A Matter of Trust
Poulsbo, Washington
MORNING LIGHT FILLED THE house. I wandered distractedly to the kitchen for more coffee. It was Sunday. My husband, Dave, had already left for church, taking the kids with him. For once, I only had to get myself out the door.
I took my time with the coffee. I read my book. I lingered in the shower. I brushed my teeth extra carefully. My reflection in the bathroom mirror stared back at me: You’re stalling.
I hated to admit it, but I didn’t want to go to church. Not because I didn’t love our congregation of about 100 in the heart of town. Everyone there was compassionate, generous and kind.
I didn’t want to go this morning be-cause, three months earlier, Dave had become the associate pastor there. We’d been attending Restore Church for a long time before that, and Dave was an elder when the pastor, Jim
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