The Door: (Memoirs of a Teenage Author)

(This is post #14 of the My Journey to Gritty: Memoirs of a Teenage Author series)


When we got back from Sukkot, I began a spiritual meltdown.
I had been so sure I would meet my husband there at the camp meeting. So sure!
But it hadn’t happened.
Maybe I was just making all this up. Maybe I was nuts. Maybe I had misunderstood.
Depression swept over me. It wouldn’t let up for weeks.
Things weren’t going good on my possibly-imaginary-husband’s end either. Every time I prayed for him, I could hear him whispering, “I don’t need her, God. I don’t need any woman.”
“Oh! Thanks!” I’d sarcastically hiss back under my breath. “Here I’ve been praying for you all this time and you’re declaring that you don’t need me?! You have no idea how much I already pour into your life!”
Needless to say, things were a wee bit tense. And my edginess was starting to show up to my family. My mood was so low my parents grew concerned. This wasn’t natural to my personality.
We got electricity and running water turned on in the trailers. Winter was coming on and it was terribly cold, but at least we could buy space heaters, and flush the toilet without hauling in water from the creek.
Even still, the darkness swirling about me continued to grow.

Then, one day about two weeks after Sukkot, Dad caught me before I could slip away to work.
He hugged me for a long time, and prayed for me, then let me go with a strange look in his eye.
I hardly noticed, and left for work without asking him about it. However, later I found out that God had told him the only way my soul could be healed.
Dad didn’t like the divine answer, but he loved me enough to take a leap of faith.

The next day, my husband’s “don’t need a woman” tune changed.
“Okay, fine! I need her… I need her…”
I was giddy with excitement when I heard his words. Finally! 
I bounced into my parents’ room with my hands clasped together in excitement.
“My husband finally admitted that he needs me!” I squealed. “Isn’t that awesome?!”
Mom kinda smiled, like she usually did. “That’s great, sweetie.”
I bounced back to my room to write, feeling good for the first time in a long time.

Less than a week later, my parents mentioned that we were going to have our first dinner guest. It was that suspicious guy from Sukkot. They said that he was a handyman, and that he was coming to “check out the roof”, which was still leaking.
For some reason, I didn’t quite buy their explanation. (Although, for the record, it was strange that I was suspicious because my parents never made a habit of lying to me.)
Therefore, I voiced my doubts to my middle brother the next afternoon while we were working, hoping that he might have some additional information.
He had additional intel alright.
“Yeah… that guy’s not coming because we need the roof fixed. They’re thinking he’s someone special. They’re thinking that he might be the one for you, sis.”
I… was… furious!
My parents were trying to set me up with someone?! How dare they?! They knew that I was constantly praying for my future husband. They knew I was getting specific tidbits of knowledge about him. How could they stab me in the back and go around me like this?
After the first rush of emotion, I slowly calmed and started thinking logically.
I was raised to be a submissive, obedient girl, but I was also raised to be smart-submissive. I was independent enough to be offended, but also knowledgeable enough about my parents to realize that they wouldn’t arrange a marriage for me. Obviously there were some wires crossed between hither and yon. All I had to do was talk to them and straighten this out and everything would be okay.
So I went to my room to pray.
“God… what do I do? You see what’s happened. Is this stranger my husband?”
Surprisingly, I got a quick, clear answer.
“He’s the door to your husband.”
Now that was exciting! Maybe Mom and Dad weren’t so off base after all! Maybe they had just misunderstood.

That night, I went to talk to my parents. I planned what I would say, and just laid my cards on the table.
“Listen… I know that you two think that this guy’s the one for me. And I prayed about it. But I really don’t feel like he’s actually my husband. I feel like he’s the door to my husband. Like… he’ll lead us to him. But he’s not my husband. Okay?”
Mom and Dad nodded with stoic expressions. “Okay, sweetie.”
I felt like my point had been made, so I didn’t worry about it anymore.
Instead, I began eagerly anticipating the stranger’s arrival. He obviously knew my husband. Maybe they were friends? Maybe he would even bring him along to dinner? That would be awesome!
The two days I had to wait were long.

Click here to read the next post in this series: Meeting Blackbeard

No comments:

Post a Comment