Chapter 32 - Entering the Whirlwind

I awake early the morning we are to leave on vacation. Pulling on a warm robe I slip into the kitchen nook and open my Bible. The polished wood reflects the faint morning light. Flicking on a small lamp I open to Isaiah where I have been reading lately. Chapter 57 rebukes false lea

ders, and ends with:

I have seen his ways and will heal him; I will lead him also, and restore comforts unto him and to his mourners. I create the fruit of the lips. Peace, peace to him that is far off, and him that is near, saith the Lord, and I will heal him. But the wicked are like the troubled sea, when it cannot rest, whose waters cast up mire and dirt. There is no peace, saith my God, to the wicked. -Is. 57:18-21 (KJV)

Somehow the words seem prophetic.

Zach walks into the kitchen. “I’ve been thinking…it’s not too cold today. I’ll ride the motorcycle to Bemidji and have it checked out before we load it up to haul to Arizona. We want to have it running good for our trip to California.”

“That’s a good idea, Honey. I’m going to wash clothes and pack for our trip. Drive carefully! I’m going back to bed till Nicky wakes up.”

Later in the morning Zachary roars off, warmly dressed. I clean the house, wash clothes, pack our suitcases. Nick pushes around in his little walker in bib overalls. Every day he is cuter as his short blond hair grows. His strong chortle and wide smile engage whoever he meets.

Evening shadows lengthen and Zach doesn’t arrive home. I begin to worry. Why doesn’t he telephone?

After supper I put Nick to bed, iron, and begin my last load of clothes. Somehow the washer hookup breaks loose and floods the laundry room. Disgruntled I begin mopping up, praying.

“Lord, please protect Zach. Wherever he is, keep him safe…bring him home!” I begin weeping, keep praying. I call a couple of friends, then climb into bed around midnight.

Waking early, I decide to call Leota. Maybe Zach has been in an accident! She agrees to drive to Bemidji with me to search for him. I pick her up, drop off Nick with her daughters, and we head east through pines and sunlit meadows, watching for any broken down cycle by the side of the road. We search around town and end up at Myra’s parents’ house. Her mom answers the door. “He was here, but rode home this morning,” she says.

“Thank you,” I say shakily. “Thanks so much.”

Leota and I drive home soberly. “Why didn’t he call,” I wonder out loud. We pray, I drop her off at her house, and pick up Nick.

Reaching Ebro, I see that the churchyard has cars parked in it. This is Sunday afternoon, April 1…are they having a special meeting? I walk into the church and people greet me awkwardly. A man explains their gathering is to discuss Zach and future leadership. People gaze at me sympathetically.

Zachary roars up to the parsonage sometime after I reach home. He walks into the entryway, the clean laundry room where I had mopped up water the night before. He is quiet, tentative.

“Where were you last night?”

“The cycle had some problems. I stayed at Myra’s parents’ house.”

Hitching myself up onto the washer, I look him in the eye. “Was Myra there? Did you sleep with her?”

“Yeah.”

I double over, the words sinking in. If he had plunged a knife into my gut I couldn’t have been more horrified. “You slept with her!” I jumped off the washer in anguish. “How could you?” He hesitates. “I knew it was wrong. I shouldn’t have. I took her for a ride before we left and then there was cycle trouble. And I stayed the night.”

I don’t know what to do. He seems relieved to have told the truth, and I am in agony. Numb with shock and horror. Wounded, torn inwardly so that I feel like I could slowly bleed to death.

What can I do?

Later we leave Nick with neighbors and take a drive, a walk in the woods. Wandering wordlessly through trees and brush, we suddenly stop. A little mouse scampers, furry and cute, wary of us. We have always like watching small wild animals. This interruption is an island of normalcy amid the whirlwind of pain. The attention draws us together…we stand watching. And then the animal runs away, and the pain returns.

In a couple of days there is a church meeting where Zach admits to adultery, is outwardly repentant. The members are willing to take him back as their pastor when he is ready--even though he has already resigned. I am quiet, distant. From Zachary’s attitude to me I don’t think he is really changed. He doesn’t seem broken, penitent.

Again, we leave Nick with the Lamb family next door and leave for a few days to gain equilibrium in our marriage. We drive north toward the Canadian border. Talking leads to argument, so by the end of the first day we are mostly silent. Entering a small town, we notice a theater. “Shall we go see a movie?” Zach asks/

“Sure,” I reply. Maybe a distracting story will help lessen our misery.

The film is a comedy with a triangle plot…a marriage being broken up by one partner playing around with someone else. The circumstances are too like our own. I begin crying silently…Zach is laughing.

He keeps laughing, and in my hurt I become desperate. I walk out of the theater, unlock our car, and take some money out of Zachary’s wallet in the glove compartment. I bundle up warmly with hat and gloves…my blue pea jacket is thick. I relock the car—Zach has his own key.

And I begin walking south out of town. Crossing a creek, I consider jumping in…but the water looks bitterly cold. That would be a hard way to die. I keep walking south, out of town, beyond the lights into darkness. It is cold, but not freezing. On and on where the stars overhead shine brighter. There are so many of them! Multitudes of pinpricks of light, glowing, pulsing…and the Lord’s presence is so real.

His is with me, comforting me. “It’s going to be alright,” He says.

A car hums in the distance behind me. The sound gets louder, the headlights brighter. I turn around and look….it slows, stops. It is a four-wheel drive vehicle, with three men inside.

“Do you want a ride?” one asks.

I hesitate. “How far are you going?" “Down to the next town—it’s about ten miles away.”

“Sure,” I answer. I jump in. It is warm.

We ride a mile or so and I begin to have second thoughts. These men are friendly, but I don’t know them. And what will I do in the next town? I really need a ride all the way to Bagley. “Just stop and let me out,” I say abruptly.

“Are you sure? We’re far out of town.” The men are hesitant, curious about me.

“I’ll be alright. Just let me out.”

They stop the car and I open the door. “Bye…thanks a lot!”

After they drive off, I turn around and begin walking toward the faint lights of the town I had left. On and on, about an hour I trudge. It is getting so cold.

When I reach our gold Maverick, Zach is in it with the engine running. It’s 11:45, almost midnight. “I didn’t know where you were,” he said, bewildered. “I decided to stay till midnight and then head to Bagley. You only left me enough money for gas to get home!”

I have little to say. He seems to be living on the surface of life, whereas I have been torn so deep the tectonic plates of my being have shifted. I am trying to find meaning, a new map for my existence. God is there, I can lean on Him, but where does Zach fit in? If he isn’t truly sorry for breaking his marriage vow, how can I exist with him?

We find a hotel, crawl into bed together. In the morning he holds me close, wanting to be intimate. Is this a way to heal our marriage? Will the fabric of our life grow together if the strands of lovemaking resume? I make love with him, but the deep hurt remains. Driving home, we pick up Nick, and I hold him close. Our precious eight-month-old baby, whole, trusting. “God keep him safe in this upheaval,” I pray silently.

We linger a few more days at the parsonage, deciding what to do. We have notified our parents about what’s happened. Zach’s parents are shocked and hurt…I can hardly imagine how my parents will take the news, coming in a letter. They will want to talk, be with me, but there is no way they can fly home now, over a year before their furlough is due.

Our planned vacation to Arizona with a cycle ride up the coast of California seems pointless since our relationship is so broken. My vision, my future story is so damaged I am losing hope. Zachary doesn’t want to do mission work now, and he doesn’t seem repentant. What can I do?

One late afternoon I sit in the rocking chair in the living room, feeding Nick his bottle. Zach is off running errands. The shadows deepen as I look out the curtained windows. I have a thought. Maybe my husband will be jolted into grief if I kill myself! He would see how much he had damaged me. I lay Nick down in his crib in the bedroom and find Zach’s pistol. I begin searching for bullets but can’t find them. I look for several minutes…and then begin to think more sanely. If I shoot myself, that act will probably send me to Hell. I would be committing murder. Hell would be much worse than my present pain.

“God, help me!” I cry.

I put the pistol away and start dinner. When Zachary arrives home I share my thoughts of suicide. He doesn’t seem moved.

I wish my parents were here…they would really care, have a plan.