Nothing in the Pan

Brenda spent the last two nights in our home. It was so I could get a break, take some time to think, to pray.

She said I could stay Sunday night as well, that she would see Jeremiah off to his SERP program (a social thing for handicapped adults) Monday morning before she left for work.

But I came home.

I drove leisurely. I was in no hurry. I let those who were in a rush to get to Portland, to freeways and the bustle of life with fewer trees and more road rage, fly on by.

I stopped a couple of times when the road passed over promising looking streams. I hiked down, looking for sand bars, and scooped rock and sand into my pan (see previous post). The mud would lift away in the current, I picked out the larger stones, swished it around. When I got down to nothing but sand I grew gentle with the rocking, sifting the black sand from the rest, searching for flecks of gold. And in each panful, in each creek and river I paused, there were no glints of gold.

I took the six mile detour to look over the house in Timber, Oregon, the place we lived in when we went off to get married. I haven't been there since 1981.

It was a little confusing. Many of the houses I knew were gone, nicer homes in their places. Several hillsides had been clearcut and the ugly stumps stuck out like the rotting teeth of a meth addict. A lot has changed in the nearly three decades since we lived there.

The bridge near my old home has been replaced, the road straightened. That old house which leaned away from the road is still teetering there, still promising to fall over.

I came home.

Brenda had obviously been busy. The house was clean, the laundry done.

Her demeanor: confident. This weekend had given her the opportunity to salve her conscience a little, doing the work she feels guilty in having me do.

And there was something else.

Last Friday night, while waiting for my seafood dinner at a small restaurant in Astoria, she called, upset. She was crying. She was sorry. She was having a bad day. She had made mistakes at work and everything in her life seemed to be coming apart.

I asked her if she would like me to pray for her.

She did.

So I did. In that restaurant I turned the cell phone so the mic was just in front of my lips and I prayed for her. I whispered into the phone, the waitress looking at me with a question on her face, and then understanding. I prayed God would draw near to her. That the Lord would help her to feel Him near. That she would give up... give up the anger, the resentments, the frustrations, the resistance to His will. I prayed that she would sense the Holy Spirit, wrapping itself about her, comforting her, whispering she was loved, that she was special.

She was grateful for the prayer.

But when I got home... I could sense her confidence again. The willfulness. The taking charge of things that comes easily to her when she is calling the shots around the home, doing chores.

I knew.

She had called him again.

She was back to playing that game, trying to control everything, to have everything. To be in my home, doing the things that made her feel useful, in control of her life.

"Do you want to talk about anything?" I asked.

"No, not really."

"Well, the other day you seemed broken, seemed to need help so much. I prayed for you, prayed that you would find your way back to health, be washed clean.

"Have you been thinking about us?"

"That's all I have been thinking about."

"Well... I think we are pretty much past the thinking stage now. Are you sure you don't want to talk about what happens next? Where we are going?" (I was giving her a chance to come clean.)

"Not really. You have said what you want. I just can't decide what I want."

Yup. I knew for certain. I read her so well. She has contacted him again.

She was folding laundry. Looked like she would be for a while.

"OK. Well, there is something I have to do. I'll be back in a bit."

I got in the van. Drove to Molalla. Drove to his house.

I walked up his drive, he came around the van parked there.

He said he was ready to fight me.

I told him I didn't want to fight, that I would like to find it in myself to love him like a human being, to care for him, but that I was having a lot of trouble bringing myself to do that.

He launched into a littany of his frustrations in this situation. How she keeps coming and going. That he tells her to go back to her family, and then she comes to see him again.

We had trouble taking turns. We both wanted to interupt the other, vent our frustration, vent our anger. Our emotions, his and mine, swung around, anger, jealousy, frustration, bravado, tension. But we slowly grew civil, letting each other speak.

He said he was ready to fight (several times).

I looked at him... sized him up. He has a couple of inches on me, but I am heavier. His biceps are lean and firm, but I know that though mine don't stand out, there is a lot of strength in them. I knew that if I released my anger, released my frustration, we would probably be a fairly even match.

"Come on!" he said. "Hit me. Go ahead. I'm ready for it."

"I can't do that. I am a Christian. I am a Christ Follower. I can't do it. I can't take a swing at you. A part of me wishes you would hit me in the face a couple of times. A couple of good, hard punches. Enough to make this clear I am defending myself."

"Well, let's do it," he said. "I'm willing. I used to act like that all the time. We can go at it until one of us ends up in the hospital."

"No, I can't. There is too big a part of me that says I can't, that I shouldn't, that I won't."

I told him he had to choose. Let her in, or close the door. That I believe she is ill, that she cannot choose. That I am going to force her to choose, and that if he had any integrity he wouldn't allow her in and out of his home either. That he would make her choose. I told him he has hurt me. He has hurt my chldren. He has hurt my wife. I told him I am not going to let this go any further.

He accused me of spying on him. Stalking him is what he said. I set that record straight. I told him that any time I have something to say to him it would be face to face. That he needn't look over his shoulder.

He said he was a man of integrity and that he has told her to go back to her family.

"Look," I replied. "I can understand you may think you have integrity, but in my view that isn't true. I don't want anything from you but for you to stand and hold your position. Choose. I will do the same. I am going to make her choose. And it will be permanent. I am not going to allow you or her to screw with my family anymore. You and Brenda have hurt my children. You have hurt me. You have hurt her. She is too confused. I would like to help her, but she needs to want to help herself.

"I'm going to take you at your word today. I can see your own frustrations, your own hurt. I am going to live my life openly, honestly. If I have anything to say to you it won't be round about. It will be face to face."

"I appreciate that," he said.

I stuck my hand out.

He took it. We shook hands.

"Take care of yourself, John."

I left.

Brenda was still puttering about. I asked her to come into the back yard to talk.

I told her she needs to clean herself up. She needs to become a new person inside. I told her that I don't see she has truly given up, that she is seeking God to heal her.

"I don't know if God wants to help me."

"That's not true. Even now, even after all you have done, He continues to bless you. He holds your very atoms together and gives you complete freedom to choose to do whatever you wish. Good or wicked. You can't blame God for the evil things that have happened to you. What your stepfather did, what I have done, what Jeremiah did... those were the actions of individuals.

"God doesn't pull strings, treat people like puppets. We are all free.

"Hey, I've had a lot of bad things happen to me, and I know God loves me. That is where God really works miracles. Inside. He is inside me. I know he is real and He makes the things that happen bearable. He can also heal you.

"That is the only way you can be happy. You have to give it up.

"I'm willing to take this all over... caring for the boys, paying the bills. I'm willing to sell the house, even though we won't get diddly in this market, and even get an apartment to care for the boys, just to be fair to you.

"But I am not willing to let this standing on the fence to continue.

"I have spent the last two days walking in woods, wading in streams, hiking hills, all while thinking and praying. And much of those prayers were for you.

"But this is it.

"You have 24 hours. Decide.

"If you want my help you must surrender to God. You must stop drinking. Go to AA. See your sponsor. Talk to women in our church. Humble yourself. Get yourself healed, or you will never find happiness.

"If you are willing to get well, I am willing to help you.

"I'm not putting a time limit on your recovery. But I am limiting this continual dance with this other man in our lives. And I'm not sure how long it will take me to believe you have changed, to let you back into my home. I have changed this year and you need to change as well. The point is, you have to change. Drop the crap you carry in your heart and let a miracle happen.

"If you contact him again. If you call him, if you go see him at home or work, if you text message him, if you send him a letter, it's over. I want a divorce.

"And I will know it. I knew it today, and so I went to see him. If you contact him again I will go over there and I know he will tell me the truth."

Her eyes widened.

I told her a bit about my talk with him.

"But this isn't about John. I am willing to love you, to care for you, to help you heal. But I cannot heal you. I cannot fix you. You have to do it.

"I don't care about the things you do around here. I don't need a maid, someone to clean, to do laundry. I need a partner. Someone who will be with me all my life. Someone who will care for me if something happens to me, and someone I can help if they need it from me. I need a partner. I need a soul mate.

"You have 24 hours. If you don't reply in that time, I will assume you are going to continue to play this hurtful game, and I quit. If you won't fill out the divorce papers, I will. If you won't give me those papers, I'll go and get new ones. If you won't help me fill them out, I will hire a lawyer.

"I have spent the last couple of days praying, mostly for you. I will continue to pray for you, but it will be from outside our marriage.

"I'm no longer a wuss. I am no longer whipped. I will not let you do this to me, to my family, anymore. The game is over."

She didn't say much.

She got some clothing for work for Monday.

I told her to come by after work tomorrow to give me her answer.

I've been panning in this creek for too long. I've been looking at my own flaws, washing out the mud from the sand, picking out the rocks. But I'm not going to stay in this same spot any longer.

I'm rinsing out the pan, and I'm hiking on to another spot.

If I spot some gold as I climb away from this creek, good.

If not, I'll be back at the highway soon. I'll start up the van and move on.