I called your husband that day just to ask a question. All I wanted was a simple Yes or No. He didn't know me, and I didn't know him, so I felt very safe. Just two strangers on the telephone. He didn't even ask my name, and I inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. Still safe!
I don't remember exactly what I said, but he must have sensed my despair, because suddenly I heard him saying his wife did counseling and would I like to talk with her? To my surprise I heard a familiar voice reply, "Yes, I would."
As I waited, my fingers moved idly over the telephone. One quick tap, and the connection would be broken; one quick tap, and the pounding of my heart could subside. Then you picked up the receiver, and while I held my breath, you said you would see me that evening, gave me directions, and told me what time. I was still safe; you didn't ask any questions and hung up not knowing my name.
I never really expected to go through with it. It was just a little game to help pass the time. I wasn't actually going to see you, but I spent the next few hours imagining. What would you say? What would I say? I pictured myself confronting you in absolute silence and then dejectedly going home with a new emotional "low"after our encounter.
I drove as slowly as I dared without causing a traffic jam. The noise of tires on asphalt kept repeating "go home," "go home," "go home." What if you had forgotten the appointment and weren't expecting me? Could I be sure to find the right house? I had never even seen you before; how could a private person like me lay bare her heart to a stranger?
I had to drive past twice before I could turn into your drive. A sinking feeling struck the pit of my stomach when I saw your name on the mailbox and knew I had the right house. That excuse was gone!
I rang the bell, hoping fervently you were not at home. But the door opened, and you drew me inside with a warm greeting. Did I look as frightened as I felt? I wanted to turn and run, to leave as fast as possible. (You probably never realized that a "quick getaway" had been on my mind when I finally did depart much later!)
You made small talk for a while, and though guarded, I began to relax slightly. You prayed, and I actually told you my name! Even when you began gently to draw out my reasons for being there, I felt comfortable. Your sweet Christian attitude let me know you were concerned, not merely curious. It was like nothing I had imagined; it was amazing!
I'm not sure what I expected from our meeting, and I left not knowing just what I had accomplished. I had arrived filled with desperation, and I was leaving filled with confusion. If only I could re member everything you had said. You hadn't condemned me; but neither had you condoned my anger and bitterness. I was looking for justification for my feelings, and you were offering solutions. Self-pity was comfortable, and I wasn't sure I wanted to be rid of my hatred and bitterness. It would be like losing an old and dear friend.
"Happiness can come only after forgiveness. Whatever decision you make, you won't be happy or free until you forgive." Your words came back.
"But don't you understand? I have a right to be bitter and angry!" Why couldn't you just acknowledge that; pity me a little; and let me go home justified!
You said you would be praying for me, and I knew you were. I believe you prayed earnestly that the Lord would not give me a moment's peace until I turned my tangled life over to Him. At any rate, one sleepless night followed another until in physical and spiritual agony I pleaded with God for peace. I submitted myself to Him.
Submission. That was a word we had discussed. I still didn't know its true meaning, but you had pointed me in the right direction. Now if you could just keep me headed that way. I began to follow the advice you had given, forcing my thoughts out of the rut they had been wearing deeper for so many years. I searched my mind frantically for some positive memory, some happy time from the past. Had I always been this unhappy? Finally one scene came to mind, one pleasant happening in all those years. I relived that scene literally hundreds of times throughout the next few weeks.
I thought positive thoughts and fol lowed your personal system of Bible reading. It worked! I tried it when I was faced with a crisis so overwhelming I could not bear it. But God saw me through, and I was closer to Him than ever before in my life. I was actually feeling a change! God was working a miracle in me!
You were still praying, weren't you? I wasn't really resisting Jesus, yet I felt drawn almost against my will. I wanted to be with Him, but I had wanted the same in the past to no avail. What was happening? How long would it last? Does submission break down barriers and allow us to be drawn by the magnetic power of our Saviour? So many new thoughts to assimilate!
I reached for the telephone many times during the next weeks, only to draw back at the last moment. I just couldn't bother you again; I felt guilty for taking up your time. But the day came when, reluctantly but hungrily, I called and asked to see you again. How could you agree so cheerfully? After that first session, I expected you to breathe a sigh and refuse.
Something kept telling me I was imposing on you. I went through the uncertainty again of wondering whether I should really keep the appointment. I went through that anguish each time I called. I was being a pest. Why should you care what happened to me? But you never made me feel as though you didn't want to see me, and that became very important. You made me feel that I was a worthwhile person, and that you were interested in me as an individual. You accepted me "as is." Could it be true that I didn't have to "clean up my act" before going to Him, too?
Week after week your husband's ministry was also tugging at my heart. I sat in church and wondered whether every one knew he was talking to me. Every week he stepped on my toes unmercifully, and then gently bound the wounds with God's healing love. It was wonderful! Step by step you led me to Christ together.
During all the years I had spent in church and church-related schools I had never known Him, never seen Him in another person's life as I did in yours. Your prayers were like beautiful music. You knew Him so personally, talked to Him like a friend. You inspired me to know Him that way, too, and gave me the hope that I could. You didn't point me to Christ as others had done; you took me by the hand, and introduced me to Him.
I tried to express my appreciation, but you insisted you hadn't done anything. You gave God all the glory, and while I too glorify Him, I find it wonderful that you are so willing to let Him use you.
I wonder at times whether you are aware of the impact you have had on my life. I am not a demonstrative person outwardly, but on the inside I am shouting and praising God at the top of my lungs! And you are responsible. I thank God for you daily and ask that He will give you wisdom with others as He gave you wisdom in dealing with me.
A pastor's wife is always there, the silent partner. She shares her husband's disappointments and joys, knows the apparent failures and feels the happiness, too. And steps quietly into the background as men applaud his success. But I can attest to the fact that pastors' wives have their own successes for Christ that often are never told.
I hope there's room on your crown for my star.
