Undone: Encounters, #3

By Paula Wiseman

Idols are rarely ever the little statues we imagine. Sometimes they pass themselves off as a genuine, legitimate need—a need to be seen, to be valued, to be loved. When my hidden idol was exposed, it became David's shame, too, except his came mingled with betrayal. I believed the damage to him and to our marriage was irreparable.

I was wrong.

My father taught me that I was insignificant. That lesson was difficult to unlearn. I was certain that my husband and even God Himself felt the same way. However, when the idols and the masks and the lies were stripped away, only the truth was left. The searing, relentless truth. About myself, about David, about God.

And the truth set me free.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paula Wiseman
• Release date: Jan 30, 2024
• ISBN: 9798223766445

Paula Wiseman

Author, blogger, and speaker Paula Wiseman is a left-handed Southerner transplanted to Illinois. When not grading homeschool assignments or checking up on college life, she is proofreading her husband’s seminary papers. Keeping a bowl of M&Ms or Rolos close by helps her write award-winning Christian fiction bestsellers, like the Covenant of Trust, Foundations, and Encounters series as well as several devotional books. Find out more at www.paulawiseman.com.

Book preview

1

Jan

Thursday, September 9

I knew. As soon as I looked into Roger Huddleston’s eyes. Before I saw David’s laptop clutched under Roger’s arm. Before I saw the stunned, anchorless confusion on David’s face. Before the stammered, awkward words fell out. I knew. But it didn’t help.

I had no plan, no alibi, and there would be no reputation-saving heart attack or aneurysm to divert anyone’s attention in that moment. I can’t run. I can’t hide. The earth will not open up and swallow me, nor will lightning strike.

Instead, I had to stand powerless as a nightmare unfolded.

Pastor . . . I . . . Nancy opened your office. We were looking for the budget for next year. The finance committee meets next week, you know, and . . . we weren’t snooping, mind you. He set the laptop on our coffee table, and gingerly opened it.

The image was vivid, wrenching . . . and familiar.

A single bead of sweat trickled down David’s forehead. Roger paled. The folder was called ‘finance,’ David. I . . . what was I supposed . . .? He swallowed and locked his eyes on David’s in painful accusation. There are dozens of them.

They aren’t mine.

Of course they weren’t.

But—

David slammed the laptop shut. I’m telling you, they aren’t MINE!

I flinched.

David never raised his voice. Never. Not with the children. Not at the dog or the referees on television or even the drivers downtown.

I don’t know what’s going on, but I didn’t download those pictures! I don’t do that kind of thing! I’m happily married! I’m a pastor, for crying out loud! Then he turned to me. Jan, tell him!

Speak? He couldn’t understand what he was asking. This was the end.

He’s right, Roger, I managed to say.

I think that’s when David knew. I saw a flash, a shadow that passed in an instant, in the way the corners of his eyes drooped. ‘Don’t say it, Jan.’ He didn’t want it to be true, and we both realized as soon as the words were out that we’d never go back to the ‘before’ again. I owed it to him, though. Roger and everyone else had to understand that David was innocent. At least innocent of . . . this. Those pictures aren’t his. He would never—

Jan, I understand this . . . is a shock . . . hard to hear, but the evidence is right there. He obviously—

The pictures aren’t his, I said again. Firmly. Confidently. But I couldn’t bear to look at David. I know that . . . I know because they’re mine.

Roger had the decency to slip out the door almost immediately. When David turned to me, before he could question or demand or even speak, I hit first. I want a divorce.

He squinted in pain, probably physical pain. I don’t . . . I . . . no. We’re not . . . He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. I almost seized that opportunity to leave and never, ever come back. At this point, I was content to be the villain. I would be anyway. May as well earn it.

How long? he asked quietly.

How long what? How long had I wanted to leave? How long had I been the villain? No, he wanted to know how long I had had my ‘problem.’ How long had I been leading a black-hearted double life of sin and hypocrisy? That’s a little more difficult to nail down.

Since Maddie was little.

He paled and I saw him shudder.

Do you love me? he asked.

I wanted to. David was a good man. Conscientious, hard-working, well-respected. I heard at least every other week how he’d helped someone, how he’d cared for someone. I think I did love that David Shannon. The David Shannon I lived with . . . well, he was a different story.

So the answer is no, he said.

I’m going to pack.

Is there someone else?

There could have been. Bobby Ayala was interested in much more than a doctor-nurse relationship. He had said so again just before I left for that conference.

No, I said.

You have cost me my ministry, he said before I could leave the room.

Ah, yes.

I waited until he raised his head to look at me. I didn’t blink. Let Baal contend for himself.

I closed the bedroom door behind me, wishing that it locked. Surely he wouldn’t come up here. Not now. He needed space as much as I did, and that meant I needed to pack. In the coming days there would be ample time to mourn the final gasp in my dying marriage and my own infernal stupidity. I cleared the history. I always do that, but sometimes the sites automatically download pictures or video clips. And I forgot to check for downloads. By the time I remembered, David had reclaimed his computer and taken it to his office.

You see, mine was having hard drive issues and I had a conference in Dallas last week. I was ready to buy a new computer, but David lent me his. I have the desktop in my study. I’ll be fine. I’ll just work from home until yours is fixed.

So simple. So easy. So reasonable and practical. It was a peace offering. He was less than happy that I was leaving on Sunday morning, and he was genuinely trying to ensure we parted on good terms. Great was too much to hope for. Good was enough. So we watched Maddie play at the band contest Saturday evening, and I left the next morning.

Ironically, Bobby was set to attend that same conference and changed his mind at the last minute. I was disappointed. I admit that, but I reasoned it was for the best. Alone and away from home with Dr. Ayala would have undoubtedly made adultery more than just a passing thought.

So was that my defense? At least I didn’t commit adultery.

I pulled the largest travel bag we had from the bottom of the closet and Malcolm appeared from under the bed and lay on top of the bag. He looked at me with his black eyes, the slightest whimper escaped. Not now, I said, and lifted the bag, dumping him on the floor. I threw in all the clean scrubs from the drawer. I had to go to work tomorrow. Underwear. Two pairs of shoes. Three changes of clothes. My makeup. That would get me through the next week. Or longer.

Malcolm watched every step I took. He knew. Maybe you should go back to sleeping under Maddie’s bed, I said, rubbing his head, scratching behind his ears. It’s liable to be a little lonely in here for a while.

His tail thumped gently. I’m not sure when I’ll be back. I, uh, well, let’s just leave it at that for now. He licked my hand, and I knelt down and hugged him. I wish I could take you, I whispered. You may be the only one who still loves me after today.

My computer bag was downstairs. I could grab it on the way out. I surveyed the room quickly to double-check that I had what I needed. My purse sat on the floor by the dresser. I only carried it on Sundays. I wouldn’t wouldn't need it anytime soon.

But it was propped against my Bible. Honestly, I didn’t want it either, but I knew David would worry less, maybe even preach at me less if he saw I had taken it with me. It was worth a shot. I stuffed it in a side pouch.

I gasped when I nearly ran into David as he stood in the hallway. You don’t have to leave, he said.

Yes. I do.

What am I supposed to tell Maddie?

She had an extra band practice tonight. She wouldn’t be home for another hour at least. You can tell her whatever you think is best. I’m sure I deserve it.

I tried to brush past him but he reached for my arm. Jan . . . please . . .

It’s too late, David.

How can it be too late? I had no idea—

Please. I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. It’s true you didn’t know your wife uses pornography, but I cannot believe you are so blind. Our marriage has been in trouble since we said our vows.

That’s ridiculous! You heard me tell Roger I was happily married! I meant that!

I have no doubts. Now, if you’ll excuse me.

You can’t hide from this. Or from me. We have to deal with it.

I ignored him. That was my preferred method of dealing with things. I’ll call Grant in the next day or two.

I will find a counselor. Will you come with me?

No.

So I walked away from my husband and my family. As I drove away from the sheltered, manicured neighborhood, the thoughts in my head distilled themselves to a single word—inevitable.

2

David

I have never felt so powerless in all my life as I did the moment I heard my front door close behind Jan. I should have stopped her. I should have done everything in my power to keep her from leaving, but I couldn’t move.

Still in shock from the revelation, still wounded from the secrecy, I was angry at myself for my naiveté. I felt a deep shame for being deceived for so long and a growing anger at my wife for perpetrating it.

I had prayed for Jan since the day we met that she would know the depths of God’s love for her, that she would experience the reality of living in the fullness of His grace, but she seemed bent on resisting it.

For years, I prayed that God would do a work in her heart, that she would become my partner in ministry the way my mother was for my father, but the answers to those prayers seemed to come in opposites. Her workload never decreased. Instead her responsibilities grew, even more so after she was named the head cardiology nurse. She is extremely gifted, but she chooses not to use her gifts in ministry. She agreed to be on a couple of temporary committees at church and that’s it. How can I persuade people to lead or teach when I can’t convince my own wife?

In the beginning, that’s one of the things I loved about her—her independence. She’s thoughtful and analytical, but reserved . . . I fell in love with her almost as soon as we met.

I was canvassing the campus as part of an evangelistic outreach team and Jan was one of the students we talked to. She had never heard the name of Jesus until we talked, but she was engaged and insightful, and I’d rarely encountered someone so hungry for the gospel.

I led her to Jesus that afternoon. I discipled her, nurtured her faith, led by example. What went wrong? God in heaven, what went wrong?

I stepped into our bedroom, and the air seemed thick, smothering almost. The bed was perfectly made, the spread pulled tight. Nothing was out of order, not so much as a stray sock on the floor or a forgotten retail tag lying about. But that was typical Jan.

The dog crawled out from underneath the bed, eyed me carefully, then went back to his hiding place. He didn’t like me. He never had. Jan talked me into getting him for the kids, for Maddie especially, but Malcolm was Jan’s dog.

I dared to sit down on the bed, our bed. We celebrated our twenty-third wedding anniversary this past summer, and honestly, I could probably count the times we’ve made love in this bed. At first, I chalked it up to her being in graduate school, then to being a new mother, or trying to work and raise a family, then hitting forty. I never pressed her. I thought it would be cold and demanding to question her. Apparently I should have questioned.

I should have done the work necessary to uncover this long before now. I shouldn’t have needed my associate pastor slinking in here revealing the shortcomings in my own household.

I snatched the pillow from the bed and whipped it across the room. Then I cried. I cried with the pain of shame and abandonment and betrayal and injustice. The tears came until I was dizzy and empty.

I heard the front door open and close and my first hope was that Jan had come home, that she had regained her sanity, that whatever point she was trying to make had been made and now she was ready to talk things through.

It wasn’t Jan. It was Maddie, just getting home from band practice. Hey Dad, she said, dropping her flute case by the front door.

How was practice? I asked, and felt somehow dishonest for making small talk.

Good. I think the show Saturday will be even better than the contest one last week.

Great. Maddie looked exactly the way her mother did years ago. Usually that made me smile with nostalgia. Tonight it broke my heart.

Everything okay? I saw the concern in her eyes. You look a little sick or something.

Yes, I was sick. Can we sit for a minute? I motioned her toward the living room. My computer still lay on the coffee table.

Now you’re scaring me. She slowly, slowly eased down and sat on the very edge of the sofa, and pushed her hair behind her ears the way she always did when she was nervous.

I sat next to her, close but not touching her. Maddie . . . A deep breath didn’t make it any easier. Your mom—

Is she okay? Now she was panicked.

I took her hands and looked into her eyes. Mom is fine. Not fine, just not dead. She’s not here. We, uh, we have some things we’re going to have to work through—

Mom left? Why?

It sounds worse—

Did you kick her out?

No. Of course not. She just . . . How could I explain something I didn’t understand myself? Honey, there have been some things going on between us for some time now.

Is she divorcing you?

No, no that’s preposterous. She just . . . she needs some time, then we’ll talk, then everything will be like it was. Of course it would.

Her eyes lingered on mine. She wasn’t buying the story. So what am I supposed to do?

You don’t need to do anything. Well, you can pray, pray for your mom. And me. But everything is going to be okay. God’s going to take care of us. All of us.

Have you called Nana?

No. It’s late—

It’s eight-thirty.

I’ll talk to Nana, just not tonight.

What about Grant? Does he know?

Mom said she’d talk to him.

I saw Maddie glance at the laptop. It was out of place and she knew it. So what happened? she asked.

Nothing in particular—

So she came in and said, ‘I’m leaving for no particular reason’?

Some things that happen between a man and his wife are private, I said.

But now it’s between you guys and me, she said with all of her fiery seventeen-year-old indignation. I think I deserve to know.

It’s not a question of deserving. It’s a matter of me protecting you—

From what? The truth? Maddie stood and paced away from me.

If I tell you what went on, you will never look at your mother the same way, and I don’t think that’s fair to her right now.

So it’s her fault.

It’s not about fault.

It’s always about fault. She bit her lip then narrowed her eyes. Answer one question. Did she cheat on you? Is she having an affair with the doctor?

The doctor?

Dr. A. He flirts with her all the time.

Maddie, that’s ridiculous. How could you even . . . This is your mother, my wife you’re talking about. Don’t even say things like that. But the room felt warm and the air thickened as I tried to breathe. Was the pornography just a symptom and not the real problem? Is that why she was so quick to own the pictures? To keep attention away from the rest of it? Is that where she was right now? With the doctor?

In that moment, though, I had to reassure Maddie that I didn’t think her mother had . . . broken her vows. At least not physically. So against all my instincts, I told her what happened.

Roger was looking for the preliminary budget on my computer. He found some pornographic images on it. Your mother admitted they belonged to her.

From last week?

I nodded.

So it was just a one-time thing?

Probably. She doesn’t want to talk about it.

Maddie’s shoulders relaxed. Maybe it was an accident, or a misunderstanding.

Maybe. Then why didn’t she say so before she left. Jan didn’t deny it, didn’t defend herself at all.

Maddie glanced at the computer once more. I’ve got some homework to do, she said quietly.

I nodded, and she slipped upstairs. I pulled out my phone and stared at it. Should I call her? If she was with someone else, I had a right to know that. The bigger question . . . did I want to know?

3

Jan

I collapsed onto the bed in the hotel room. That should have signaled the emotional release. I was safe. I was removed from the immediacy of the situation. The tears should have come. But they didn’t.

I felt numb instead. Numb. Empty. Dead inside. Maybe I wanted to keep it that way. Maybe that’s why I flatly refused David’s suggestion that we find a counselor. Deadness was too familiar and the pain of feeling was far too great to risk awakening it.

Besides, there was only one counselor on earth I would even consider talking to, and he’d been dead for fifteen years. David’s father, Phil. Phil had a way about him, a gentleness that made you believe that those promises he preached about were true, especially the promises that God was good, and that He loved you.

Phil cherished his wife, Donna. I’d seen him catch her eye across a crowded room and his smile would cause her to blush. He spoke her name softly with love in his eyes. I have never understood how God could separate them.

Once, in the early days of their marriage, Donna left him and went home to her mother. Phil drove through the night to be there when she woke up so they could work things out. My husband didn’t even ask where I was going.

I could imagine David at this very moment crying out to God about this injustice, this attack from Satan, this betrayal. He was probably poring over the Psalms, calling for God’s vengeance on his enemies, praying for a change in my heart, praying for my repentance, asking God to help me see the depths of my sin and pull me out of the darkness.

But I wasn’t an addict. I wasn’t scouring the internet right now. I didn’t need to sneak a glance at a picture to get me through the day. No. I was filling the empty spaces from a nonexistent relationship with my husband. Years ago, when he grasped the fact that I didn’t fit the traditional pastor’s wife profile, nor would I ever fit it, that was the end of us. Maybe someday I’ll write a book and call it When the Other Woman is the Bride of Christ.

We both poured the best of ourselves into our work, but he got to claim the high ground because he’s a minister. Then I was supposed to be so thankful for the emotional leftovers that I would be more than willing to meet all his desires. Yes, he was the desire-generator and I was the desire-meeter. That’s called a partnership.

When we met, when we first began to date, it wasn’t that way. In those days, when we talked, he hung on every word I spoke. He valued me, my input, my observations. That was one of the things I loved about him, that he fell in love with my mind first.

I loved the fact that I could be sure he would always be good to me and treat me with dignity and respect. I knew he would never abandon me. I knew he would never divorce me. Even now he won’t. Even though I said I wanted a divorce. David just doesn’t believe in it. In fact, I don’t think he’s forgiven his brother for divorcing his first wife fifteen years ago.

And if he hasn’t forgiven Michael, there’s not a snowball’s chance he’ll forgive me.

I’m not even sure I want a divorce. I know I don’t want my current marriage, but I had effectively incinerated that bridge when I walked out. If my alternative was living forever as the penitent wife, lucky to have a home, I’d pass on that one, too. The marriage I wanted didn’t exist. At least not in the real world.

The silence in the room was suffocating, and suddenly out of left field came the most ridiculous thought. I wanted to drink. I wanted to get absolutely staggering drunk. I had never been drunk in my life. I could count the sips and tastes of alcohol I’d had, most of them from cough syrup or my grandmother’s home remedies. Maybe my brain thought as long as I was falling, I might as well hit every bump on the way down. The only question was, did the hotel have a bar? I didn’t notice when I checked in. Actually, I didn’t even remember the name of the hotel.

I rolled off the bed and pulled the green padded notebook of hotel information from the desk drawer. Then my phone rang. It was David.

Are you all right? he asked.

I’m at a hotel. And before he could wonder, I added, Alone. And no one is meeting me.

I’m glad you’re safe, he said, and I believed him. I didn’t handle this well. That was also true, but I couldn’t believe he said it. I want you to come home—

What will change if I come home?

He sputtered for a moment. Wait. Are you demanding that I change? After what you did?

I didn’t demand. I asked. So, nothing will change between us. In fact, it would be worse. The unstated would become the overstated. He would become the father and policeman, the judge and the jury. No thank you. I think you want me home because you don’t want to go to church without me on Sunday and you want me back home before Roger has a chance to tell anyone. You simply want to plaster over the cracks, but there is no foundation.

Where, he sputtered. I don’t understand why you keep saying that, why you think our marriage was in trouble from the beginning. We’ve had a good marriage.

"No, we haven’t. You have perhaps. But we have not."

And you didn’t think you could discuss that with me before getting tangled up in a bunch of sordid—?

You don’t hear me, David. You hear what you need to have fixed. If, if I had dared mention I was unhappy in our marriage, what would you have said?

He was silent. He wouldn’t give me the satisfaction.

You would have pushed a Bible study into my hands. You would have given me a list of Scriptures to meditate on. You would have contacted your accountability partners and asked them to pray. You might even have packed me off to a marriage conference. But ultimately, you would have laid it all at my feet and expected me to cure myself.

He didn’t respond. I clearly said too much. So I said more. Until you are ready to hear me, Reverend David Boyd Shannon, I have nothing to say to you.

I think this is unfair, he said. To blindside me with what you claim—

Stop right there. See what you’re doing? You’re dismissing me. ‘To blindside me with what you claim.’ My grievances are not real to you. It’s as if I couldn’t possibly have any legitimate grounds for unhappiness simply because of who you are.

That’s not what I meant.

But it’s what you said.

I think you’re hearing things that aren’t there.

And I say you’re dismissing me again.

What do you want, Jan? He was irritated now. I could imagine his jaw tightening, his eyes narrowing.

I want what every woman wants.

Every woman? Or just the women in your pictures?

I hung up on him.

No, David. I want you to love me. I want to be safe. I want to be sheltered. I want it to be safe for me to own this shame and this guilt and this pathetic compulsion. I want to confess, and I want you to understand and I want you to realize how hard, how unbelievably hard—how much harder it will be tomorrow to say no to someone else who offers me those things.

Or at least seems to offer them.

I may be desperate, but I’m not naïve. Bobby says all the right things now. Would that end if I left David for him? David said all the right things, too, in the beginning.

This is how it starts every time. A wish that things could be the way I had once imagined they were. A stab of regret and sadness. A decision to read a little, just until I get sleepy. But the book is dull and predictable. So I go online to search for something more appealing. There is a wide range of search results. Anything I want. A collection of short stories. A photo gallery. More videos than I could watch in a lifetime. And I click a link here. And there. And there.

Sometime after two, I shut my computer down and lay staring at the ceiling, as bitter toward my husband as I am disgusted with myself, questioning why God doesn’t strike me dead.

David

I held the phone in my hands, debating whether to call Jan back. I knew I should go after her, but she didn’t tell me which hotel. After that conversation, she probably wouldn’t tell me. And I couldn’t leave Maddie.

I tried to put myself in Jan’s place. If I had been called out, exposed that way, I would probably want some time alone. It made perfect sense.

I’d catch her tomorrow after work, and we could figure out where we go from here. I knew there were internet accountability programs, filters, monitors and so forth. Tomorrow, I’d investigate which ones would fit us best. She could overcome this. I knew she could. Even now she was likely calling out to God, asking for strength and mercy and forgiveness. God help her know that You love her in spite of her sin. Help her see that she’s chasing after an illusion. Real fulfillment will only come living a life of obedience before You and honoring her vows. Give her the comfort of Your mercy.

I still couldn’t understand how it happened. In my own house. In my own family. My wife. My wife . . . I think I would have had an easier time believing she was abusing or selling the medications from the office. And I think I would have been less shocked and less disappointed. Or if she was a closet alcoholic. Her father drank. I could rationalize that one away. But this . . . Where does it even come from? Something so blatantly wrong, so obviously immoral . . . Maybe it’s some kind of mental illness.

Mental illness. Neil. Neil would have some insight. I dialed Mom’s number. Mom, I know it’s getting late, but I need to come and talk to Neil.

Of course, she said. He’d be glad to talk with you.

Great. I’ll be there as soon as I can. I walked down the hall and knocked on Maddie’s door. We had a strict ‘knock, no lock’ policy. The kids’ bedroom doors were never allowed to be locked, but we agreed we would always knock, and only enter unbidden if there was no response to the second call. We thought it was a fair balance of privacy and supervision. I couldn’t help but rethink that policy.

I’m going to Nana and Neil’s for a while, I said through the closed door. I was surprised when Maddie opened it.

I want to go, she said.

I thought you had homework.

I’ll take it with me.

I may be late.

I can sleep on their sofa.

I don’t know . . .

Daddy, please.

I relented. She sat in the car with me, staring straight ahead, not saying anything. What are you thinking?

I don’t want to talk about it.

Honey, I have a feeling we’re all going to be talking about things we’d rather not discuss in the coming days.

Are you commanding me to talk?

No . . . that’s . . . no.

Then I don’t want to talk.

In the soft light of the car, Maddie looked more like her mother than she ever had.

Neil Craig had been in St. Louis even longer than my parents. He came for medical school and never left. Although no one would come right out and say so, I suspect he had a hand in my father leaving Tennessee to come here. He was one of my dad’s closest friends, and his deep faith added a rare dimension to his psychiatry practice.

A long-time widower, he understood better than most what my mother went through after Dad died, and so none of us were terribly shocked when they married. Mom and Dad were soulmates, bonded at the deepest, most intense level. Mom and Neil were more like heart-mates. They shared a unique emotional connection borne out of similar loss. I wish more marriages had that kind of connection, something more than just a ceremony and a date.

Their house was lit up like Christmas when we arrived. Apparently Mom didn’t want us to think we might be getting there too late for a visit. She beamed when she saw Maddie. Your daddy didn’t say he was bringing you! What a happy surprise!

I didn’t give him much choice.

Good for you. She hugged Maddie and gave me a look that said in no uncertain terms that she expected a full explanation at the earliest possible moment. Then she whisked Maddie off to the kitchen. Mom could ask Maddie four questions about her homework and probably figure out exactly why we were there. She had a gift.

Neil shook my hand and motioned me into the living room. How can I help? he asked, taking the easy chair in the corner.

I told him the whole story. Roger’s visit. Jan leaving. The phone call just now. Neil’s expression never changed. He occasionally nodded just to let me know he was following things. So what do I do? I asked.

Neil stroked his goatee slowly and stared over the rim of his glasses. Then he took a very long slow breath.

Whatever it is, I said, I’ll do it.

He blinked a couple of times and pressed his lips into a tight line. I’m going to give you a two-word answer, but you must not dismiss it. It will sound simple and obvious, maybe even trite, but David, how completely you decide to do this one thing will decide whether or not your wife heals and your marriage survives.

Okay.

He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, then he raised his eyes to mine. Love her.

That’s it?

He nodded.

That’s going to get her over this?

Her? I thought we were talking about you.

I’m not the one with the problem.

So she has a problem? An addiction?

Isn’t it obvious?

He laughed. Not from one secondhand account.

But she asked me for a divorce.

Also not a sign of addiction. However, it could be a sign of a marriage with deeply rooted systemic problems. Again, that’s difficult to say at this point. He leaned back in his chair. If there is an addiction, the odds of overcoming it are greatly influenced by the amount of love, patience, grace, and engagement in the support system.

I love her now.

He almost smiled. David, I’m going to challenge that statement. If she had the love, patience, grace, and engagement, would you be where you are right now?

But I didn’t commit the sin.

You may not have visited X-rated websites, but I’m sure you could come up with one or two shortcomings if you dig around a while.

So she violates our marriage, and it’s my fault?

No, no, pornography is all on her. But it’s a symptom. Something else is going on, and that’s the problem you need to solve. No matter what it is, no matter what comes out in the coming days, love her. Love her more fiercely than you ever have.

Mom and Granny left for Sunday school and I promised I’d be there promptly at ten thirty for the worship service. Early even. That left me and Christopher home alone. Granny’s house was quiet except for the mantle clock. The aromas of whatever she was taking to dinner at Aunt Ellen’s hung over the whole downstairs. I was definitely fasting next week.

Christopher and I wandered around looking at all the pictures Granny had. With eight kids, fourteen grandkids and five greats, there were