The Book
Stories
Object:
Contents
What's Up This Week
"The Book" by David O. Bales
"God Is Good" by Peter Andrew Smith
"Till Death Do Us Part?" by Jo Perry-Sumwalt
What's Up This Week
As we are all too aware, personal relationships can provide us with great love and support, but also burden us with extreme pain and suffering. The stories in this week's edition of StoryShare demonstrate that while we may find the emotional and physical pain unbearable at times, God is good -- and his blessings and guidance are always with us, even in the worst of times... if only we are open to them.
* * * * * * * * *
"The Book"
by David O. Bales
Mark 10:2-16
All signs within the congregation indicated that Reverend Canliss had accomplished what he could with his limited abilities and decreasing energy. Over his four decades of ministry he'd learned to understand a congregation and to do what was best for God's people, even at his own expense. The congregation threw a grand retirement party. Many former parishioners and old pastor friends traveled miles to join the celebration. Reverend Canliss was gratified. Molly Canliss was thrilled, as were their two sons and daughter who came in order to enjoy the reunion with family and friends.
However, Reverend Canliss avoided "The Book." It was presented to him in worship and was bound with gracious and grateful letters from members of his congregations and beyond. On the first morning of his retirement, Molly thumbed "The Book" and scanned a few letters: "Arnold wrote one from Midvale."
"Oh," he said, fumbling with the newspaper.
"And the Nelsons. Remember their family and the cabin at the lake?"
"Un-huh," he said.
Molly realized he didn't want to read "The Book" at that time and she said no more. She placed it on his chest of drawers in the bedroom and there it remained for half a year. After six months Reverend Canliss had finished the projects he'd planned for retirement; yet he still hadn't read "The Book." It sat on the chest of drawers with all the attraction to him of a legal summons.
He'd never sought the limelight, and he'd realized years before that while pastors take much criticism they don't deserve, many people also heap praise upon them they haven't earned. One morning Molly saw him staring at "The Book" and said, "I know it's hard, but you owe it to the people who wrote the letters." She touched his arm, then abandoned him to his thoughts. He remained standing and staring for another minute. Then the Reverend Canliss, Honorably Retired, grabbed the volume and left the house. He drove to the library, planning to read it at one sitting in order to do his duty: Read "The Book" and clear his conscience.
After two hours reading, the following letter occurred:
Dear Reverend Canliss,
I hope you remember me. If you don't, that's okay. I'm comfortable just knowing that you'll read this. I was in your first congregation in Charlotte. You were right out of seminary. My memory is fuzzy, but I think you and Molly had come to our congregation about 18 months before I talked with you about the matter for which I am writing you now.
I was on the board and I was most irritated by you. We'd welcomed you with open arms, but you had seemed to change from a happy to a grumpy person. I'd never liked your sermons. Part of it was because they were different from any I'd heard before, but also because it seemed that all you'd do on Sunday was quote a scripture, say a few sentences about it, and then quote another. To me they never seemed very connected.
I've reflected upon our relationship. I understand now that my irritation with you was multiplied by the anguish I was experiencing in my own life. My wife and I weren't happy; yet it seemed that as Sundays went by, I became more miserable and your sermons became more rigid and unloving.
I was trying to be a faithful Christian and loyal to the church, but my home life poisoned everything I touched -- including my faith, the church, and my opinion of you. After mentioning to you a few times (in indirect ways) that your sermons offered little help in getting the Bible into the modern world, I made up my mind to get you alone and put this question straight to you. I picked the circumstances carefully so we'd have time and so you couldn't get away. I asked you: "Is it lawful for a man to divorce his wife?"
You stood quiet for a long while, and then you spoke slowly, saying something like, "Yes, it is lawful. But it will cost you a lifetime of pain and regret and you'll miss the blessings God has planned for you with your wife and family."
I expected you to reel off some scriptures, but you answered me clearly, succinctly, and in a reasoned way. I was dumbfounded -- and thoroughly answered. From then on I found what you said in your sermons to be much more merciful and practical. I realized you had a great deal to say about how to struggle with the problems that all Christians face.
I don't think I thanked you then or later, but I do now. I can look at our three children and our grandchildren. They would never have existed if it weren't for your advice. I can honestly assess my relationship with my wife and promise you that it became better -- although slowly. I won't say any more. Please believe me that my wife and our family enjoyed the (at times difficult) blessings that God planned for us. She died three years ago May.
This is my belated thank you and my prayer for God's blessings upon you.
The letter had no signature. The Reverend Robert Canliss, Honorably Retired, carefully breathed in and out, not wanting to make a spectacle of himself in the public library. He remembered with cinematic clarity that afternoon 40 years before when Monty Anderson stepped into his office and asked him point-blank the question he himself had been struggling with in his own marriage. Once more he recalled that turning point in his life when it was necessary for the sake of his congregation to do more than quote scripture, and to share what he'd only recently come to realize about his own marriage problems.
David O. Bales was a Presbyterian minister for 33 years. Recently retired as the pastor of Bethany Presbyterian Church in Ontario, Oregon, he is also a freelance writer and editor for Stephen Ministries and Tebunah Ministries. His sermons and articles have appeared in Lectionary Homiletics, Preaching Great Texts, and Interpretation, and he is the author of the CSS titles Scenes of Glory: Subplots of God's Long Story and Gospel Subplots: Story Sermons of God's Grace.
God Is Good
by Peter Andrew Smith
Job 1:1; 2:1-10
Lyla shifted in her bed. As the many wires and tubes attached to her arm and chest moved with her, a monitor began to beep. The noise slowed and then stopped as she settled in place. Soon the only sound in the room was the uncertain pace of her breathing.
"Hello, Lyla." Pastor Tim came through the door and moved a chair next to her bed. He gently took her hand. "How are you doing today?"
"Oh well, Pastor," she said in a voice barely as loud as a whisper, "the nurses tell me that the sun is shining."
He looked out the window. "Yes, it is a beautiful day outside today."
"Are the flowers still in bloom?"
Pastor Tim considered the sea of colors that surrounded the hospital. "Yes, they are. There are red and yellow tulips, and I think those are daffodils mixed in with them." He shifted his attention back inside. "You have some wonderful flowers in here, too."
"I wish I could see them," Lyla said. "Could you tell me what they are and read the cards?"
Pastor Tim stepped toward the flowers. "There's a beautiful arrangement of summer flowers from the ladies of the church, a red geranium from your niece Julia, and there is one with pink carnations just starting to open up from the seniors at the rec center."
"There's no need for them to make a fuss over me with flowers."
"They wanted you to know they were thinking about you," Pastor Tim said. "All of us are praying for you."
"You are all so good to me," Lyla said, wincing as she moved her arm to take his hand again.
"Is your pain bad today?"
"Everyone who comes in here asks that," Lyla said. "It's about the same. The nurses and doctors keep changing my medications and telling me it will help."
"Does it help?"
She shook her head slightly. "I do appreciate them trying, though. I can't say anything bad about them -- they have all been so kind to me during these past months."
They sat without talking for a few moments.
"I don't think I have much more time," Lyla said.
"Does that bother you?"
"No, I'm not worried about it. I'm ready."
Pastor Tim gently squeezed her hand. "I do pray you will know peace soon."
"Oh Pastor, I already know peace," Lyla said. "With all the pain in this frail body of mine, lying alone in the dark because my eyes don't work very good any more, it's all that I have. But you know something?"
"What?"
"It's more than enough."
"Lyla, you are amazing," Pastor Tim said. "I'm not sure I could keep positive if I was in your place."
"But Pastor, I'm not feeling positive in the least. Every part of me hurts, I can't move, and I'm blind. Sure, I've got friends who remember me and nurses who are caring for me, but that doesn't make up for the pain and helplessness I feel."
"I guess I don't understand," Pastor Tim admitted.
"God is good." Lyla coughed for a few moments before continuing. "That's what gets me through the day."
"Ah, you are thinking about the blessings promised in scripture."
"Pardon?"
"The passages about heaven."
"Oh, not really," she said. "I know all those verses and sometimes I think about them, but honestly they don't get me through the terrible pain. When my life is really bad I think about how good God is, and then I... well, it is hard to explain... I'm able to make it through the really rough times. I guess remembering the goodness of God helps me get through the suffering in my life. But I really should have more faith, shouldn't I?"
"Lyla," Pastor Tim said, "I don't think I have ever met someone with greater faith. While the rest of us are trusting in what we have -- our health, opportunities, blessings, wealth -- you are trusting in God alone for not just your life, but for the good in your life as well."
Lyla smiled at him. "I think you have just made an old woman's day. You are such a blessing to me. I always learn so much when we talk."
"Trust me, Lyla," Pastor Tim said, "you are as much a blessing to me. Would you like to pray?"
Lyla nodded and together they gave thanks for the goodness of God.
Peter Andrew Smith is an ordained minister in the United Church of Canada who currently serves at St. James United Church in Antigonish, Nova Scotia. He is the author of All Things Are Ready (CSS), a book of lectionary-based communion prayers, as well as many stories and articles, which can be found listed at www.peterandrewsmith.com.
Till Death Do Us Part?
by Jo Perry-Sumwalt
Mark 10:2-16
Some Pharisees came, and to test him they asked, "Is it lawful for a man to divorce his wife?"
-- Mark 10:2
Max and Irene Peters were seen together all over town for years and years: never one without the other. When they retired in the small town on the lake they had been married for over 40 years, and Irene was in the earliest stages of Alzheimer's disease. As her confusion and disability increased Max was devoted to her, taking over more and more of her personal care.
He took her on daily rounds of the downtown stores, shops, restaurants, and especially the senior citizens' center. At first Irene could speak to answer questions and was able to feed herself if Max cut her food. Eventually he had to feed her as well as bathe her, dress her, fix her hair, and diaper her; but he never asked for help. Her moods changed from vacant silence one moment to babbling and shouting obscenities the next; and sometimes she struck out at Max when he was feeding her and knocked the spoon from his hand or the plate from the table, or fought him as he attempted to guide her on their way. He never got upset. He might scold Irene gently and tell her she mustn't cause a scene, but he never lost his temper. He'd just take her hand in his and shush her until she settled back into a docile state. Nothing came between them; they were always together.
Max began bringing Irene to Sunday services in the little community church about a year after the disease seriously affected her mind. Even there she might call out or rock and moan. Max could usually quiet her, but sometimes he had to take her out so they always sat in the back pew, near the door. Most often he sat with his head bowed.
The congregation of the little church took a curious kind of pride in Max's devotion to Irene. Few people had known them when she was totally herself, and Max wasn't much of a conversationalist, though he seemed eager to exchange pleasantries if approached. But his gentleness and patience with Irene showed that theirs was a special relationship. Most husbands wouldn't have tried to care for a wife in that condition by themselves for so many years -- at home, let alone in public -- but he always brought Irene to church dinners, potlucks, and programs, as well as to worship. No one acknowledged the toll his constant attention to Irene was taking on Max. They only saw how well he coped, and praised him for his loving faithfulness.
But when the pastor called on him at home, Max shared his loneliness and confusion.
"I struggle with my conscience every day, Pastor, because I want it to be over. For years I prayed to God for a miracle, or a medical cure that would bring Irene back to me the way she used to be. Now I just pray for an end to it. I used to talk to her all day long, just like I always had, in case she could hear me. It scared me to think she might know everything that's going on but not be able to tell me. Then one day I looked into her eyes while I was making some silly comment, and I just stopped, right in the middle of the sentence. Her eyes were totally empty. There was no life inside. When we got married we vowed it would be until death do us part, but I don't know how much longer I can keep this up. The days are so long, and I have to be there for her every minute. The doctors say she could go on this way for years. It's like she's dead, but I can't mourn her and go on with my life because she's still here. Does that make any sense? Some days I don't even want to get out of bed.
"I'm so lonely," he said. "I wish I had something to live for again."
There was a long, uncomfortable silence. The pastor didn't really know what to say. Finally he took Max's hand and suggested that they pray together for guidance.
Within six months, Max filed for a divorce and put Irene into the local nursing home. There were exclamations of shock and dismay at his actions from the church and community, until people began to notice the change in Max. He was smiling and laughing again. His hair and clothes were neater, he had a new lightness in his step, and he looked years younger. He began seeing a widow lady from out in the county who frequently came to the senior citizens' center. Evelyn, who had been mourning her late husband for several years, looked happier too. Max brought her to church for worship and dinners and programs. They joined a square dance group for seniors, and twice a week they spent the afternoon at the nursing home, sitting with Irene and helping to care for her. When the divorce was final, they went to the pastor to ask him to marry them.
"After our last talk, I thought long and hard about my life with Irene, and I prayed a lot," Max said. "We were together for 48 years: during the last six she didn't even know me. With every year that passed, I lost a little more hope... a little more of myself. I decided that I couldn't go on taking care of her, because it was killing me. You know that I believe in the vows about being married until death do us part. I still love Irene, but she's not there anymore. She's dead. I figure maybe God will understand what I've done." He turned and smiled at his companion. "So, after I thought it out, I filed for a divorce and signed Irene into the nursing home. I've felt like a new man ever since. And then I met Evelyn."
"We would like to share what's left of our lives with one another," Evelyn said shyly. "Do you think that would be a bad thing?"
Jo Perry-Sumwalt is the director of Christian education at Our Lord's United Methodist Church in New Berlin, Wisconsin. Jo and her husband John are the former co-editors of StoryShare, and they are the co-authors of two books.
**************
StoryShare, October 4, 2009, issue.
Copyright 2009 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
All rights reserved. Subscribers to the StoryShare service may print and use this material as it was intended in sermons, in worship and classroom settings, in brief devotions, in radio spots, and as newsletter fillers. No additional permission is required from the publisher for such use by subscribers only. Inquiries should be addressed to permissions@csspub.com or to Permissions, CSS Publishing Company, Inc., 517 South Main Street, Lima, Ohio 45804.
What's Up This Week
"The Book" by David O. Bales
"God Is Good" by Peter Andrew Smith
"Till Death Do Us Part?" by Jo Perry-Sumwalt
What's Up This Week
As we are all too aware, personal relationships can provide us with great love and support, but also burden us with extreme pain and suffering. The stories in this week's edition of StoryShare demonstrate that while we may find the emotional and physical pain unbearable at times, God is good -- and his blessings and guidance are always with us, even in the worst of times... if only we are open to them.
* * * * * * * * *
"The Book"
by David O. Bales
Mark 10:2-16
All signs within the congregation indicated that Reverend Canliss had accomplished what he could with his limited abilities and decreasing energy. Over his four decades of ministry he'd learned to understand a congregation and to do what was best for God's people, even at his own expense. The congregation threw a grand retirement party. Many former parishioners and old pastor friends traveled miles to join the celebration. Reverend Canliss was gratified. Molly Canliss was thrilled, as were their two sons and daughter who came in order to enjoy the reunion with family and friends.
However, Reverend Canliss avoided "The Book." It was presented to him in worship and was bound with gracious and grateful letters from members of his congregations and beyond. On the first morning of his retirement, Molly thumbed "The Book" and scanned a few letters: "Arnold wrote one from Midvale."
"Oh," he said, fumbling with the newspaper.
"And the Nelsons. Remember their family and the cabin at the lake?"
"Un-huh," he said.
Molly realized he didn't want to read "The Book" at that time and she said no more. She placed it on his chest of drawers in the bedroom and there it remained for half a year. After six months Reverend Canliss had finished the projects he'd planned for retirement; yet he still hadn't read "The Book." It sat on the chest of drawers with all the attraction to him of a legal summons.
He'd never sought the limelight, and he'd realized years before that while pastors take much criticism they don't deserve, many people also heap praise upon them they haven't earned. One morning Molly saw him staring at "The Book" and said, "I know it's hard, but you owe it to the people who wrote the letters." She touched his arm, then abandoned him to his thoughts. He remained standing and staring for another minute. Then the Reverend Canliss, Honorably Retired, grabbed the volume and left the house. He drove to the library, planning to read it at one sitting in order to do his duty: Read "The Book" and clear his conscience.
After two hours reading, the following letter occurred:
Dear Reverend Canliss,
I hope you remember me. If you don't, that's okay. I'm comfortable just knowing that you'll read this. I was in your first congregation in Charlotte. You were right out of seminary. My memory is fuzzy, but I think you and Molly had come to our congregation about 18 months before I talked with you about the matter for which I am writing you now.
I was on the board and I was most irritated by you. We'd welcomed you with open arms, but you had seemed to change from a happy to a grumpy person. I'd never liked your sermons. Part of it was because they were different from any I'd heard before, but also because it seemed that all you'd do on Sunday was quote a scripture, say a few sentences about it, and then quote another. To me they never seemed very connected.
I've reflected upon our relationship. I understand now that my irritation with you was multiplied by the anguish I was experiencing in my own life. My wife and I weren't happy; yet it seemed that as Sundays went by, I became more miserable and your sermons became more rigid and unloving.
I was trying to be a faithful Christian and loyal to the church, but my home life poisoned everything I touched -- including my faith, the church, and my opinion of you. After mentioning to you a few times (in indirect ways) that your sermons offered little help in getting the Bible into the modern world, I made up my mind to get you alone and put this question straight to you. I picked the circumstances carefully so we'd have time and so you couldn't get away. I asked you: "Is it lawful for a man to divorce his wife?"
You stood quiet for a long while, and then you spoke slowly, saying something like, "Yes, it is lawful. But it will cost you a lifetime of pain and regret and you'll miss the blessings God has planned for you with your wife and family."
I expected you to reel off some scriptures, but you answered me clearly, succinctly, and in a reasoned way. I was dumbfounded -- and thoroughly answered. From then on I found what you said in your sermons to be much more merciful and practical. I realized you had a great deal to say about how to struggle with the problems that all Christians face.
I don't think I thanked you then or later, but I do now. I can look at our three children and our grandchildren. They would never have existed if it weren't for your advice. I can honestly assess my relationship with my wife and promise you that it became better -- although slowly. I won't say any more. Please believe me that my wife and our family enjoyed the (at times difficult) blessings that God planned for us. She died three years ago May.
This is my belated thank you and my prayer for God's blessings upon you.
The letter had no signature. The Reverend Robert Canliss, Honorably Retired, carefully breathed in and out, not wanting to make a spectacle of himself in the public library. He remembered with cinematic clarity that afternoon 40 years before when Monty Anderson stepped into his office and asked him point-blank the question he himself had been struggling with in his own marriage. Once more he recalled that turning point in his life when it was necessary for the sake of his congregation to do more than quote scripture, and to share what he'd only recently come to realize about his own marriage problems.
David O. Bales was a Presbyterian minister for 33 years. Recently retired as the pastor of Bethany Presbyterian Church in Ontario, Oregon, he is also a freelance writer and editor for Stephen Ministries and Tebunah Ministries. His sermons and articles have appeared in Lectionary Homiletics, Preaching Great Texts, and Interpretation, and he is the author of the CSS titles Scenes of Glory: Subplots of God's Long Story and Gospel Subplots: Story Sermons of God's Grace.
God Is Good
by Peter Andrew Smith
Job 1:1; 2:1-10
Lyla shifted in her bed. As the many wires and tubes attached to her arm and chest moved with her, a monitor began to beep. The noise slowed and then stopped as she settled in place. Soon the only sound in the room was the uncertain pace of her breathing.
"Hello, Lyla." Pastor Tim came through the door and moved a chair next to her bed. He gently took her hand. "How are you doing today?"
"Oh well, Pastor," she said in a voice barely as loud as a whisper, "the nurses tell me that the sun is shining."
He looked out the window. "Yes, it is a beautiful day outside today."
"Are the flowers still in bloom?"
Pastor Tim considered the sea of colors that surrounded the hospital. "Yes, they are. There are red and yellow tulips, and I think those are daffodils mixed in with them." He shifted his attention back inside. "You have some wonderful flowers in here, too."
"I wish I could see them," Lyla said. "Could you tell me what they are and read the cards?"
Pastor Tim stepped toward the flowers. "There's a beautiful arrangement of summer flowers from the ladies of the church, a red geranium from your niece Julia, and there is one with pink carnations just starting to open up from the seniors at the rec center."
"There's no need for them to make a fuss over me with flowers."
"They wanted you to know they were thinking about you," Pastor Tim said. "All of us are praying for you."
"You are all so good to me," Lyla said, wincing as she moved her arm to take his hand again.
"Is your pain bad today?"
"Everyone who comes in here asks that," Lyla said. "It's about the same. The nurses and doctors keep changing my medications and telling me it will help."
"Does it help?"
She shook her head slightly. "I do appreciate them trying, though. I can't say anything bad about them -- they have all been so kind to me during these past months."
They sat without talking for a few moments.
"I don't think I have much more time," Lyla said.
"Does that bother you?"
"No, I'm not worried about it. I'm ready."
Pastor Tim gently squeezed her hand. "I do pray you will know peace soon."
"Oh Pastor, I already know peace," Lyla said. "With all the pain in this frail body of mine, lying alone in the dark because my eyes don't work very good any more, it's all that I have. But you know something?"
"What?"
"It's more than enough."
"Lyla, you are amazing," Pastor Tim said. "I'm not sure I could keep positive if I was in your place."
"But Pastor, I'm not feeling positive in the least. Every part of me hurts, I can't move, and I'm blind. Sure, I've got friends who remember me and nurses who are caring for me, but that doesn't make up for the pain and helplessness I feel."
"I guess I don't understand," Pastor Tim admitted.
"God is good." Lyla coughed for a few moments before continuing. "That's what gets me through the day."
"Ah, you are thinking about the blessings promised in scripture."
"Pardon?"
"The passages about heaven."
"Oh, not really," she said. "I know all those verses and sometimes I think about them, but honestly they don't get me through the terrible pain. When my life is really bad I think about how good God is, and then I... well, it is hard to explain... I'm able to make it through the really rough times. I guess remembering the goodness of God helps me get through the suffering in my life. But I really should have more faith, shouldn't I?"
"Lyla," Pastor Tim said, "I don't think I have ever met someone with greater faith. While the rest of us are trusting in what we have -- our health, opportunities, blessings, wealth -- you are trusting in God alone for not just your life, but for the good in your life as well."
Lyla smiled at him. "I think you have just made an old woman's day. You are such a blessing to me. I always learn so much when we talk."
"Trust me, Lyla," Pastor Tim said, "you are as much a blessing to me. Would you like to pray?"
Lyla nodded and together they gave thanks for the goodness of God.
Peter Andrew Smith is an ordained minister in the United Church of Canada who currently serves at St. James United Church in Antigonish, Nova Scotia. He is the author of All Things Are Ready (CSS), a book of lectionary-based communion prayers, as well as many stories and articles, which can be found listed at www.peterandrewsmith.com.
Till Death Do Us Part?
by Jo Perry-Sumwalt
Mark 10:2-16
Some Pharisees came, and to test him they asked, "Is it lawful for a man to divorce his wife?"
-- Mark 10:2
Max and Irene Peters were seen together all over town for years and years: never one without the other. When they retired in the small town on the lake they had been married for over 40 years, and Irene was in the earliest stages of Alzheimer's disease. As her confusion and disability increased Max was devoted to her, taking over more and more of her personal care.
He took her on daily rounds of the downtown stores, shops, restaurants, and especially the senior citizens' center. At first Irene could speak to answer questions and was able to feed herself if Max cut her food. Eventually he had to feed her as well as bathe her, dress her, fix her hair, and diaper her; but he never asked for help. Her moods changed from vacant silence one moment to babbling and shouting obscenities the next; and sometimes she struck out at Max when he was feeding her and knocked the spoon from his hand or the plate from the table, or fought him as he attempted to guide her on their way. He never got upset. He might scold Irene gently and tell her she mustn't cause a scene, but he never lost his temper. He'd just take her hand in his and shush her until she settled back into a docile state. Nothing came between them; they were always together.
Max began bringing Irene to Sunday services in the little community church about a year after the disease seriously affected her mind. Even there she might call out or rock and moan. Max could usually quiet her, but sometimes he had to take her out so they always sat in the back pew, near the door. Most often he sat with his head bowed.
The congregation of the little church took a curious kind of pride in Max's devotion to Irene. Few people had known them when she was totally herself, and Max wasn't much of a conversationalist, though he seemed eager to exchange pleasantries if approached. But his gentleness and patience with Irene showed that theirs was a special relationship. Most husbands wouldn't have tried to care for a wife in that condition by themselves for so many years -- at home, let alone in public -- but he always brought Irene to church dinners, potlucks, and programs, as well as to worship. No one acknowledged the toll his constant attention to Irene was taking on Max. They only saw how well he coped, and praised him for his loving faithfulness.
But when the pastor called on him at home, Max shared his loneliness and confusion.
"I struggle with my conscience every day, Pastor, because I want it to be over. For years I prayed to God for a miracle, or a medical cure that would bring Irene back to me the way she used to be. Now I just pray for an end to it. I used to talk to her all day long, just like I always had, in case she could hear me. It scared me to think she might know everything that's going on but not be able to tell me. Then one day I looked into her eyes while I was making some silly comment, and I just stopped, right in the middle of the sentence. Her eyes were totally empty. There was no life inside. When we got married we vowed it would be until death do us part, but I don't know how much longer I can keep this up. The days are so long, and I have to be there for her every minute. The doctors say she could go on this way for years. It's like she's dead, but I can't mourn her and go on with my life because she's still here. Does that make any sense? Some days I don't even want to get out of bed.
"I'm so lonely," he said. "I wish I had something to live for again."
There was a long, uncomfortable silence. The pastor didn't really know what to say. Finally he took Max's hand and suggested that they pray together for guidance.
Within six months, Max filed for a divorce and put Irene into the local nursing home. There were exclamations of shock and dismay at his actions from the church and community, until people began to notice the change in Max. He was smiling and laughing again. His hair and clothes were neater, he had a new lightness in his step, and he looked years younger. He began seeing a widow lady from out in the county who frequently came to the senior citizens' center. Evelyn, who had been mourning her late husband for several years, looked happier too. Max brought her to church for worship and dinners and programs. They joined a square dance group for seniors, and twice a week they spent the afternoon at the nursing home, sitting with Irene and helping to care for her. When the divorce was final, they went to the pastor to ask him to marry them.
"After our last talk, I thought long and hard about my life with Irene, and I prayed a lot," Max said. "We were together for 48 years: during the last six she didn't even know me. With every year that passed, I lost a little more hope... a little more of myself. I decided that I couldn't go on taking care of her, because it was killing me. You know that I believe in the vows about being married until death do us part. I still love Irene, but she's not there anymore. She's dead. I figure maybe God will understand what I've done." He turned and smiled at his companion. "So, after I thought it out, I filed for a divorce and signed Irene into the nursing home. I've felt like a new man ever since. And then I met Evelyn."
"We would like to share what's left of our lives with one another," Evelyn said shyly. "Do you think that would be a bad thing?"
Jo Perry-Sumwalt is the director of Christian education at Our Lord's United Methodist Church in New Berlin, Wisconsin. Jo and her husband John are the former co-editors of StoryShare, and they are the co-authors of two books.
**************
StoryShare, October 4, 2009, issue.
Copyright 2009 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
All rights reserved. Subscribers to the StoryShare service may print and use this material as it was intended in sermons, in worship and classroom settings, in brief devotions, in radio spots, and as newsletter fillers. No additional permission is required from the publisher for such use by subscribers only. Inquiries should be addressed to permissions@csspub.com or to Permissions, CSS Publishing Company, Inc., 517 South Main Street, Lima, Ohio 45804.
