She sat stunned, unsure how to receive the news. The thought of it, how he had been taught, was beyond her comprehension. His grandfather had lived that way, finding “great return on his investment” by diversifying his wealth and allegiances among many. Little did she know this included his affections.
“How many?” she inquired. “I have been honest and faithful to you. You need be honest with me. That’s the least you can do.” He paused, holding her close, this man her husband of many years. He did love her, sure. But she in her poor offering to him was not enough. Investing only in her was too risky, his grandfather’s example had led. Where she lacked, or withheld, he would find elsewhere. “Four hundred and twenty three,” he finally replied. “Or maybe groups making up that number.”
The number was unthinkable. “Four hundred twenty three? What? What? What does that mean?” Her mind could not imagine the depth of his betrayal, his “diversification.” She felt frozen, her body, still being held in his arms. She could feel nothing but the gasping beat of her heart. Still he held her, lest she disintegrate into a thousand pieces onto the floor. And as she began to feel the thaw, and the actual fracturing of her soul, each tortuous moment brought her farther into the truth of their relationship, truth she had to face.
“Can I not be all for you?” she whispered. “Give you all I have withheld, so you need not look elsewhere?” “I do not think you can fulfill my needs,” he replied stepping away from her, pretty boy that he was.
They had been remodeling a home, painting walls and freshening a space they had inhabited for years. They had always been a team, and like any couple had their differences. How had they allowed these errors in thought and action lead to this awful revelation? As she sat struggling to make sense of the whole thing a plethora of thoughts paraded through her mind: “What do I do now? Do I stay here, or go? Who will support me? What about the children? Where is my HOME?” She was inundated with confusion, yet under it all she did have a foundation that she had been taught: belief in God, staying true to one’s vows, looking to God for her answers.
Music was playing in the background, piano music, ethereal and grand, yet soothing and soft, coming forth as blue notes played by gentle hands. She listened while sitting, her Bible opened in her lap as she searched for solace in God’s Word. She was devastated, wounded to the depths of her being, still she knew where she could turn to find her steady ground. Searching the Word she sank further into the realities of her suffering, for the path she was on now required it. Looking up she saw a child approaching her. Gazing through turmoiled eyes and mental haze she could see a tentative smile on the child’s face. It was then that she heard, clearly, and without doubt, “Home is within the sanctuary!” Sanctuary? Yes, of course. That sanctuary deep inside where God’s Spirit Himself dwelled in her. No matter that her life was shattering as a fragile crystal glass, she herself always had sanctuary in God Himself. She would, indeed, carefully, one step at a time walk through these broken shards, leading her children, to find her way home.
Dew Upon The Arbor 