give me some explanation. Before I knew it, we were engaged in a shoving match. Both of us had rolled off the bed and onto the floor. My daughter, Melanie, who was twelve years old, rushed from her room shouting: “Mommy, Daddy, stop it! Stop It!” Her intervention luckily kept us from a major encounter. I quickly leapt off the floor and put my arms around her shoulders and said, “I’m sorry Melanie, this won’t happen again… I promise you.” When I returned to our bedroom, Ross was snoring. As I climbed back into our bed, I knew Ross would have to move out or else I wouldn’t be able to keep my promise to Melanie.

When Ross got up the next morning, I said, “We can’t live this way around the children.” His reply was, “I don’t see why I have to move.” Yet, Ross’ unexplained absences continued. I had made up my mind that I would stop the war of words and simply ignore him. Within a few weeks, Ross moved to an apartment. He left abruptly one day while I was away at work and the children were still in school. Ross took our entire bedroom suite and left a cot for me to sleep on in the middle of the room. My clothes from the dresser were neatly folded on the cot. I was stunned! I knew he had been looking for an apartment, but Ross hadn’t told me he had found one. Later, I learned that he “borrowed” the cot from his sister. However, my anger quickly subsided into relief. I was bristling inside and poised for a fight that I had put on hold for the sake of our children. I could always buy another bedroom suite.

I quickly made an appointment to see the family lawyer. He said, “You could have someone follow him.” I raised my eyebrows in surprise, but in a calm voice said, “Why would I pay someone to trail him, if he doesn’t want to be with us?” My lawyer smiled and shrugged his shoulders. He knew my position was firm. But I rushed to change the locks on the doors when my lawyer said, “Everything in the house is up for grabs.” I wasn’t going to allow Ross to take another thing, except for the few personal items he had left.

My other children, two boys, were eight years and four years old at the time. I knew they were aware of our bickering and I thought they would be relieved. Since I am a survivor, I thought I can make it without Ross—not realizing that there were dues for me to pay. I ran out of answers when my children asked, “When will Daddy be coming back?” Although I knew I had made the right decision, their searching looks made me feel guilty. My unspoken thoughts were, Ross was never home anyway. Maybe he would take more interest in the kids now that we both have some space. Our separate lives evolved into days apart and finally months. At times Ross, stopped by the house and talked to the children, but his participation in their lives remained marginal. I continued planning activities for the children: dance and piano lessons for my daughter and music lessons for my eldest son.

Suicidal thoughts often taunted me when I stood on the platform waiting for the train to take me to work in the morning or return me home in the afternoon. If my stomach churned, I would move away from the boarding area and puff hard on a cigarette to relieve my tension. I couldn’t quite give into the quiet voice in my ear saying, “Jump.” I was no longer a “closet smoker” and brushed aside my remorse about this.

At work, I clung to my privacy. I revealed my newly single status but nothing else to Kathy, the school nurse, and she never questioned me. We were kindred spirits and each day we shared part of the commute home as far as the downtown Philadelphia train station. Once there, we traveled our separate ways. One day when there was hardly a glimmer of light in my path and each step I took was an effort she broke the ice.

Kathy said, “Peggy, I heard about a yoga class being formed in this area.”

I smiled and said, “Sounds interesting, maybe I’ll look into it.” I hadn’t told Kathy how desperate I was to find something before I succumbed to my omnipresent darkness. Perhaps she knew.

Within a few days, I had decided to go. Yoga was something I had read about while searching for a way out of my self-imposed cage. Dr. Vijay stood at the top of the stairway to greet us as I arrived in his class. Dressed in a long white garment, his smile and dark eyes radiated vitality and warmth. In the early 70s, the few Americans were avidly exploring this medium; however, Dr. Vijay had already developed a following. There were about fifteen people of various ages, ethnicities, and sexual orientations in the group.

As we settled onto our mats, he said, “Lie on your back with your hands at your side. Now, slowly raise your left leg, then your right leg.” I had been chained to so much baggage that it was difficult for me to follow even the simplest postures he gave us, but I persevered. This seemed like a new beginning. I didn’t realize that these unadorned exercises would be a gateway to my inner soul.

A few months after I met Dr. Vijay, unknown forces led me to a sign in a window in downtown Philadelphia which read: Transcendental Meditation Classes. Before long I enrolled in this course and was given “my mantra” by a smiling young woman who immediately made me feel at ease. She said, “You look much younger than your age.” I was grateful for this compliment because I felt ancient—worn out from trying to escape my demons. Somehow I knew meditations would compliment my yoga postures. An immediate sense of calmness surrounded me as I began this practice.

Each day I got up an hour early to do my yoga and meditation before my children awoke. Yoga, meditation and prayers became the synergistic tools for my rebirth. Somehow fate allowed me to find the right teacher and within months I learned that my greatest lessons were not received in a classroom setting, but from my inner wisdom. I committed myself to these lessons because I desperately wanted to leave behind the sleepless nights and the anxiety attacks that sapped my energy.

I arranged to meet privately with Dr. Vijay. After our second meeting he said, “You don’t need me anymore. You will fly like an eagle.”

I was puzzled by his observation. Couldn’t he see that I was still in pain? Didn’t he realize I was just beginning to navigate in my corridors of darkness?

He said, “You can call me if you need to.” I remember calling him more than once, but for the most part I was on my own. Fortunately I had found in him a teacher who encouraged me to find my own answers, rather than to cling to him. I patiently continued my daily practices. When I came home from work, instead of reclining on the couch to grieve, I went to my bedroom and meditated. My children accepted this change without questions. If one of them came into the house after I was upstairs, the other said, “Be quiet, Mom is meditating.” They knew this oasis was beneficial to me.

Slowly I began to heal. I was empowered to straighten my crooked paths and extend some of my renewed energy to others. I volunteered to be president of my children’s Home and School Association and became a den mother for my oldest boy. My job became less of a burden because I was more focused. I was able to organize my student’s records in a more comprehensive way. Many of their psychological assessments had been placed on hold because there hadn’t been an appointed counselor in several years at this particular school. I soon had a team of professionals coming in to test my students. Many who had been classified as retarded were re-evaluated as educable. Several of them even returned to a regular grade setting for their age.

The ancient practices of yoga and meditation have made me aware of God’s divine light. A light that only we can uncover and keep ignited. We may meet enlightened travelers who point us in the right direction and there will be signposts along the highway, but ultimately it is our choices that make it happen.

I have learned that in prayer we speak to God, however, in meditation God speaks to us. It is this listening that allows us to navigate through our darkened corridors to our inner wisdom. The light of this wisdom helped me to examine my clutter of unresolved conflicts from early childhood and beyond. I desperately wanted my children to be in an intact family, something I had never experienced growing up. But we were an intact family only in the sense that we happened to share the same residence.

I knew that if Ross and I were to resume our marriage, I was strong enough to live with or without him. Although I loved him, I knew I could never change him. I could only change myself. I had offered Ross the option of marriage counseling, but he wasn’t ready. His adjustment to civilian life continued to decline. As director of the language laboratory, Ross restored it using some of his great organizing skills. Once it was in place, he gave some of his student assistants the knowledge and confidence to run it. But Ross began to spend less time there. His other life had claimed him. When the college decided to make some budget cutbacks, they eliminated Ross’ job.

Through my experiences, I have learned that life doesn’t accommodate us. Conflicts and pain are a part of our respective journeys. But we can stay more balanced by creating our own lessons for life, based on the inner wisdom of our souls. This is our birthright and God’s gift to all mankind. Denial of my demons and negative emotions is not an option any more. I now embrace them and move on by nurturing my positive attributes of faith, love and hope.

I now look more critically at what I need to put on my table as opposed to what other people think I should place there. I have learned that we simplify and magnify our lives by moving away from material things and relationships that control us. This is an ongoing struggle, but the more we take time to know who we are, the more our purpose in life is achieved—unchained from external pressures.

Has it been easy to stay on top of the lessons I have learned? No! Patience and the four-letter word work continue to be my guiding forces. Self-knowledge and discipline are some of the greatest lessons I have learned. Discipline is not a prison because it liberates the embedded treasures that God has given us. So I will continue down this path, slowly unfurling my wings and learning new lessons to push away the darkness with the light of my soul. Lessons that are centuries old, but timeless.

There are many paths that we can travel to access our divine light. I just happened to choose yoga or perhaps yoga found me. Some people begin their journey by observing sunrise or sunset. For others, it might be a quiet walk, a beautiful painting or other restorative gateways. After you begin contemplation, solitude is mandatory. Distractions such as television and cellphones have no room here. Once inside this sanctuary, raise the drawbridge for a time—listen for the guiding voice of God. We begin our journey with the awesome task of knowing ourselves, but the path is illuminated by the presence of God. Keep the faith and go in peace.

Faith transports us tothe incomparable powerof new beginnings

Saint Kabi, one of great, Indian personalities from the fifteen century, wrote:

You wander from forest to forest …

Go where you will—

…until you have found God

in your own soul, the whole world

will seem meaningless to you.

For which cause we faint not;but though our outward man perish,yet the inward man is renewed day by day.

—II Corinthians 4:16

Divorcing GodBy Sylvia Dickey Smith

Synopsis: when a young woman gives away her power to another, hell surely followeth. Dissatisfaction with her relationships in mid-life leads a woman into a crisis of faith and from an assumed relationship to an authentic relationship with God.

Divorcing God isn’t easy—especially after a lifetime thinking you had a monopoly on truth. A truth you embraced as absolute, simply because someone told you it was. It is even more difficult when you’ve spent the last twenty-eight years up on a pedestal with nowhere to hide.

Sometimes, divorce is the only way out of an unhealthy relationship. A woman has to get out, get her head screwed on straight, and then start over. I didn’t divorce God, I divorced my husband, but at the time it felt like the same thing.

In a way, it was.

I’ve heard that Catholic nuns consider themselves married to God. I wasn’t a Catholic, I was a Southern Baptist, but I’d married God all the same. Looking back on it now, if I’d known God wasn’t a man, I wouldn’t have felt like I had to.

Most divorces don’t occur overnight. Instead, a disconnect causes a crack. Over time the crack warps, widens, and finally an inciting incident pushes it over the edge.

When then, did my disconnect begin?

In her book Writing a Woman’s Life, Carolyn Heilbrun defines the “unambiguous woman” as one who puts a man at the center of her life, allowing only what honors his paramount position to occur. Her desires, dreams and wishes are forever secondary.

I had risked nothing to become such, for I’d spent my first seventeen years learning the “godly role” of a sanitized, unambiguous woman. It is just a short step from that to wife—yea, preacher’s wife. My spirit had already been anesthetized by the sleep dust sprinkled in my eyes by my mother, who was herself, a captive of the times,

Add to that the self-serving “will of God” preached by a patriarchal religion, and enforced by my husband, a self-proclaimed “man of God”. As a result, my spirit and the essence of who I am were sacrificed as surely as though I’d been nailed to a cross.

I began the journey away from the role of “unambiguous preacher’s wife” twenty-three years later and risked everything.

Even from conception my world was a wild combination of advance and retreat, then advance again. My body knew things long before my mind did. Even my birth was an on-and-off again affair, battered back and forth by the drama unfolding within my parent’s relationship.

My mother never questioned nor modified life’s answers given to her by others, for she believed in a world of certainties: do this, get that.

But when she did this, and it didn’t pan out, she never doubted, for it didn’t mean the answer wasn’t correct. It only meant she had not done enough of that. She would redouble her efforts, believing that even in the failure, the problem wasn’t in the answers she’d been given, but rather in the effort she’d put forth. And since her husband (my father) marched to the beat of his own drum, it would prove to be impossible to follow.

Put simply, to her the problem wasn’t the answers she’d been given, the problem was in the doing, or the lack thereof. So she tightened her hold on the answers while the questions of the world multiplied and sucked her down into the mire of dysfunction.

My first glimpse that something was wrong, terribly wrong, came the morning after my wedding. Other than a severe downpour, my June 1957 church wedding went off without a glitch. Friends and family gathered with congratulations and celebration. The three-tiered wedding cake baked by my aunt tasted delicious. At the appropriate time—God forbid that I’d do anything inap-propriate—I escaped to the bedroom, slipped out of the damp, white gown, and into a sky-blue suit and stood before the mirror. The girl staring back questioned whether it was true; had the wallflower really married the town’s most eligible bachelor—the handsome twenty-three-year old preacher-boy? What a coup!

I was a kid playing grown up. Barely seventeen, with another year of high school ahead of me, I had successfully fulfilled the expectations of my parents, of my peers, and of my church leaders. All was right with my world.

Until the next morning.

As we dressed, my husband sat tying his shoes. “There’s one thing I need to tell you,” he declared, glancing up at me, authority in his eyes. “God will always come first in my life. You’ll be second—but God will be first.” Then he stood, pulled his Bible out of the suitcase and opened it. “And we will read the Bible and pray together every day.”

His well-intentioned words shattered something inside me, and the pieces tumbled to my feet, pieces of something undefined, yea unborn. I felt slapped, shoved aside. My role in the marriage would never be as an adult, but as a child with a male parent telling me what I would do—yea believe. The pious statement clearly defined the submissive wife. I was secondary. Further, when I needed an opinion, he’d give it to me. Our life together would be his life—not mine.

The disconnect had begun. Before marriage, I had believed I was important to God and to him, but not now. Now, he and God came first, or his view of God, which, unquestionably, was the patriarchal Him. I came in a distant third.

What then was our marriage? Sacred? How could it be sacred, I wondered, when it is on the bottom of some pecking order.

A seed, a husk of that precious young woman burrowed deep into my soul, shut away from the sun, awaiting the call of the present.

Twenty-three years later, my preacher-foreign missionary-husband and I lived in El Paso, Texas, the cross-cultural city where drug pushers and gang members create their own ‘axis of evil.’ Where graffiti artists compete with the majestic Franklin Mountains for attention, for immortality. Where, on the continuum of light and shadow; black and white; right and wrong, there is truth, not only on the ends, but at each point in between.

The day started no different than any other Monday for stay-at-home moms. My two oldest sons were at high school, my daughter at the junior high just blocks away, my husband at his office, and my toddler at home with me. Piles of laundry awaited their turn in the washer. Dirty dishes lay piled in the sink.