The Other Side of Darkness (7 page)

Turning my back on both of them, I head to the laundry room for a bucket and some disinfectant. Then as I’m cleaning up my son’s vomit, I am infuriated to hear Rick gently consoling Matthew, actually using a soothing voice as if everything’s going to be just fine. He even helps Matthew to bed and takes off his shoes like he’s a toddler!

I’ve just finished cleaning up the nasty mess as best I can for tonight—although I’m certain the carpet will need to be steam-cleaned tomorrow—when Rick comes out of Matthew’s room and actually chuckles.

“You think this is funny?” I stand with the bucket in one hand and a soggy rag in the other.

“It’s just life, Ruth. It happens.”

“Your eighteen-year-old son comes home plastered, and you act like it’s
no big deal?”

“Hey, we’ve all done it at some point in life. The good thing is that he—”

“I cannot believe you!”

“You’re going to wake the girls, Ruth.”

I am seething. How can my husband act like it’s perfectly normal for our son to do something like this? As if underage drinking, or drinking at all, is perfectly acceptable—humorous even? What is happening to this family? Surely God’s judgment will be rained down upon all of us before long. And perhaps it’s what we deserve. I’ve heard Pastor Glenn preach enough about God’s judgment and wrath that I don’t want to be on the receiving end.

Still fuming, I take the bucket and rags to the laundry room. I refill the bucket with more hot water, then attack the carpet, scrubbing and rinsing again and again, trying to eradicate the smell as much as I want to eradicate the sin from my son’s life. And from this family. It seems that we’re all steeped in sin.

As I take the last bucketful back to the laundry room, I can hear Rick watching television in the family room. The Lord only knows what kind of garbage he’s watching at this hour. I’m not even sure that I care. I tiptoe off to the master bathroom and take a long, hot shower, imagining that it’s fire burning away the sin. I scrub until my skin is red and raw and there isn’t a drop of hot water left. If Rick wants a shower, he’ll have to wait or take a cold one. Perhaps an icy shower will wake him up—wake him up to the reality of our messed-up lives. When will that man become the spiritual leader that this family needs? Will he ever? In some ways my husband is
just like my dad. Married to his job and checked out of his family. Maybe this is my punishment. My never-ending punishment.

As I go to bed, I realize that I didn’t get a chance to tell Rick that I replaced the money I gave to the family in need. But maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe it’s too late to fix this thing after all. Maybe I really am hopeless. And maybe my family is hopeless too. I feel tears coming now, the aching kind of tears that come from deep, dark places inside.

God, help me. God, help me. God, help me …
I pray this again and again, hoping the soothing rhythm, similar to the sound of a train rumbling down the tracks, will lull my wounded spirit to sleep. But I fear I am heading toward a great big boulder, a train wreck just waiting to happen.

I
usually feel better in the morning. I think it has to do with the sunlight. But today is cloudy and gray, and my spirits seem to match. Still, I go through the paces, fixing the girls’ breakfast, driving them to school. But after they’re safely delivered, I don’t feel ready to go home. I don’t want to see Matthew, probably still green around the gills and sporting an attitude. And I really don’t want to face Rick just yet, although I doubt that he’s even up.

So I park the minivan on the back side of the church parking lot, take out my leather-bound Bible, and begin to read in Isaiah. It’s the prophetic section of the book, and I read some parts I’ve heard Pastor Glenn teach on. But the words just seem to float over my head, and I fear their meaning is far beyond me—something only people like Pastor Glenn or Cynthia can understand. And yet there is something soothing about this spiritual exercise, and so I read on. It’s as if something is still under my control. And I get a sense of safety here, snuggled up in my minivan, parked near the rear entrance of the church. As if the Lord’s big umbrella of protection extends from the church walls and out over me. And I imagine that reading the Bible is cleansing me, washing away all the crud from the previous evening.

I nearly jump out of my seat when I hear a tapping on the driver’s side window. I turn to see Cynthia standing outside in the drizzly rain that has just begun to fall.

I roll down the window and smile at her.

“Are you okay?” she asks with a concerned expression.

I nod. “Yes. I think I am now.”

“I’ve had such a burden for you this morning.”

“You’re getting wet. Do you want to come inside?”

She hurries around to the other side and slides into the passenger seat.

“Sorry, it’s kind of messy in here,” I say quickly. “You know how it is with kids.” Then, of course, I immediately regret that comment since Cynthia is single with no children.

She just smiles, albeit a bit stiffly. Then she reaches over and puts her hand on my arm. “Now, tell me, Ruth, how is it going?
Really.”

Caught off guard by the intensity of her gaze and the knowledge that she is gifted at knowing what’s below the surface of things, I almost break. I almost pour out all my fears and insecurities and worries about my family and how Matthew came home drunk last night and how I got so angry at my husband. But in the nick of time, I stop myself. A lifetime of training, of covering up my real feelings, kicks itself into gear, and I put on my flat face, followed up by a smile. “The phoning went really well last night! I’m about a third of the way through the list. And there was this one woman, a single mom named Candy, who was really eager to come to the concert. She said she’s been looking for a church family.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” She peers closely at me again. “So everything is really okay with you, then?”

“Yes. I just wanted a quiet place to sit and read for a bit.” I hold up my well-worn Bible. “With Rick’s different schedule, working swing shift, and then there’s Matthew at home. He doesn’t usually
go to the bookstore until later in the morning … Well, having a quiet time can be kind of difficult at my house.”

She smiles. “I can just imagine. But you know you can always come into the church library to read. With the cold weather coming, I’m sure it could get pretty chilly out here in the parking lot.”

“That’s a great idea.”

“I wanted to let you know that I passed your comments along to Pastor Glenn.”

“My comments?”

“Your concerns about some of the rumors circulating around in the church.”

“Oh …”

She sighs deeply. “Pastor Glenn suspected that you’d been talking to your friend Colleen McKinley.”

My cheeks grow warm. I should’ve known that he’d figure this out. Why was I so stupid?

She pats my arm. “Don’t worry, Ruth. Pastor Glenn doesn’t blame you for the rumors. He knows what’s going on. But he did want you to know that he’s got some concerns and that Colleen and Dennis have been having problems.”

“Problems?”

“Yes. I can’t divulge the nature of their problems, but I can tell you that it’s definitely impacting their walk with the Lord.”

I nod without saying anything.

“We’ve really been doing some spiritual warfare on behalf of their family. I’m sure that you will do the same.”

“Of course.” Now I feel guilty for not having spent much time with Colleen lately. “I had no idea they were having problems. I would’ve been praying for them all along.”

“Unfortunately, I must warn you to keep your distance from Colleen. You must be careful in your friendship with her, wise as a serpent and innocent as a dove. Colleen’s spiritual vision is probably impaired right now, and we wouldn’t want her to lead you astray.” She smiles. “Because Pastor Glenn feels you have strong leadership potential.”

“Really?”

“Yes. He says you have a servant’s heart and an obedient spirit—wonderful traits in a believer.”

I sit up straighter, genuinely touched that my pastor has noticed these things about me.

“Now, I have a favor to ask you, Ruth, but I want you to really pray about it before you answer.”

“Okay.”

“Well, as you know, women’s Bible studies start up next week. And I realize that you’ve been attending Laura Fletcher’s Bible study for several years, but I would like for you to come to my study, and I would like to have you as my prayer partner.”

“Your prayer partner?” I’m overwhelmed by this unexpected invitation.
Cynthia Leman’s prayer partner
. That’s a position only a spiritually mature person would be asked to fill.

“Yes.” She sighs. “You probably heard that Susan and Jeff Saunders relocated to the East Coast last spring. I had to finish out the year without a real prayer partner.”

“I remember that now. What a loss. Susan must’ve been a wonderful prayer partner.” I’d always admired Susan. She seemed so together and so deeply spiritual.

Cynthia nods. “I miss her. But I’ve been praying for her replacement,
and I think you could be a wonderful support to me. Would you prayerfully consider this?”

“You can count on it!”

“Thank you.” Then she opens the passenger door. “And I won’t take up any more of your valuable quiet time.”

“Oh, that’s okay.”

“See you at church tonight?”

“Certainly.”

“And maybe you’ll know your answer by then.”

I nod. But I feel sure that I already know my answer. It would be a huge honor to be Cynthia’s prayer partner! And suddenly my gloom about my life and my son and my husband seems to evaporate like the drizzle that’s just letting up. It feels like the Lord is opening doors for me, amazingly moving me into a position of real leadership at our church! How long I have wished for something like this to happen to me. And now it is! I am so excited that I sing praise songs all the way back home.

Rick is in the garage when I get home, changing the oil in his pickup. I go out and say a cheerful hello to him.

He smiles cautiously. “Nice to see you’re not still mad at me.”

I wave my hand. “No no … And I’m sorry that I sort of blamed you about Matthew last night. Will you forgive me?”

“No problem.”

“Is Matthew up yet?”

He nods as he checks the level on the dipstick. “But he’s not feeling too great.”

“Good.” I want him to suffer as much as possible. I want him to learn that drinking will only bring him trouble.

“And I did have a more serious talk with him.” Rick wipes his hands on an oily blue rag.

“Did Matthew listen?”

“He seemed to. He said he definitely doesn’t plan to drink again.”

“Do you think he really meant it?”

Rick shrugs. “Hard to say. What would you say if you were in his shoes?”

“Well, I do know that he’s not working tonight, so I think I’ll make him come to church with the girls and me.”

“Guess that can’t hurt.”

“Can’t hurt?” I frown at him.

“I mean, if that’s part of his punishment.”

“Going to church is
not
punishment, Rick.”

“Maybe not for you. But it is for some people.” He sticks his head under the hood of his pickup, almost as if he wants to escape my reaction to this statement.

I stand on the step that goes to the house, and I briefly consider telling him about Cynthia’s invitation. But something stops me. Perhaps that would be like casting my pearls before swine. Not that I think my husband’s a pig exactly. But sometimes he just doesn’t understand spiritual things.

“I replaced that three hundred dollars in the checking account,” I call out to him as I open the door to the house.

“Huh?” He sticks his head out and looks at me with a curious expression, and it’s clear I have his full attention now. It figures that he’ll listen to me when it comes to money. Where your treasure is …

“I deposited it into our checking account. So you don’t have to worry about it anymore.”

“How’d you do that?”

I pause with my hand on the doorknob. “Maybe it’s not important to know
how
I did it as long as you know that I
did
it.”

He shrugs. “Yeah, sure, as long as you didn’t rob a bank or take out a loan or anything stupid. If the money’s back, I guess I don’t really care.”

“And I’ve been thinking that I should probably look for a part-time job,” I say as I step inside the house.

He brightens. “Yeah, that’d be good, Ruth.”

I sort of wish I hadn’t said that, since I’m still not really sure, but I guess I’ll just leave it at that. It’s not that I don’t want to look for a job. But I suppose I’m just doubtful that I could really find one—anything beyond working at McDonald’s, that is. Maybe I’m just underestimating myself again. It’s possible that things are changing for me. After all, Cynthia Leman and Pastor Glenn both seem to recognize my potential. Maybe I’m just too hard on myself.

I console myself with these thoughts as I turn on my favorite Christian radio station and give the house a very thorough cleaning, even rewashing the hallway carpet. Hoping to save money on steam cleaning, I scrub and scrub until I’m fairly certain that I’ve purged all traces of Matthew’s indiscretion. With each scrubbing stroke I beg for the Lord’s guidance and discipline for my wayward son.
Show him your way!
I silently repeat over and over.

I take several breaks from cleaning, locking myself in the bathroom as I get down on my knees to earnestly pray about Cynthia’s invitation to be her prayer partner. And while I’m at it, I pray for the spiritual welfare of my family as well. I even take the time to ask the Lord to help me find a good part-time job, pleading with him to direct me and to open some doors. And I believe he’s going to do it.
By the time I pick up the girls from school, I know it’s been a good day. Things are under control again.

For the most part, Matthew keeps a low profile all day, wisely staying out of my way while I clean and then fix dinner. And after he rinses and loads the dinner dishes into the dishwasher, he doesn’t even complain about going to midweek worship service with us. I’m sure that he’s hoping this will wipe his slate clean, that maybe I’ll forget he came home drunk last night.