Chapter 15

I looked out on the drying cornfield and watched the fog lazily rising from the golden creek. The sun was peeking above the horizon, casting a brilliant honey colored hue on the earth below my bedroom window. I could see the Amish farmer gather his milk-laden cows in the meadow behind our house, and encourage them towards the barn. He had already started his workday. The rhythmic banging of his generator had awakened me. I stretched and sat straight up in bed, breathing in the sweet honeysuckle scent that drifted through the screened window.

"Put your hope in God, for I will praise Him, my Savior and my God." I whispered the Psalm 42 verse into the cool autumn air permeating my bedroom. I had written the verse on a small card and taped it to my dresser mirror to daily remind me that my hope for living had to come from Jesus.

Ron was showering, preparing for his day at the office. Kari lay whimpering in her bed, but I hesitated before retrieving her as I was enjoying the calm of the morning. "Good morning Lord," I whispered my thoughts aloud as though He was sitting on the end of my bed. I felt so close to Him lately. The bitterness and disappointment of having two severely disabled children that I felt so sharply in Connecticut now seemed like a distant memory. With the help of friends, family and my renewed energy, God was showing me how these two precious children were all part of His plan for my life.

"God, you are refining and testing me to see if I will totally rely on you just as my children are totally dependent on my husband and me for their needs. My greatest loss, not having healthy children, can become my greatest gain if I allow you to change me. God, I want you to continue working in my life. I promise to believe in you no matter what circumstances you take me through. Help me to be a comfort to others who are discouraged in life. I love you so much, you give me joy for living!" I finished my prayer and tossed back the covers.

Ron emerged from the bathroom, silent and focused on his day ahead. "Good morning, Honey! Kari and Ryan slept all night and I feel great this morning!" I spoke cheerfully, trying to cut through the fog that clouded our relationship. "How about I make a cooked breakfast this morning?" He nodded but said nothing as he knotted his tie.

We ate breakfast in silence except for a few basic courtesies. I kissed him good-bye and watched his car disappear over the hill. His job took him into the city and the stresses of the corporate world. I wondered if it was hard for him to be part of two extreme worlds each day. Our life in the rural quiet Amish country had soothed my soul, but was it only a constant reminder to Ron of the world we left behind in rural Connecticut?

As I fed Ryan his morning bottle, I could not get Ron off my mind. His deep sadness was intensifying and affecting our relationship. Our only conversation lately involved my babbling about the kids and experiences at their therapy programs, or Ron talking about the stress of his job –which I knew he didn't like. I tried to listen and be a part of the pain he was feeling, and praised him for the way he supported our family and the great employee he was, but I could tell his passion was gone. I couldn't seem to encourage him in any way.

He became more easily angered over issues that previously we were able to talk through. He was often tired and didn't enjoy my positive spin on life that he once had cherished. At times when he held the children, his body language showed he was in a distant world. He no longer talked and played with them as he used to. I feared that his sadness eventually would become a bitter root entangling him, from which he would never escape.

A glance at the clock reminded me that I needed to lay aside my meditating and start packing the kids into the van for the fifteen-mile drive to their school. Kari giggled as we drove past the clopping sound of an Amish buggy. Ryan looked perplexed as the brisk air, coming through the window, whipped the cap off his head. With neither of them responding to my chatter and singing, my thoughts migrated back to my husband.

During the past year in Lancaster, Ron continued to pursue possible ministry opportunities available locally, but each endeavor ended with the door closing in his face. I could see now how each experience had resulted in greater bitterness that choked him. His final attempt at receiving full-time work in a church had occurred the last week of the summer.

A pastoral search committee requested an interview with Ron. The church had recently lost their pastor because of his overwhelming family commitments. He had one handicapped son, and the pastor had become burdened with the financial and emotional stress this child placed on his family. During the interview, it was obvious to me that the folks on the committee were skeptical of Ron's ability to perform the role of pastor and provide for two disabled children. As we drove out of the church parking lot following that experience, Ron decided that God was making it clear He did not want him in pastoral work. His hope died within him.

I arrived at the therapy center, and Kari and Ryan's program totally absorbed my attention for the next few hours. That night after dinner, Ron left me alone to clean the kitchen and prepare the kids for bed. Since his final rejection of possible ministry work, he frequently sat on the porch late into the evening – self-absorbed, ignoring me, and saying he needed time to think.

His miserable job was adding insult to his already injured heart. The paychecks barely covered the expenses of our family and the savings we brought back from Connecticut had dwindled to nothing. He felt he was an inadequate financial provider. Even worse, he was unable to provide for a greater need – health for his children. Seizures continued to control Kari and Ryan's fragile bodies, interfering with any hope of them ever having normal minds.

Questions of the meaning of life besieged his mind. Why was God putting him on a shelf? Why had God turned a callous heart to his desires and wants? Why was God overlooking the many needs of his family? Like the shadowy night around him, darkness consumed Ron's bitter soul.

I lay in bed, waiting for him to come in from his refuge on the porch. My heart ached for him, but I didn't know how to reach him. He did not want me to share his pain, neither did he want to understand nor participate in my joy. His wounded heart did not appreciate the fulfillment and hope inside me. Jesus continued to give me hope for living and strength for each day, but I could not force this satisfying relationship on my husband. He was suffering and all I could do was to plead with God that He would soften my husband's hardening heart.

"Oh God, please help my husband. He has been so faithful to you all his life! He allows me to stay at home to care for my kids, while he works at a job he hates. He loves me and proved that devotion by moving here and leaving a ministry he loved. He has followed you and trusted you in all your directions. He would do anything to take away Kari and Ryan's pain and suffering. God, why does he have to struggle with all these trials? Haven't you humbled him enough through his job change, financial difficulties and children that don't respond to him? Please release him of his prison of pain! Lord, I know you hear me. Help us both overcome these circumstances and not be destroyed by them."

Ron entered the darkened room and collapsed on the sheets. I felt his body tighten from the strain and agony of his soul. I reached over to caress him and massage his tense muscles, but he made no response to my touch or attempts at comforting him. He drifted off to sleep to avoid any further inward torment.

I cried softly into my pillow feeling rejected, then prayed that the events of this coming weekend would somehow ease his pain, by helping him put his dreams behind him.

I hurriedly placed the dinner dishes in the dishwasher as Ron changed the kids into their pajamas. It was Friday evening and we were expecting a visit from the new director of RHMA and his family. We had not yet met this man, but already we had a very skeptical feeling about his leadership.

Since leaving our church-plant, we had requested numerous times to resign from the mission. We saw no hope of ever being able to be involved in the work of church planting with our increasingly needy family situation. No opportunities within already established ministries in Lancaster worked out. It seemed best that our dreams were put to rest. RHMA kept delaying our resignation process.

Finally, the director conveyed that he would not accept it and the mission board placed us on an "associate status list." This "hanging on" had become quite an irritant to us. Why couldn't RHMA see we would be of no use to them again? Why were they leaving us dangling?

"Joan," Ron said brusquely as we rushed through the house cleaning while we waited for Ron Klassen and his family to arrive. "I have every intention in making this director see first hand what life is like for us! When he sees our kids and how disabled they are and how much support you need, he will be forced to understand our situation. He can't leave without accepting my resignation!"

A car pulled in the driveway. Within minutes of their entering our home, we clearly saw that this family was a special one. Despite hours of traveling, they radiated phenomenal warmth and sensitivity. We talked and laughed for hours, getting to know one another at a deeper level. Their children were drawn to Kari and Ryan. In a short time, this family had become tender shepherds to hurting sheep.

By the time Ron Klassen started to speak about his purpose for coming, our spirits were open and our guard lowered. He spoke in a deep, steady tone. "Ron and Joan, I can see the needs of your children certainly are a great challenge to your being involved in ministry. At the same time I believe that God delights in our attempts to find ways to overcome obstacles in our desire to serve Him."

My husband shifted in his seat, I could see he was cautious about what was coming next. Mr. Klassen continued, "As I was driving across Pennsylvania I had a thought. I realize it may sound crazy. I have no idea how something like this would work, but what if you or the mission were able to find a nanny to help with your children so that you may return to church-planting ministry?"

Ron and I looked at each other and immediately knew what the other was thinking.

Our little house on School Lane Road was in a picture perfect setting, with the kind of view that is enviable to the many tourists that come through that part of Pennsylvania. What serenity, to be able to live among peace loving people who enjoyed such wonderful simplicity. Anyone who might have gone by, seeing me on that porch, would have thought I was privileged to bask in such tranquility.

Joan knew the truth, that inside me a storm was raging, with the result that I was sinking deeper and deeper into depression. She didn’t always know what to do about it. There were a couple things she did that helped a lot. She prayed for me and she didn’t cater to my pity parties. Each was important.

Hebrews 12:15 says we are to “See to it that no one misses the grace of God and that no bitter root grows up to cause trouble and defile many.” My bitterness caused not only me to be in agony, my family suffered as well. Joan didn’t feel encouragement from me. My children didn’t receive the affection that I could offer. I was a miserable thing to live with.

Common enemies outside the family, those things against which we had struggled together in the past, generally tended to pull us together. As big as those foes might loom before us, the more dangerous ones are those that creep in and take root in a small way at first. They too must be identified, with war waged against them. My growing bitterness was one such evil that needed to be eradicated.

A successful family recognizes and overcomes the enemies

that threaten to destroy it from within.

Chapter Fifteen

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