A few months ago, my husband was contacted by a congregation to see if he would be open to a call. (YES!) He spoke to them, met with them in person, and we waited. And waited. It’s been a nice reprieve, one door ajar in this long, dark tunnel.
Yesterday we heard that they called another pastor. At first I felt no particular disappointment that we must remain or relief that we don’t have to muster the energy to start something new. I felt only concerned for my husband. When I look at him I cry. I am so desperate to rescue him from this soul-crushing situation.
Today, I am exhausted, sad, and so done with cross bearing. In the last few days there have been more horrid conversations with the church leadership. More defensiveness, more blindness to our pain, more rigid rule-following and efforts to shove my husband into a tiny box.
We sound seriously pathetic in prayer. “God, this is too much for us. It feels like this place is going to destroy us. We don’t know what You are doing here. We need You.” Utter dependence feels like a crappy arrangement right now.