The Endowment: One Woman's Journey of Soul and Spirit

By Zoe Charis

Rachel Fredericks is a woman in deep turmoil. Behind her beautiful smile, she wonders if life is worth living. As the wife of a powerful pastor, she has always kept her struggles well-hidden until now. In her new search for truth and meaning, Rachel begins to uncover troubling issues about her husband, Jonathan. With his ministry expanding at a

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stratton Press
• Release date: Jul 26, 2018
• ISBN: 9781643451299

Book preview

Contents

Part I: Life

Teetering on the Threshold

Lead Weight

Aliens

Time

Newport

Clarity

Dr. Devon

Ariel

The Art of Life

The Mirror

Ultimatum

America Live

The Letter

Part II: Liberty

Brilliant Beginnings

Live Free or Die

Threat

Maiden Voyage

News

Taylor’s Bar and Grille

Views

Sucked Back

Reasons

Betrayal

Andrea

Bloom

Reality and Dreams

Search

Bay Cliffs

Half Face

Part III: The Pursuit of Happiness

Independence Day

Confessions

Passing the Baton

Family Meeting

911

The Homestead

Part I

Life

1

Teetering on the Threshold

Saturday, April 30, 2005

New Hanover Memorial Hospital

Wilmington, North Carolina

Rachel’s heart pounded with rage. It beat with rhythmic thunder, like drums in an African tribal war dance. Passionate fury flooded her soul as she accepted reality. I’m alive. Her blood pressure spiked and sent a silent alarm to the nurses’ station. Light blipped on the monitor at her bedside. Unable to move a muscle or open her eyes, she strained to think. She focused to hear. Forced air began to envelop her face as the doctor exhaled with disgust. He leaned over her and punched the blinking monitor light off. His invasive breath caressed her face. Warm at first, it bore the slight stench of grilled onions mixed with a cologne she didn’t recognize. Rachel’s stomach sickened. She wished to heaven she could catch her breath, stop the gross intrusion, and keep particles of his life out of hers. In through her nostrils crept his dirty breath.

After a moment, cleaner air rushed in as the doctor pulled away. Whatever warmth the nearness of his body brought went cold. Rachel felt a chill surround her, which soon melted with angry heat as her thoughts turned livid. A scream of fury formed in her mind, yearning to be released, to spew forth its venom, to scrape, to claw her throat raw, but no sound came. Her mouth remained closed, peaceful, and still. Between wakefulness and grogginess, her rage spiked to curse existence. She felt in all existence, cursed.

She should wake up sometime late tonight or tomorrow. If everything checks out, we’ll release her. I’ll be back this evening to check on her. It was really close, Jonathan. We lost her twice.

Jonathan knew. He hated Dr. Gorman reminding him, and he hated the doctor’s uncaring attitude. Jonathan looked at the doctor, squinting his small eyes in wonder. And he’s supposed to be among the sharpest physicians in North Carolina?

Yeah, thanks, Dr. Gorman. I’ll see you this evening, Jonathan said, licking his dry lips, shaking his hand, wishing the man would just leave.

His status as a doctor did not hamper Jonathan’s irritation. The doctor trampled on the sacred, simply by being in the room with them. Rachel, so vulnerable, survived subjected to his excellent medical care. She survived subjected to his rude and ironic disregard for the sacredness of life. Anger stirred in Jonathan at the thought. Rachel heard the door slam behind the doctor and the rush of air squeezing out of the cushion as Jonathan sat.

"I can’t believe you, Rachel." Jonathan sighed angrily, more to himself than to Rachel. He could have been kinder and less like the doctor but justified his similar attitude. After all, he is a doctor. He’s supposed to be kind.

I’m glad you can’t hear me, he whispered, excusing his own lack of gentleness. His whisper grew louder as he looked at her with deep seriousness.

"I’m only your husband…and a pastor…one who doesn’t need a distasteful scandal. I’ve been nominated to be the national president of our denomination! You couldn’t hold yourself together? You couldn’t have at least waited a little longer to lose it?"

He hated his sharp tone and lack of pastoral care. With his emotions so raw, he sensed his own incongruent self, loathing Dr. Gorman yet burning with anger toward Rachel for not being perfect.

This is not like you, sweetheart. It’s just not, he added, attempting concern.

Rachel Fredericks, to all appearances, slept in room 723 of New Hanover Memorial Hospital. Her long chestnut hair flowed from behind her left ear, resting in a neat braid across her blanket, held together at the end by a black cloth scrunchie. The braid rose and fell with her slow, peaceful breathing. Rays of morning sun sliced through the four-inch opening in the purple paisley curtains, lightly dancing on her braid and the mustard-yellow blanket. Frustrated, Jonathan grabbed the remote from the tray table and flipped on the television. Flitting through moments of lucidity and grogginess, Rachel tuned out the noise of commercials as a series of random memories coursed through her mind. First, she remembered the words from her journal written a few weeks back:

Every morning, when I wake up, only one pervasive thought runs through my mind. I wish I were dead, gone, nonexistent. I want to be a memory, better yet, not remembered at all—just gone. But I have to drag myself out of bed and get through this day. I long every second for the moment when I return to this bed, close my eyes, and block out the reality of life.

Jonathan could never interact with me here, except to give me verses and pat answers, which don’t find me where I am. I know. I’ve spent decades giving out all those same pat answers. I was sincere. I believed it all. It made sense in theory. My life now is, somehow, different. I want more! I want the abundant life to actually be abundant. I want it to feel abundant to me…imagine that. I want joy, peace, wonder, laughter, love, and all the other things I’ve pretended I’ve had for years.

I’m tired of acting like life is wonderful. It isn’t. I smile and pretend to be happy because of my husband’s ministry and my own. I’d like to feel life is wonderful. I want to honestly be the picture of abundant life. I know it’s what he said, I have come so they might have life and have it abundantly. I do want abundant life. I can’t keep lying, behaving as if I’m living and swimming in all this abundance. I’m exhausted from keeping this false smile and this false life. All I want to do is cry or die—both. Whatever this abundant life is, I haven’t found it. I believe in God. I am also quite despondent. Jonathan’s never here; my children are gone. Life honestly feels—dare I say? Life feels hopeless and meaningless.

Church people, even Jonathan would be mortified to hear those words from me, call me a backslider or an unbeliever. Bull. I believe. Yet at this juncture, I feel life has no real meaning. God is the only one big enough to deal with my feelings. I can’t believe anymore that God wants me to lie, to act like I feel something I don’t.

I refuse to hide my feelings. So many times, I’ve taught Bible studies about how feelings are inappropriate for making decisions. I taught a gospel of inauthenticity! How did I disconnect to be so cold, so false? God wants truth. I know that now, so from now on, however long that is, I give truth.

My heart is empty. It feels dead. All those things, which were once great passions to me, hold no appeal. Yes, I know the truth. When I die, I’ll go to heaven. The pressures of life will go away. I long to go there and be done here. This intense struggle in my soul, my heart, my actual being, colors all life dark, charcoal gray. There is no light.

What am I to do, knowing I’m tired of living? Tired of breathing in and out? Tired of giving thought to all the pressures of life? Tired of knowing if I give up, it will disrupt so many lives? Tired of feeling I’m too tired.

I heard a lady smile on the radio today. The high pitch and timbre of her voice told me she was smiling deep inside. I wondered what was so great in her life that I could actually hear her intense smile. What is there to smile about? I smile all the time, but it’s not deep. I don’t honestly mean those smiles. It’s my job to minister, to hear deep sorrows, to offer comfort to hurting souls. Truth be told, listening to their despair, I know I desire more fiercely than them, to close my eyes and die.

The memories from her journal sent Rachel’s heart in ugly directions. She’d made decisions. She’d drawn conclusions. It was settled, and now this?

Jonathan sat in the blue vinyl chair mindlessly watching the news. Jerky scenes from unrest in Iraq flashed across the screen. Rachel heard the screams of terrified people behind the newsman’s report.

In Iraq today, a suicide bomber blew himself up, killing thirty-seven people in Fallujah, among them, five small children.

Rachel’s anger flared ever hotter with every word until only one thought ran through her mind. Taylor. Even if she could, she didn’t want to open her eyes. She didn’t want to see her husband. All she saw in her mind was Taylor.

In her entire life, Rachel only allowed anger to roam her soul unbridled a handful of times. Her fury raised another memory from her high school years: Dutiful, straitlaced Rachel, having completed her sophomore advanced algebra assignment, sat doodling around the edges of her latest poem. A lovely, contented smile spread across her face. Creating artistic works lifted her to a world of dazzling colors, a world of dreams and soft, captivating music, with sweet, warm aromas of vanilla and almond whirling about, igniting wonderful flutters in her soul. Without warning, her teacher, Mrs. Jerrie, grabbed the poem and crumpled it up, proclaiming loudly: If you work on something other than algebra in my class, you lose it!

Rachel began to explain that she’d completed her assignment, but Mrs. Jerrie held a finger to her mouth and pointed, speaking in a tight, monotone whisper, Principal’s office, now!

Rachel, enraged, screamed, You animal! Nobody likes you! You’re an ugly dog!

Every eye in the class upon her, every face in shock, and every mouth dropped wide open when she spoke. She grabbed her books and left the school, ignoring the principal’s office. Rage and guilt overflowed and carried her on its current to the downtown waterfront. She felt both right and wrong. Her dueling emotions dragged her heart through dirt and gravel at high speeds until she shut off the engine of their potency. Rachel would rather not feel than tolerate disharmony in her own heart.

Rachel’s father, pastor of Trinity Church, president of Trinity Ministries, and chairman of the board of at Trinity School, wielded great influence. The daughter of such a man avoided trouble yet Rachel had not. She hadn’t thought of the incident in more than a decade.

Mindlessly, Jonathan watched her body move with the breathing. His bloodshot eyes glazed over. He reached up, rubbed the new stubble on his chin, and looked at Rachel’s face intently. He’d gazed upon her loveliness more moments than could be counted, but none of those moments felt like this.

Her deep inset eyes were closed, her dark lashes long, her brow line striking, full yet delicate and defined. Her nose was straight and actually beautiful. He chuckled to himself. Jonathan almost never thought a nose was beautiful, least of all his. But Rachel—Rachel was one of a few with a truly beautiful nose. Her lips were full and pink with undertones of burgundy. The angles and lines of her jaw and cheekbones flowed together as if crafted by the master sculptor himself. Jonathan marveled. Even in the hospital, at this of all hours, she was stunning in her loveliness and peaceful—an angel to him having teetered on the very theoretical threshold of hell. The irony tore at his gut.

Jonathan startled, noticing movement out of the corner of his eye. He jerked his head toward the door.

Hey, Jonathan, whispered Jan Ingles, his secretary, craning her neck around the door.

All right if I come in?

He nodded. An inadvertent frown crossed his face. His bottom lip began to quiver. He cleared his throat and swallowed hard.

How are you? he asked Jan, interested, but not enough to hear her answer with precision. It would be the usual Doing okay or Pretty good or Just fine, like it was every other time he greeted her. Today would be no different, even though it was the hospital…and it was Rachel.

Jan scooted the wooden chair next to his blue vinyl recliner, hearing her heavy purse make a dull thud, as she dropped it beside her chair on the white tile floor. She clasped her hands on her lap and breathed in deeply. Slowly, she looked over at Jonathan.

How’s she doing?

They say she’ll recover.

He didn’t look at Jan. He leaned forward, anchored his elbows in his knees, and rested his chin on his clasped hands, without taking his eyes off Rachel. He knew if he looked at Jan, he would lose it as he almost did when he saw her at the door.

Jan moved the conversation forward. So…you…found her yesterday?

Jonathan nodded, opened up his hands, and covered his face. He kept his face in his hands for a long, long moment. Then he took a deep breath, lifted his head, looked straight ahead at Rachel, and spoke.

I drove home from Atlanta yesterday after the conference. They let us out early, before lunch. I thought it would be good to surprise Rachel…we…our relationship was ready for something spontaneous. I had great news from the conference. I was busy with prepping my lecture the week before I left. I thought she would appreciate it if I took her out to eat at a nice restaurant on the waterfront. I got her a dozen red roses. I called on the way home to let her know we’d be going out, but she didn’t answer the phone at the house or her cell phone.

At that moment, Jonathan looked over at Jan. His stomach knotted into a ball and exploded like a volcano. Talking to anyone about Rachel face-to-face, with her in the hospital bed, would have brought the same knot, the same volcano. It’s my…Rachel.

It was…you know? He cleared his throat again and barreled his way through the words. Jan nodded with grave concern as she listened to her boss. Her bright red hair contrasted sharply with her pale skin and complimented her brown eyes. It was pulled back into a bun. As a matter of fact, it might have been a little too tight today. She felt a headache coming on.

Another flash moved through Rachel’s mind, taking its time like honey dripping from a spoon. It was a few months ago. She was driving home from choir rehearsal. Flipping on the radio, she heard, Need a vacation? Need to get away? Rachel heard no more of the advertisement, as her mind filled with hundreds of resounding inner voices like a choir shouting, Yes! Yes! Then her own voice in a timid and exhausted whisper released the solo …yes…

She wanted to escape. Instantly, desire sparked into a roaring flame, as she stared at the road signs pointing in every direction away from the city…away from her life. Her life…until now, the fact had not settled upon her. She was truly unhappy. Rachel had tried to will her arms to turn the wheel toward an on-ramp to anywhere—just away, but there was Jonathan, there was the church, and the ladies’ Bible study to lead tomorrow, and no one could possibly understand. Against her heart, she drove home, sensing hope seeping out in a trail of smoky exhaust following her car, dissipating through the city. She glanced into the rearview mirror as she turned, pulling into the driveway. The smoky trail was gone.

Jonathan continued, "I pulled up to the house and saw her car in the driveway. It was at least 6:30. She wasn’t in the kitchen or in her study. She was in bed. She doesn’t take naps. She was in her nightgown. I talked yesterday with her on the phone before we began our morning session. She had already read the paper, made breakfast, and told me she was going to work on a project for the day."

Jonathan shook his head. What was on Rachel’s mind that day?

I tried to wake her. She didn’t respond. I called her name. I nudged her. She was cold, Jan. She wasn’t moving. She was barely breathing…I panicked…I called 911. They lost her once in the ambulance and once in the emergency room. They worked on her a long time. They put her in intensive care around 9:00 last night. The doctor said it was only precautionary, and they’d move her in twelve hours if she remained stable. Afterward, the doctor came out and told me what was wrong.

Rachel’s heart ached, hearing Jonathan’s voice quivering in fear for her. A wave of loving feelings washed over her. Jonathan! On the heels of it came a wave of frustration as another memory played in slow motion in her consciousness. Three weeks prior, one evening after dinner, before Wednesday night prayer meeting, Rachel heard a quote on a game show. It piqued her interest, stirred her heart, and brought a smile to her lips. What would Jonathan think? Weaving her way through the house, she found him in his study, buried in his books.

Sweetie, I want to ask you a question.

He looked up, over the top of his reading glasses. What is it?

Well, I heard a quote on television, and I think it’s just wonderful. It says, ‘It is better to be than to seem,’ isn’t that great? What do you think it means?

Jonathan frowned. It means, don’t be fake. Be who you are.

To him, the comment carried the weight of a feather. To Rachel, it was as heavy as a lead ball chained to her heart. Be who you are. Jonathan watched her mulling over the lingering phrase thoughtfully.

"It’s not like it’s from the Bible, Rachel. It’s not really important. Just forget it. What good will it do to ponder some phrase that is not even from God?"

Jonathan tossed her philosophical wonder into the slop bucket, like a chef cutting fat from a choice piece of meat. He had done it hundreds of times before.

Raw emotion flared, burning through Rachel’s theoretical idealism. "Get over yourself, Jonathan. God can say something to me by some other means besides you or the Bible… Then came the kicker: You arrogant ass."

Until this moment, Rachel would never have conceived spitting out curse words. She had never disrespected Jonathan. Inside, she was exhilarated, like a boxer after the knockout punch, yet she was surprised at how mean she sounded, even to herself. It was an oil-and-water mix of guilt and jubilation.

Jonathan stood to his feet and then froze at his desk as the words registered. After a long moment, he looked at his watch, looked her in the eye, and said sharply, It’s time to go church. Are you coming?

Rachel’s thoughts raged like a hungry lion, protecting raw meat. What kind of question is that? We always go to church together. He’s mad! He thinks I’m not clean enough for church right now, or maybe he thinks I’d better go and ask God for forgiveness for saying a curse word and disrespecting my husband! She admitted to herself she had disrespected him, but from the back of her mind, she heard the echo: After he disrespected you! Calmly, she whispered to him, No, not tonight.

It was nothing like Rachel to talk back to Jonathan or defy him. Throughout her twenty-two years as his wife, she was the model Christian wife. It was even a source of pride for her. She worked hard to eradicate that pride. A cold chill went through her as he left for church. She felt right and wrong all at once…love and frustration that night for this man now weeping at her bedside.

To this point, no one said why Rachel was in the hospital. All anyone knew was the ambulance rushed her to the hospital yesterday evening. Jonathan only called Jan at 8:00 this morning. Immediately, Jan started the massive Trinity Church prayer chain. The news crackled and buzzed through the phone lines. Everyone wondered what could be wrong with Rachel Fredricks.

She was the absolute picture of health! Minnie Rivers said.

"Why would God allow her of all people to get sick?" Jill Stockton wondered out loud.

It’s always the good ones gets it worst, crowed Sheila Connors as she nodded, with one eyebrow raised, lips tight. We can’t understand His mysterious ways.

No one can have everything, see, explained Joseph Leigh. I’ve learned enough in these eighty years to know that no one gets to have it all. God bless the pastor ’n’ all. I love ’n’ respect the man, but he’s got a huge church, eight thousand members, an upscale house, two grown wonderful children…well, now just the one…and his wife’s the most beautiful woman in the church! She’s real nice to boot! You can’t have it all. If you do, the good Lord’s gotta take some things away so you can be normal like everybody else. See? Just look at Job in the Bible. You can’t have it all. That’s what I always say.

Jan’s stomach jumped with butterflies. The obvious question hung in the chilly hospital room air. Pastor Jonathan kept quiet about what was wrong, although Jan asked. The prayer chain would have worked better, if she had the name of some disease or a diagnosis to give. Pastor Jonathan only answered he would tell Jan when she got to the hospital. She called the prayer chain, hurried through her morning, got ready, and came, even though it was Saturday.

Jan lived and breathed church. She could not, however, resist a good bit of juicy news to spread around. She honestly cared about Rachel and Jonathan and the entire church for that matter. She longed to be in the action of their lives—everyone’s lives. To her, that was love. She expressed it by knowing people well and involving others to pray about all the issues that hurt, haunted, and hounded them.

Maybe Rachel has cancer, Jan thought, or maybe she has some addiction no one knew about or some other disease. Whatever it is, Pastor said she’d recover. That’s good news. She cleared her throat with her hand over her mouth in a Southern sort of cough way, displaying, I’m a lady. I sigh strongly. I don’t hack. When she could bear the suspense no longer, her question burst from her lips like a race horse from the stall.

So what did the doctor say was wrong with her? Jan struggled to bridle her curiosity with slowness of speech.

Jonathan winced in pain, as the knot gripped again. It felt like someone had tight, heavy-duty, super-grip pliers clamped on to his stomach, twisting, wringing out every drop of blood. The volcano spewed again. Jonathan bit his lip and swallowed. Nervousness was not something to which he was accustomed. Every Sunday morning, he got up in front of his church of thousands and preached. Up to twenty thousand watched him on television every Sunday. Knots in the