Read Online The Other Side of Darkness by Melody Carlson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Melody Carlson
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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.
The girls head off to the kids’ worship service in the gym, but Matthew refuses to go to the high-school youth group that meets in the youth house next door. “I’m not in high school anymore,” he points out. Still, I can tell he’s dragging his heels as he and I walk toward the sanctuary together.
“Ruth!” Cynthia is playing the role of greeter tonight, and she warmly shakes my hand as we enter the sanctuary. “I was just thinking of you.”
“I might as well tell you,” I say with a smile. “I would be honored to be your prayer partner. I believe the Lord has given me the green light. And I’ve already been praying for you and the first Bible study that you’ll teach next week.”
“Bless you! That is really good news!” She turns to Matthew, who is just a step behind me. “And how are you tonight, Matthew?”
He sort of grunts, “Okay,” and I try not to feel too embarrassed.
“Well, I won’t keep you from getting your seats.” She turns to greet the couple coming in behind us.
We’re nearing my favorite place to sit, right in the center andnear the front, when Matthew says under his breath, “I don’t see how you can stand her, Mom.”
“Matthew!” I stare at my son.
“She’s such a fake.”
I give him the look—the you-better-keep-your-mouth-shut-young-man look. And fortunately he seems to get it. Still, I’m appalled at his lack of respect for his elders, and I can’t help but think he’s picking up on things his father 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.
The girls head off to the kids’ worship service in the gym, but Matthew refuses to go to the high-school youth group that meets in the youth house next door. “I’m not in high school anymore,” he points out. Still, I can tell he’s dragging his heels as he and I walk toward the sanctuary together.
“Ruth!” Cynthia is playing the role of greeter tonight, and she warmly shakes my hand as we enter the sanctuary. “I was just thinking of you.”
“I might as well tell you,” I say with a smile. “I would be honored to be your prayer partner. I believe the Lord has given me the green light. And I’ve already been praying for you and the first Bible study that you’ll teach next week.”
“Bless you! That is really good news!” She turns to Matthew, who is just a step behind me. “And how are you tonight, Matthew?”
He sort of grunts, “Okay,” and I try not to feel too embarrassed.
“Well, I won’t keep you from getting your seats.” She turns to greet the couple coming in behind us.
We’re nearing my favorite place to sit, right in the center andnear the front, when Matthew says under his breath, “I don’t see how you can stand her, Mom.”
“Matthew!” I stare at my son.
“She’s such a fake.”
I give him the look—the you-better-keep-your-mouth-shut-young-man look. And fortunately he seems to get it. Still, I’m appalled at his lack of respect for his elders, and I can’t help but think he’s picking up on things his father is
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