Chapter 58
November 1998
W
e entered the room to discover a huge wooden cross laid in the center of the floor. Folding chairs encircled the cross; underneath each seat was a piece of paper and pencil. Forty-four ladies and I took our seats.
I had reluctantly left home two days earlier for the women’s retreat. I didn’t want to leave behind my children, but since this was the third time someone had offered to sponsor me, Peter encouraged me to accept the invitation. He reassured me that the kids would be fine, so I packed my belongings for the three-night retreat – ambivalent and nervous.
We received our instructions regarding what to do with the paper and pencil. The room turned silent as we pondered the things we wanted to nail to the cross – a metaphor for letting go of the burdens that interfered with and even worked against the life God had in store for us.
I knew immediately what I needed to let go of:
him
.
It had been eleven years since I found the strength to leave him.
I had long since forgiven him for the pain he caused me. The anger that I had experienced when I returned to Gallaudet for my junior year was short-lived. Later, when I learned that he was still having a hard time getting over me, my anger became pity, then guilt.
Guilt for causing him so much grief.
Guilt over our affair. I felt responsible for the whole thing.
I’d been carrying guilt for the past eleven years. It had haunted me every time I was reminded of him.
I sat and pondered all of this. I hadn’t yet mustered the courage to write down his name. One by one, ladies rose from their seats and took their turns swinging the hammer. It was emotional for many, evidenced by the tears and sorrow on their faces. Some would complete the activity without expressing much at all. Others would break down, sobbing. Some would share what they had written; others couldn’t.
Was it possible that God could forgive me for what I had done? For reasons I did not understand, it was easier for me to forgive
him
than to forgive myself. I wanted to believe I could be forgiven. I knew I needed to be forgiven.
At last, I wrote his name, praying silently, begging God for His forgiveness. I folded the paper in half and then into quarters before standing. I picked up a thick nail, walked toward the cross, knelt beside it, placed the folded paper onto the wood, and pounded the nail through the center.
I did not say a single word. There was no need. This was between the Lord and me. Though my hand was shaking, I managed to hit the nail harder the second time. I pounded repeatedly until the nail drove deeply into the wood. All of it – the affair, the guilt – was now Christ’s.
I had made a terrible mistake. Whether it was my fault or not, it couldn’t be undone. Yet it could be forgiven.
It was forgiven.
I was forgiven.
Chapter 59
December 1998
M
y heart raced as I prayed silently that Peter would do a good job. I knew practically everyone in the congregation, and I was worried about what they would think.
In front of me, in the pulpit, Peter stood. A few weeks earlier, he had talked to someone about the church’s vacant pastoral position. The church we were attending had been without a permanent pastor for ten years and was seeking one for its Deaf congregation. That’s why Peter was standing in the pulpit – he was invited as a guest speaker to preach the sermon.
Just before my attending the women’s retreat, Peter had dropped the bomb. He informed me that he had been thinking about changing his career – going into the ministry and possibly becoming a pastor. “It is something that has been nudging me for some time,” he said.
“You? A pastor? Are you kidding?” I responded, without thinking.
“I’m serious.”
“I am sorry,” I said. “But I just can’t imagine you being a pastor.” It was the truth. Peter as a pastor? No way. Not that he wasn’t a good person. He was. Not that he wasn’t compassionate. He was. Not that he couldn’t relate to people easily. He could. Not that that he didn’t know ASL well enough. He signed fluently. I couldn’t figure out exactly what it was. All I knew was that I just could not imagine him being a pastor.
At the women’s retreat, I had listened to Julie, one of the presenters, share her testimony. Since she was a little girl, all she’d ever wanted to be was a pastor’s wife. Unbelievable. Why would anyone long to be a pastor’s wife?
Then, it hit me. It wasn’t that I couldn’t imagine Peter being a pastor. I couldn’t, I just couldn’t, imagine myself being a pastor’s wife. How could I possibly hold such a title if I knew so little about the Bible? What’s more, I’d always been an introvert, reserved and quiet. How would that work at church socials?
By the end of Peter’s sermon, I was awed. He delivered it with clarity. And, for the first time, I clearly understood God’s message. That night, after our bedtime routine – giving our kids baths, serving their snack, reading aloud, and tucking them in – I sat down with Peter on the sofa.
“You were so good,” I confessed.
“You really think so?” Peter asked, looking relieved.
I recognized what I needed to do. I had to put aside my fears and my pride. Deaf people deserved to have a pastor. How would I fill such a role as a pastor’s wife? I wasn’t sure.
“If you feel that’s your calling, I’ll give you my full support,” I said.
God’s ways are mysterious. In this move for our family, God had answered one of my prayers – the one I had prayed since my conversation with Bridgetta when I was thirteen. I had wanted to learn more about God and His Word, but every time I’d opened the Bible, I felt overwhelmed. So, I quit trying. But God didn’t give up on me.
In fact, I would learn more than I’d imagined I could learn. And although my role as a pastor’s wife would be challenging, even unpleasant at times, I recognized years later that He had allowed the experiences, the relationships, the loneliness, and the mistakes I’d made to prepare me for my new role at Peter’s side.
Chapter 60
August 1999
W
ith my hands in the air, I squealed as our car sped down the twisted roller coaster track at Hershey Park. It was Tuesday, the least crowded day of the week. There were no long lines, so we hopped from one ride to another all day long.
Walking hand in hand toward the next ride, I looked at Peter and admitted, “I wish we could have an extra day or two together.”
It was our tenth anniversary getaway. Peter had wanted to escape for a week, but I didn’t want to be away from our children that long. We negotiated, and I agreed reluctantly to a four-day trip. We had brought along our bicycles, wanting to explore back roads in New York. Unfortunately, on our way to a bed and breakfast, our bicycle rack broke, sending our bicycles somersaulting through the air before landing on the shoulder. Thankfully, no car was behind us, but our bicycles were beyond repair.
So instead, we spent the next two days strolling along small town main streets and exploring charming shops. We dined at various restaurants. And on our way home, we made an unplanned stop at Hershey Park for our last day together.
It was during this trip that I found myself falling in love with Peter all over again. I was pleasantly surprised at my responses to Peter’s sexual advances – I had welcomed them and enjoyed our loving moments together. I even shed joyous tears during our lovemaking – we were going to be okay!
This breakthrough didn’t happen overnight though. After eight years of marriage, I had turned to the Lord and begged Him for his mercy. Each time Peter and I made love, I began praying silently before and during our lovemaking: “Lord, help me get through this. Help me relax. Help me.” I couldn’t seem to allow myself to enjoy the sexual experience. Years of misuse of sex by others too early in my life, a lack of appreciation and understanding for sex within marriage, and the guilt of the affair all had culminated in making this part of our lives miserable, but we felt like we were turning a corner.
Our trip also awakened us to the fact that we needed time together (alone) on a regular basis. I had never seen Mom and Dad go out on dates, and didn’t see the need. But I learned. With young children, work schedules, and tight budgets, it was difficult to follow through. But we managed to be creative. When the kids were young, we’d excuse them from table after supper while we remained for thirty minutes to catch up with each other. Our kids quickly learned not to disturb our conversation. On Wednesdays, we’d send our kids to bed thirty minutes early so that we could have a late candlelight dinner. As the kids grew older, Peter and I spent evenings together after their bedtime – eating our dessert and talking. During their teen years, our older kids gladly babysat our youngest two so that we could go out for dinner or a walk.
We’d been through a long, dark valley, but now I was beginning to see the possibility that we could have a healthy marriage.
Chapter 61
January 2000
M
y role as a pastor’s wife began dreadfully.
Someone approached me in the church hallway one Sunday morning, shortly after Peter had begun his new position, and declared: “Perfect. I’ve wanted to talk to you about Bible study.” She explained that they didn’t have a women’s Bible study and wanted to start one. And that I would be the one to lead.
“Why don’t you ask someone else?” I asked. All the other ladies were older than me; surely one of them knew a lot about the Bible and would like to lead. What I meant, but didn’t say out loud, was that I knew there was no way I could lead.
“Pastor’s wife’s job,” she said. “At my old church, the pastor’s wife always led the study.” The lady who stood by her nodded in agreement.
What additional responsibilities are there,
I wondered. I had already complied with whatever expectations the church family had placed on me. After all, I had told Peter I would give him my full support.
Every night, I struggled through the Bible passages and questions in my study book as Peter patiently helped me. They were hard. Peter encouraged me to step down from leading, but my pride wouldn’t let me. No way was I going to let the ladies know I was unintelligent or incapable.
Pride. Inferiority. Where did they come from? Actually, I knew the answer. Mom and Dad felt it themselves. Mom and Dad had never said I was stupid. Nor had they said I wasn’t smart. Instead, Mom always compared her upbringing with mine, which led to guilt:
“You are lucky you always have a good time.” Guilt.
“You are lucky you are allowed to sign in school.” Guilt.
“You are lucky you don’t have as many chores as I did.” Guilt.
“You are lucky you get birthday and Christmas presents.” Guilt.
And, “You are lucky you have a better education than we did.” GUILT.
Guilt is a funny thing. For much of my early life, I worked hard to show Mom and Dad that I was not smarter than they were. But it was unavoidable. When they needed help or didn’t understand something, they turned to me.
I felt at home among Mom and Dad’s circle of friends. But among my classmates, their parents, or my teachers, it was a different story. They, too, were Deaf, but from a different class. Most of the parents and teachers had attended Gallaudet and held college degrees. The level and depth of their conversations were not the same as mine, and they didn’t look at me as special. In other words, my intelligence was a given, not unique.
The combination of my guilt for being smarter than Mom and Dad, and my inferiority among MSD teachers, parents, and classmates had me subconsciously stuck between wanting to learn and holding myself back. Lack of affirmation at home didn’t help either.
When I first wrote
him
letters, he had said they were beautiful. Compliment. He had enjoyed reading them. Compliment. He also said I had an excellent grasp of the language. Compliment. Why he bothered to comment on my language, I’m not sure. Was it in reference to something I had written in my letter? Was it because I told him I had thrown away my drafts? Was it because he recognized my lack of self-confidence when I was a student of his?
Had I
totally
believed him? No, because I had struggled with the issue for many years afterward. Yet, a wee tiny seed of confidence was planted. The words of encouragement were what I needed, and I clung to them, wanting to believe they were true.
My leading Bible study had watered that seed waiting to sprout. I discovered my gift of teaching – I was good at presenting information in a clear and understandable fashion. I was able to draw people into sharing their feelings and thoughts. I created an environment where all kinds of questions, no matter how trivial or seemingly stupid, were welcomed.
I also discovered that I had the gift of wisdom. Ladies of all ages sought advice about everything: nutrition, disciplining children, finances, and resolving marital issues. And quite often, I had answers that were both constructive and reassuring.
Looking back, I had worried more about appearing intelligent and comparing myself to others than allowing myself to learn. Now, however, so many of the questions and challenges presented to me seemed to be a matter of common sense. And when I didn’t have any answer, that was okay, too. I was realizing that my intelligence was not tied to what I knew (or didn’t know). Nor was it the basis for my self-worth – one less pretense in my life.
Chapter 62
2000 – 2005
O
ver the next several years, God’s Word had transformed me, slowly but surely.
My transformation parallels my experience watching television while growing up. During the 1970s, our family had enjoyed watching
The Love Boat, The Incredible Hulk, Charlie’s Angels, Little House on the Prairie, The Six Million Dollar Man,
and other shows of that era. Then, in the early 1980s, our lives change dramatically. To the delight of the Deaf community, we could connect a decoder to our TV, and for the first time, read the dialogue through closed-captioning. Finally, we could enjoy shows in their context; we could understand everything that was happening. And, I immediately realized that I could never
ever
sit through a noncaptioned show again.
That was my experience when I discovered the Truth – God’s Word. As I began to really understand it, I couldn’t and didn’t want to return to my old way of life. My utmost desire was now to seek His ways. I was fed up with all the lies that were my life. Truth was something I had never experienced growing up. In our house, there were no honest answers to simple questions. It was always a guessing game. I never knew exactly what went through Mom and Dad’s minds. I never knew exactly how they felt. I never knew what pleased them.
With God, it was different. I had been overwhelmed with His agape love. I was loved for who I was. There were no ifs, ands, or buts. He loved me – flaws and all. In other words, there was nothing I could do to make Him love me more. And, His Word remained the same – yesterday, today, and tomorrow.
The words on the calligraphy gift we received for our wedding now made sense. The Bible does have answers for work, marriage, raising a family, and all our other experiences in life.
Although Peter and I had brought some baggage into our marriage, we were able to work through it. We found ourselves growing closer in all areas of our lives. The more we studied God’s Word, the better we understood what it meant to love each other unconditionally, to honor and respect each other, to submit to one another selflessly, and to give without expecting anything in return. Every year, we’d tell each other that we could not imagine our marriage getting any better. But, in fact, it was.
Home was a safe place for me – the only place I could be totally myself. I could share my feelings and thoughts freely. I was confident in my role as a mother – parenting had come to me so naturally. I could act silly around my family without worrying about their reactions. I laughed easily. I teased often. Life at home was filled with joy.
Despite the difficult years I had endured, by God’s grace, I was able to maintain a positive outlook on life. My laid-back personality was a blessing; I dealt with various situations calmly and effectively. Our house was filled with kids from our neighborhood. They came and went all day long. Being Deaf had its advantages. I didn’t mind the loud noises the children made – laughing and screaming. I didn’t mind the mess they created.
Outside home, however, my confidence wavered. I became easily tongue-tied around people I considered smarter, more well-known, or out-spoken than me. I felt uncomfortable in large groups of people. I also did not trust people easily. It took me a very long time to open up to those I came in contact with regularly. Though people commented on my radiant smile, easy-going personality, and ability to maintain composure under stress, no one really knew me.
There was no doubt that my transformation had taken place. I was filled with joy and peace I’d never known before. Things I largely overlooked in the past, telling white lies, avoiding resolving conflicts, listening to gossip, and reading books or watching TV with vulgar or sexually explicit content, were no longer tolerable. I relied on the Bible when teaching my children life lessons: the importance of forgiveness, showing compassion to others, and especially remaining pure until marriage.
Yet, two things remained unchanged. My past was still a secret. And, I still longed for genuine friendships.