FRACTURED

Morning dawns pale, misty. Feeling ragged, I pull on clothes, tie a blue bandana over my blond hair, dress and feed Nick. Call Leota. Her girls watch Nick as we drive further east to Bemidji. I glance right and left at snowbanks, not wanting to see motorcycle remains anywhere.

Where shall we search for Zach? Leota mentions that Myra’s parents live on the edge of town. Myra is Nick’s babysitter when I work my evening nursing shifts. She is a pretty Ojibway Indian, with three little girls. Single. We find Myra’s parents’ home and her mom answers the door. “Yes, Zachary stayed the night—he had cycle trouble,” she told me. “He left earlier this morning.”

“Thanks so much,” I told her. I feel shaky. I can’t talk much as I drive Leota home, then speed back to the parsonage with Nick. It is Sunday, April 1st. I see that cars are in the church driveway, below the parsonage. Curious, I walk into the small church, Nick on my hip. There are about 12 people…all seem subdued, startled to see me.

One of the men walks over. “We’re having a meeting about Zachary,” he tells me kindly. I feel like an outsider.

“Zach’s resigned, we’re going away for a few weeks.”

“I understand.” He nods sympathetically.

About an hour later Zach roars into the yard in front of the parsonage. I meet him outside…we walk into the entryway, and I hitch myself onto the dryer.

“Where were you? Why didn’t you call—I was so worried!” Zach’s brown hair was tousled, his face reddened with the cold ride. He seemed nervous.

“Well, I had cycle trouble—got it fixed this morning.”

“Were you with Myra at her parents’ house?”

He nodded.

I was wide eyed and tense. “Did you sleep with her?”

“Yeah.”

“You slept with her!” I jumped off the dryer and doubled over with pain. It was as if a knife was plunged into my gut. I could hardly breathe.

“How could you?”

Zach hesitated. “I know it was wrong. I took her for a ride—then there was cycle trouble, and we went to Myra’s parents…and we stayed the night.”

I don’t know what to do. Zachary seems relieved to have told me, and I am in agony. Numb with shock and horror. Wounded, torn inside, like I could slowly bleed to death. What can I do?

Later we leave Nick with neighbors, take a drive, walk in the woods. Wandering wordlessly through trees and brush we suddenly stop. A little mouse, furry and cute, scampers across dry leaves. We always loved watching small animals. This interruption is an island of sweet attention in the whirlwind of pain. We stood close, watching. The mouse turns wary, skitters away, and the pain returns.

I little realize that the whole trajectory of my life will shift during the coming months. God will use the storms of life and valley of pain to shape me into a different person.

But—a journey should start at the beginning!

Read on with me…