Betty, they do not need Me.”
By now I was wide awake. This thought deeply disturbed me. Was I blocking my husband and daughter from God?
I fought off a desire to turn away from these painful revelations about myself, but there was no condemnation in the Presence. Only loving concern. Then it seemed that the two of us were seated side by side in front of a screen on which a series of scenes from my life were flashed.
Scene: My parents, younger brothers and I are driving in our old Hudson car to church on a hot summer day. The car has no air conditioning, yet I angrily shout at my sweltering brothers that the windows must be kept shut or my hairdo will be ruined.
Scene: Our kitchen soon after my marriage to John. At 5:30 a.m. I am baking biscuits when John sleepily appears, asking why the early rising. “I want your mother to know that you have a wife who gets up early every morning to fix your breakfast.”
Scene: In a local department store I spend hours trying to find matching mother-daughter outfits for Brenda and me. I explain the intensity of my search to the clerk: “It gives my daughter a sense of security to dress like her mommy.”
Scene: Late at night in our bedroom. I give the room a romantic aura by lighting some candles. Next comes a spray of perfume. John watches me from the bed with mixed emotions. “Just one time I’d like you to forget the trappings, come into my arms and say that all you really want is me,” he says.
Scene: John and I are talking one evening in our home. He has met a young husband and wife who have had such marital troubles that their infidelities are well known about town. “They’re looking for help,” says John, “and I’d like to have them for dinner and then take them to our church afterwards.” I tell John that the neighbors might think it strange if we identify with people of low reputation, that it would be best for them to go to church directly and have my father minister to their needs.
All of these scenes on the surface might seem fairly typical of family life. Yet as each one flashed before me I was gently made aware of a truth about myself.
My determination to protect my hairdo in the car, at the expense of others, was not only self-centeredness, it was the beginning of a pattern to get my own way.
My early arising to bake biscuits was not to show John how much I loved him, but to impress others with what a good wife I was.
My great search to find matching mother-daughter outfits was not for Brenda’s security as much as an effort to tie my daughter closer to me.
The candles and perfume act was not to make it easier for me to give myself more completely to my husband. It was a bit of fantasy on my part to make our physical relationship seem better than it was and to give me story material to impress others with the romantic quality of our marriage.
My turndown of the adulterous couple was the most devastating scene of all. Seeing my self-righteousness and pride made me want to hide my head under the pillow in shame. How this act must have grieved the Spirit of God. Tears flowed down my cheeks. “Forgive me, Lord. Forgive me.”
The Presence did not have to say a word, nor did He try to soften the impact. I felt awed by the exposure of my selfish, arrogant nature. When the tears of repentance came, there was comfort and reassurance in His manner. And then once again I saw on the screen His Word for me in clear block letters: Thou shalt have no other gods before me.
The image faded; the Presence was gone. I raised myself from my pillow slightly to look about my hospital room. The hum of the window air-conditioner was unchanged. The bottle of liquid nourishment suspended behind my head continued to drip-drip through the tubing into my veins. The drain from my abdominal cavity continued to draw off poison into a jar underneath the bed. Everything was unchanged outside of myself. Inside I was different. I reached the call button to ask the nurse for
By now I was wide awake. This thought deeply disturbed me. Was I blocking my husband and daughter from God?
I fought off a desire to turn away from these painful revelations about myself, but there was no condemnation in the Presence. Only loving concern. Then it seemed that the two of us were seated side by side in front of a screen on which a series of scenes from my life were flashed.
Scene: My parents, younger brothers and I are driving in our old Hudson car to church on a hot summer day. The car has no air conditioning, yet I angrily shout at my sweltering brothers that the windows must be kept shut or my hairdo will be ruined.
Scene: Our kitchen soon after my marriage to John. At 5:30 a.m. I am baking biscuits when John sleepily appears, asking why the early rising. “I want your mother to know that you have a wife who gets up early every morning to fix your breakfast.”
Scene: In a local department store I spend hours trying to find matching mother-daughter outfits for Brenda and me. I explain the intensity of my search to the clerk: “It gives my daughter a sense of security to dress like her mommy.”
Scene: Late at night in our bedroom. I give the room a romantic aura by lighting some candles. Next comes a spray of perfume. John watches me from the bed with mixed emotions. “Just one time I’d like you to forget the trappings, come into my arms and say that all you really want is me,” he says.
Scene: John and I are talking one evening in our home. He has met a young husband and wife who have had such marital troubles that their infidelities are well known about town. “They’re looking for help,” says John, “and I’d like to have them for dinner and then take them to our church afterwards.” I tell John that the neighbors might think it strange if we identify with people of low reputation, that it would be best for them to go to church directly and have my father minister to their needs.
All of these scenes on the surface might seem fairly typical of family life. Yet as each one flashed before me I was gently made aware of a truth about myself.
My determination to protect my hairdo in the car, at the expense of others, was not only self-centeredness, it was the beginning of a pattern to get my own way.
My early arising to bake biscuits was not to show John how much I loved him, but to impress others with what a good wife I was.
My great search to find matching mother-daughter outfits was not for Brenda’s security as much as an effort to tie my daughter closer to me.
The candles and perfume act was not to make it easier for me to give myself more completely to my husband. It was a bit of fantasy on my part to make our physical relationship seem better than it was and to give me story material to impress others with the romantic quality of our marriage.
My turndown of the adulterous couple was the most devastating scene of all. Seeing my self-righteousness and pride made me want to hide my head under the pillow in shame. How this act must have grieved the Spirit of God. Tears flowed down my cheeks. “Forgive me, Lord. Forgive me.”
The Presence did not have to say a word, nor did He try to soften the impact. I felt awed by the exposure of my selfish, arrogant nature. When the tears of repentance came, there was comfort and reassurance in His manner. And then once again I saw on the screen His Word for me in clear block letters: Thou shalt have no other gods before me.
The image faded; the Presence was gone. I raised myself from my pillow slightly to look about my hospital room. The hum of the window air-conditioner was unchanged. The bottle of liquid nourishment suspended behind my head continued to drip-drip through the tubing into my veins. The drain from my abdominal cavity continued to draw off poison into a jar underneath the bed. Everything was unchanged outside of myself. Inside I was different. I reached the call button to ask the nurse for
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