Chapter 33 - The Photograph

We finally repack our suitcases, say goodbye to church friends, and drive to Grandma and Grandpa Hofer’s in St. Paul. Zachary is going to work with Grandpa in construction for a few weeks while we get our bearings. We begin to slip into a schedule until one evening Grandpa drives home but Zach doesn’t! As the hours pass the grandparents become anxious, and I feel a sinking dread. We three pray together…I sleep restlessly.

Then next day Zach finally returns but seems changed. “I went back to Myra, but didn’t sleep with her,” he confesses. “Then I drove to Daystar ministry and got some counsel. I’m sorry…I want to work on our marriage now.” I am amazed and relieved.

However, the change in him is short-lived. Zach begins to withdraw again. He doesn’t want to pray….he doesn’t know what he wants. We decide to drive to his parents in Arizona. Having already visited with Rev. Bereth about the reason for Zach’s resignation, our commitment to this Alliance district is over. Zachary doesn’t want to counsel with Rev. Hall who had performed our wedding. I feel like I am floating on an open sea with no moorings, no harbor in sight.

Through the long hours of driving to Scottsdale, Nick is cranky and cries a lot, reflecting our own tension and pain. Mom and Dad Smith are so glad to see us, prepare delicious meals. They have fun with Nick, who is now crawling. I have long talks with Mom and suggest the four of us sit down and talk openly. I’m hoping Zach will sincerely listen to his parents, receive counsel.

It doesn’t work. Zachary doesn’t want to share his heart, listen to my grievances or their advice. He leaves the table angry, leaves the house.

We find a Christian marriage counselor, take testing, try not to argue. “The tests show that your personalities are at opposite sides of the spectrum,” the counselor informs us. Any advice he gives doesn’t seem very helpful.

One afternoon I curiously open Zach’s wallet in our bedroom, examine the contents. I see a photograph of Myra, and a letter from her. The picture is one I took in our parsonage living room with the new camera the Smiths gave last Christmas. Something snaps in me. I begin to scream, to shout in anguish. Zach rushes in horrified, followed by his parents.

“How could you have this picture in your wallet!” I yell. “I took this picture of Myra and she gives it to you, and you keep it to remember her! We’re supposed to be rebuilding our marriage, and you even write to her! You’re continuing to hurt our lives—not heal them!”

Zach apologizes after his parents leave the room. “I know I’m confused…I think I love you both. I need time to get away, to be sure of what I want.”

In a day or two he has a plan. “If you want to go back to Ebro, I’ll fly to Alaska for a month. If you want to stay here, I’ll go back to Minnesota. I want a month apart to think through who I am and what I want to do.”

I’m in a quandary. I certainly don’t want him flying as far as Alaska. It would be hard for me to travel back to Ebro and live in the parsonage, with Myra down the hill. To stay with the Smiths would be easier, but then Zach would be in Minnesota, closer to Myra. Wouldn’t he be more tempted to return to her?

“I’m not planning to go back to Myra,” Zach declared as we discussed possibilities. “I just need time to be alone and think.”