Waters Fall (29 page)

Leslie still didn
’t make eye contact, but she nodded again, listening to every word he said. Nora too, sat silently, drawing circles on the sheet with her fingertip, listening to words that sounded so different from anything Jake had spoken before. It was clear he’d heard her back in his office, even through his anger.

“I don’t really like being awake, I have to admit.” Jake chuckled in a self-deprecating way. “I don’t like facing what’s been going on while I was sleeping. But not facing things would just be pretending again, and I’m not going to do that to this family anymore. Leslie, I love you very much, and I’m proud that you’re my daughter. It certainly helps that you can fish the way you do….” His voice trailed off and Leslie snorted quietly, a small smile beginning to curve the corner of her mouth up. “Your mom loves you, too. I know that without a doubt.”

“Is camping going to be totally weird with you two?” Leslie’s question caught them both by surprise, but Jake’s comment about fishing might have triggered her concern.              

“Camping is always weird in this family,” Nora said with a smirk.

“Yeah, but is it going to be weird in a normal way or weird in a weird way?”

“Normal weird,” Jake assured her. “We promise.”

34

J
ake watched Nora as she regaled the kids with the
tale of her terrible day. They were appropriately shocked at Sandra Madison’s behavior, envious of the woman going on the safari, and they all laughed at Nora’s expense when she told them about tripping in front of the group of teenage boys outside her office. They had all stopped to help her and were very polite and courteous, but she could tell they were trying desperately not to laugh at her, at least not until they walked away.

“I’m telling you, my feet just went right out from under me. Both my bag of folders and my purse went flying, and my cell phone actually hit one of them in the leg. I sat there on my butt, trying not to cry, while they scrambled around picking things up for me. See what happens when you try to do too many things while talking on your cell phone?”

“Oh, Mom!” Leslie was mortified for her. “What if you see them again?”

Nora laughed.
“Hopefully, for the sake of my pride, I never will.”

Jake enjoyed listening to his girls talking, their two voices blending so sweetly. Leslie was growing up; her voice was
beginning to have the same rich timbre as Nora’s.

His girls.
Leslie was long-legged and lanky, still a little awkward in her growing body. Her eyes were too big for her face, her elbows were usually black and blue from banging into things. But she had a softness to her that defied her angular lines, a promise of things to come. Nora, on the other hand, was fully woman. Her curves were all in the right places, and the softness hinted at in Leslie was in full bloom in his wife. He knew every inch of her body, every freckle, every dimple. He loved the fullness of her mouth, especially when she smiled just for him, the way her eyes, big and bold with excitement, or slanted and deep with passion, watched the world around her.

The dark thought suddenly launched itself out of nowhere.
Is she really yours? Maybe he thinks she’s his. He’s also looked into her bold eyes as she smiles up at him. He’s also rested his hands on the curves of her body. He’s probably counted the freckles on her skin….
In an instinctual effort to stop his train of thoughts, Jake shoved away from the table so abruptly that everyone stopped talking to look at him in surprise.

“What’s the matter, Daddy?” Felix asked, caught in the middle of a laugh. “Are you okay?”

Jake quickly recovered, looked around at the three faces of his family, and smiled a little too brightly. “I’m fine. Just thought I’d check to see if we have any ice cream and got a little too excited over the idea. You know me and my ice cream.”

“You’re an addict, Daddy. We all know that.” Leslie rolled her eyes good-naturedly and went back to telling them about an embarrassing moment of her own. Jake glanced at Nora’s face and wondered if she could read his mind. The look in her eyes made him think perhaps she could. He pushed his chair back under the table as quietly as
possible, and headed for the refrigerator.

He had to stop.
Stop thinking about him. About them.
He pulled open the freezer door and leaned forward a little, relishing the brisk air on his face. He reached for the tub of vanilla ice cream but had to set it down on the counter to keep from throwing it against the wall. Pressing his hands to the counter top, he leaned forward a little, bowing his head.
Oh Lord, why isn’t this getting any easier?
He just kept getting blindsided.

“Jake?” Nora spoke his name, a question in her voice. “Do you need help?” She was asking about more than ice cream
..

“I got it,” he said, smiling over his shoulder at her. He could see the concern on her face and for some reason it irked him. “Maybe you three can clear the dinner dishes.”

Nora nodded and stood up, prodding the children to help her. Within minutes, the table was clear and Jake filled four bowls with ice cream, while Nora made a small pot of coffee.

Somehow, they made it through the rest of the evening. Together, they put the kids to bed and reassured them again with hugs and kisses. The two of them spoke briefly about what still needed to be done before the camping trip,
then Nora left.

Jake could not bring himself to go to bed just yet. In fact, he was beginning to dread their bed. It had been twenty-three days, and fifteen hours, give or take a few minutes, since he
’d last made love to Nora there, since she’d last slept in his arms, and every time he even thought about going to bed, his body reacted with desire for her. If he was being honest, it really didn’t take much these days. When she walked in a room, when he heard her voice on the phone, when she passed so close he could smell her perfume. Something new, he realized. She was wearing something earthy and still a little spicy, but softer, more subtle. It suited her perfectly. And then he thought about smelling her skin, about pulling her close enough to breathe her in….

“Stop!”
He spoke out loud, trying to get his thoughts under control again. How on earth was he supposed to last a whole month without being with her? Or more, if Pastor Rob had his way? Nora told him Vicky had requested the same of her, and he was glad that it wasn’t just some form of torture or punishment being inflicted on him. He often lost sight of why they were abstaining, though, especially since they were trying to work things out. Sex had always been an effective way to end arguments between them; or to at least lay things to rest for a while. Without it, they were stuck dealing with their seemingly unresolvable differences with no reprieve.

Sometimes it seemed like sex was all he thought about now that he couldn
’t have it, and he was certain that wasn’t the point of the exercise. He couldn’t help but wonder how Nora was coping, but he was too afraid to ask her, lest it open up the doors to temptation and they gave in. He knew better than to talk about it with her—more than once, he’d caught her looking at him with something potent and raw in her eyes. It made him want to launch himself across the room at her like some crazed animal.

And how on earth were they going to keep their hands off each other during their camping trip? It was part of the thrill of their time away, making love beneath the blankets out under the stars, the soft glow of the fire illuminating his wife
’s sensual features.

He stood up and began pacing the floor. Why was he worried about the camping trip still a few weeks away? He didn
’t know how he was going to get through this night!

What was she doing over there in her little sanctuary? Was she being tortured with thoughts of him, too? Was she pacing the floor, her throat tight, her muscles tense, wanting him with every fiber of her being?

Maybe she’s wanting Tristan.

He stopped pacing as his imagination kicked into overdrive.

“No!” He shouted, then covered his mouth, surprising himself with his own vehemence. He was not going to let his thoughts control him. Not again. Desperate, he scanned the room. Where was his Bible? What was that verse in Corinthians about taking captive his thoughts, about not letting his thoughts control him? Shouldn’t he be able to decide what he was going to think about and be able to do away with all the other thoughts?

“Where is my Bible?” he asked out loud, searching the room more earnestly. He was sure he’d left it on the coffee table after the last time he’d read it, but it was nowhere to be seen. Spotting Nora’s Message Bible on the bookshelf across the room, he began flipping through it until he reached the New Testament letters Paul had written to the different churches. In 2 Corinthians 10, verses 3-6, he found the passage he was looking for. After reading it in Eugene Peterson’s paraphrase, he thought that perhaps he hadn’t fully understood the passage until now.

The world is unprincipled. It's dog-eat-dog out there! The world doesn't fight fair. But we don't live or fight our battles that way—never have and never will. The tools of our trade aren't for marketing or manipulation, but they are for demolishing that entire massively corrupt culture. We use our powerful God-tools for smashing warped philosophies, tearing down barriers erected against the truth of God, fitting every loose thought and emotion and impulse into the structure of life shaped by Christ. Our tools are ready at hand for clearing the ground of every obstruction and building lives of obedience into maturity.

Demolishing.
Smashing. Tearing down. Clearing the ground. Those were words he could understand! Fighting words. Loaded Browning 20-gauge shotgun words. Warrior words.

If he was willing to let Christ shape him into a holy warrior, then he would be equipped with some pretty powerful God-tools. He didn
’t have to sit around waiting in defense mode, ducking and dodging thoughts and feelings as they came flying at him. Demolishing, smashing, tearing down, clearing the ground; charge! He might even paint half his face blue and get a claymore.

That
’s how he wanted to live. He wanted to be battle-fit, a warrior ready to fight for his life, for the lives of those he loved, for truth, God’s truth. For freedom. This back and forth, loving then hating, kindness then cruelty, it all had to stop.

“So show me, God, please,” he cried out in frustration. “Show me how to use
Your weapons. I need Your help. Teach me how to be Nora’s hero. You gave me this woman, this marriage, and I have not fought well for either, but I want to. I want to know how! Shape my life into a warrior fit for Your army. Help me to smash and tear and clear away the thoughts that are not truth so You can build me into a man of obedience and maturity.” He read the scripture again and again as he prayed the words. “Help me to fit every loose thought and emotion and impulse into its rightful place so that if it doesn’t line up with a life shaped by You, then it has nowhere to take root.”

That meant putting sex in its rightful place. That meant manning up and practicing self-control, when all he wanted to do was throw her down and take control. That meant paying attention, being sensitive to Nora and her needs, and not making it all about what he wanted. That meant being a real man, and not settling for less than what was good and wholesome and right between them.

Boy, he had his work cut out for him.

“Break out the big guns, God. We’ve got us a real battle ahead, and I’ve been badly trained and poorly equipped until now.”

He closed the Bible and got down on his knees in front of the sofa. It was an awkward posture, one that still made him feel like a child, but he’d been doing it faithfully since talking to Pastor Rob. He’d been getting up early every morning, getting down on his knees before God, and as foreign as it felt, it seemed right somehow
.

35

Nora slumped low in her chair, feeling churlish and
crabby, her notebook lying open in her lap. She tapped the end of her pen lightly on the blank page, trying to motivate herself to start this new list. She didn’t want to think of anything good about anyone. She didn’t want to think of anything bad about anyone, either. In fact, she really didn’t want to think, period. She’d prefer to just sit and stare out the window at the stream meandering along the edge of the patio, and think about nothing at all.

Things had been bittersweet since the confrontation and ensuing talk in Leslie
’s room a week ago. Felix was brought in at the end of the conversation, and Jake prayed for all four of them. It was strange, that prayer. They always prayed with the kids before bed, and as a family over their meals. She and Jake used to pray over the needs in their Bible Study group. But she couldn’t remember ever having prayed intentionally over their family the way they had that night. Jake, with a hand on each child’s head, asked God’s forgiveness for not being a better father, a better husband, for not being a better son to his Heavenly Father. He asked God to protect them, to help them fix the parts that were broken. He reached over and cupped Nora’s face briefly and prayed that God would bless her, his wife, and that they would grow in love and learn to understand each other better.

Now, alone yet again in her little cottage, she replayed his petition over and over, wondering if it was really possible. Was there hope for them? Could they get the heart of their marriage beating again? Could Jake be trusted? Could she be trusted?

Could God be trusted?

And there was the real question, she realized, as she stared down at the blank page labeled
Things I Love About God
. It was due tomorrow for her meeting with Vicky, but every time she’d start on it, she’d wind up listing what God had done for her or what He’d given her, like her beautiful children, her job and the joy she got out of helping people feel good about their homes, the cottage, Jake. But she couldn’t, for the life of her, come up with one thing she honestly loved about God, Himself; about His nature, about His character. And suddenly, she understood why.

She wasn
’t so sure she loved Him anymore, and a lot of that had to do with the fact that she wasn’t so sure she could trust Him with her love.

“Just like all the other men in my life,” she muttered.

Frankly, it had been a long time since she’d really trusted God. Oh, she knew He was who He said He was. She knew He was real and present and aware. But that was what made her afraid to trust Him. If God was real and present and aware, then why didn’t He ever respond to her?

Why would He just stand back and let all this stuff happen to her? Why didn
’t He keep Jake from drinking? Why didn’t He motivate her husband to be a better man, to be responsible, to not be so needy? Why hadn’t He kept Tristan out of her life, especially when she was so terribly vulnerable? Why didn’t He at least help her resist the temptation Tristan offered? The questions kept chasing round and round in her mind.

“Don’t you see, God? All those years of waiting for
You, asking for You, listening for any tiny piece of evidence that You cared a single iota for me? And You just stood back and watched me stumble around in the darkness. Where were You, God? Where
were
You?” She spread her arms wide, her hands trembling, hating how completely and utterly alone she felt. “Is this all part of Your plan? This?” Her voice caught on an angry sob. “Do You hate me so much?”

He responded to her with silence.

Finally, Nora closed the notebook with its still blank pages, and crawled in bed, expecting sleep to whisk her away from this heavy day. But as she lay there listening to the busy nightlife at the little stream outside her window, she became more and more awake. Frustrated, she punched her pillow a few times, rolled onto her side, and burrowed down a little deeper under her comforter.

“Comforter, ha!”
She growled to no one as she threw off the ineffectual article a few minutes later. By the dim glow of the twinkle lights she always left on outside the kitchen window, she poured herself a glass of juice, and slathered a piece of toast with cream cheese. Still grumpy, and now even more frustrated because sleep was eluding her, she headed out into the summer night in her nightgown to join the masses at the stream.

Everything went still except the water as she arranged a lounge chair and small table at the edge of her patio. All the creatures watched, waiting to see what this morose monster was going to do, but they soon realized she was no threat to them, and started up their chirping,
scritching, buzzing, and rustling again. The night, even after such a warm day, had cooled pleasantly, and Nora sighed and leaned back in her chair, stretching her legs out in front of her. She gazed up at the night sky through the lacy branches of the mulberry tree overhead. It really was lovely out here beside the waters.

“He leads me beside still waters,” she murmured quietly, not sure what had stirred the memory of the old Bible verse up. The water wasn’t still, but it was soothing,
its constant motion a massage to her nerves. The verses played out in her head. “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures; He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul.” It seemed like she’d known the twenty-third Psalm her whole life, but like the stuffed animals that had been so alive to her as a child, the Scriptures had become just as ineffective at soothing her spirit.

“But I desperately want, Lord,” she whispered. “I want
You to restore my soul, my marriage, my family, but You just don’t seem to have it in Your heart to do it.”

She sat there for a long time, listening; for what exactly, she didn
’t know. In the rhythm of the water, she thought she heard a song, and she strained her ears to it, but it remained just beyond her grasp, elusive and mysterious. Her thoughts drifted aimlessly back over her day

Renee.
So full of life, vivacious, charming. She wanted only to love and be loved. Wasn’t there a man out there who appreciated those qualities in a woman, who would nurture her heart without taking advantage of her vulnerability? What had happened to convince Renee that short term romances and shallow indulgences were better than deep intimacy and real commitment?

And Jo.
Tough, hard-working, confident; Jo was the quintessential modern woman. Men were, to her, a necessary evil. She needed them, but did not trust them. She was attracted to them, but did not like them. As far as she was concerned, there were very few good men left in the world, and those few had already been snapped up by a few lucky women. Nora never met Jo’s ex, but he must have been cruel in his passivity.

Sandra Madison and the ugliness behind her perfectly coiffed and manicured world.
The woman’s husband obviously had something to do with her anger and bitterness. His absence was a blaring sore spot in her life. Was it like that at the beginning of their marriage, or had they once spent every waking moment together, star-crossed lovers with eyes full of hope, and hearts full of dreams for their future together? Nora pictured again how beautiful the new room looked, but how Sandra, in her bitterness, could only see the negative things, even finding fault where there was none.

“And then there’s me, complaining about my husband needing me too much,” Nora said. “Am I like Sandra? Only seeing the negative when there’s so much good in him?” But she knew that a needy man was just as destructive to a marriage as an absent man; she’d experienced it firsthand. A man whose woman had to fight his battles for him was no better than a man who abandoned her to the fight altogether. A woman didn’t just need to be pursued; she also needed to be covered. She needed a partner, a protector, a champion. And she needed to know that her champion would fight for her.

She thought about Tristan and his stoic acceptance of her leaving him, yet again. Yes, he’d tried to contact her, but when she didn’t return his calls or respond to him in any way, his attempts dwindled to nothing but a missed call now and then. “You never fought for me,” she whispered into the night air. “I thought you were my knight in shining armor rescuing me from the dragon’s lair, but you never picked up a sword, not once.” Tears welled up as her heart twisted inside her. She’d been swept off her feet by a fraud, by a coward, not a warrior. “You, Tristan, you
were
the dragon.”

Oh, what a fool she
’d been.

As understanding washed over her, she thought of what Vicky had said.
“The world has taken lust and disguised it as love. They’ve taken sex and disguised it as intimacy. They’ve taken commitment and disguised it as prison. They’ve twisted everything until it’s all inside out and then we wonder why we’re so confused about our relationships.”

She opened up the emotions inside her and examined them for what they were. Maybe something had grown out of the self-indulgence of her lust for Tristan, out of feeding her physical reaction to him until it became something more, but only because she chose to do so, with eyes wide open.
Temptation, yes. Chemistry, sure. Passion, absolutely. All extremely powerful feelings.

But love? She shook her head slowly, her thoughts perusing another passage she
’d learned from the Bible long ago; a list she was certain Vicky knew too.

Love is patient. Love is kind. Love is not jealous. Love does not brag and is not arrogant. Love does not act unbecomingly. Love is not self-serving. Love is not easily provoked. Love does not keep record of wrongs. Love does not rejoice in evil, but in truth.

Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

Nothing about her relationship with Tristan qualified as that kind of love.
Absolutely nothing. Truth be told, nothing about her behavior toward Jake qualified as love, either, except for perhaps the enduring part, but that was probably negated by her remarkable ability to keep record of his wrongs.

A record that she
’d decided entitled her to no longer be patient or kind, but arrogant, and easily provoked. A record that gave her the right to act unbecomingly and self-serving. A record that she’d turned into a weapon, one she’d wielded relentlessly in the tearing out of the heart of their marriage. A record so terribly different than any list Vicky had asked of her.

Although admitting it brought shame that sickened and curdled her innards, Jake, on the other hand, patiently waited for her to come home, giving her the time and space she selfishly insisted on having. He
’d been kind to her when she was so sick. He faithfully cared for the children and their home while she abandoned them all. He endured her terrible and unappeasable anger over his night out, he’d stepped up and gone to the pastor for counseling, because he hoped and believed their marriage could be saved. Time and time again, he’d done exactly as she’d asked—no, demanded—of him…because he truly loved her.

Overwhelmed and a little frightened by this indisputable evidence of how wrong she
’d been, both about herself, and about Jake, she muttered childishly, “He’s
definitely
jealous, though.”

But then, wasn
’t she giving him every reason to be? Leaving Tristan wasn’t some grand and noble gesture on her part. How on earth had she convinced herself that it was? She’d almost believed she was some glorious Isolde, denying her heart’s desire and sacrificing her lover to return to her husband, as though their affair was something honorable and eternal, good and pure….

And all along, she
’d blamed God for being standoffish. She’d blamed Jake for being needy. She’d even blamed Tristan for making her an adulteress.

Her circumstances, her pain, her struggles,
she’d made them all someone else’s fault.

She
’d been fooled by the world, blinded by her selfishness. She’d fallen for the disguise, and she’d been swept up into the duplicity and confusion that comes from trying to justify wrong, from embracing sin and denying truth.

“Oh, Lord Jesus, what have I done?” she moaned, burying her face in her hands. “What’s to become of us?” She drew her legs up to her chest and rocked back and forth as the tears came again, pushing through her in great waves of emotion. How she longed to hear God’s voice right now, to have Him
take her in His arms and comfort her, protect her, fight for her.

No one will fight for
you,
a small, pouting whisper prodded her spirit
.
Not after all you’ve done. Not even God. And if Jake were a real man, he’d kick your sorry backside to the curb. You’ll just end up on your own again, as usual.

Nora reached down and dashed her hand into the water, splattering the stone patio and her bare feet with cold glittering droplets, breaking the hold the voice had on her. She lifted her face, twisted by misery.
“Help me. I’m so sorry. I’ve been so wrong. I’ve been so arrogant and proud. I don’t know how to fix this on my own. I need You. I need You so badly. I want to believe in You, God. Help me believe.”