Help! I’m Tired of Religion by Pearl Adams
Chapter 5
“Nathaniel is gone.”
Serialized Fiction: I reluctantly raised my head from the novel on my table. My colleagues knew I hated being disturbed whenever I buried my head in my precious novels. The owner of the voice moved closer to my chair. I was forced to shut the book when I saw the pained look on Rita Lockerbie’s eyes. “Where has Nat gone to?” I asked.
Rita lowered herself into my visitor’s chair with a sigh. I was getting a bit irritated with her, as my mind was still on my book. Rita took a deep breath and said, “Peter, Nathaniel lost his life in an auto crash this morning. I was on my way to see one of our clients at Strasbourg Exchange House when I saw a crowd along Kings Street.
I almost ignored them, but somehow something drew me to the scene. I was then I saw Nathaniel’s Opel. It was a complete write-off. As I got closer, I saw him lying lifeless on the ground. An eye witness told me he died instantly, but his companion, a lady, was rushed to the General Hospital, Strasbourg.”
I sat stupefied. I couldn’t for the life of me imagine Nat lying on a cold slab at the morgue. I couldn’t fathom how such a wonderful guy could end up in that fashion. I remembered the last time Nat and I went to Living Bourg Teachers’ Training College to visit his fiancé. He’d looked so dashing that I couldn’t help feeling envious of his good looks.
Added to that, he had the good luck of having as his future wife the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. I recalled the thrill in his voice each time the name of Christine came up in our conversation. Poor girl, I thought. I wish she’d been spared this pain.
I suddenly felt a strong compassion for her that I couldn’t explain. Somehow, I felt it was my duty to be with her at her time of need. I mentally calculated how much it would cost me to travel to Living Bourg. I knew I had to make the sacrifice, not just for my late friend, but to have another opportunity to see Christine.
In fact, I was so carried away with my scheming that I completely forgot about Rita. Still sobbing, she took her leave, promising to let me know details of the tragedy. I was happy to see her go. Some of my friends in the office had attempted to match-make Rita and me, but my thoughts weren’t in that direction. Of course, virtually everyone in the office knew that Rita had a soft spot for me.
I tried to look at her in that light, but there was no spark. As soon as Rita left my office, I wasted no time in applying for two days casual leave. My calculation was that I needed to get to Christine before another person in the office or elsewhere beat me to it.
As I waited for the reply for my application, my immediate boss, Daniel Sou, called me on the intercom. I knew he’d heard about Nat’s sad end and wanted someone to share his grief. My boss and Nat were first cousins. Reluctantly, I dragged myself from my chair. Somehow, I wasn’t too pained by the loss of my colleague.
Although I hadn’t wished him dead, I saw his demise as an opportunity to fulfil a lifelong desire to make Christine my wife. If that made me less than human, I couldn’t care less. I was too far gone to bother about the morality of my state of mind.
By 4:00 p.m., Sou called to give me the good news. I had been permitted to take two days off “to sort out an urgent family issue.” I smiled to myself. If getting the girl of your dream wasn’t an “urgent family issue,” I wondered what else qualified for such categorization.
The next morning, I took time to wax my four-year-old Toyota Aventis. I was too aware of the deficiency my physique to attempt to compete with Nat in that department, despite the fact that he was dead. I had some things going for me, though. My parents were well above the poverty line, and I had been frugal with my salary and other perks of office. I felt I had all it took to take care of a woman like Christine.
When I got to the college, I was told she’d gone for teaching practice in a nearby primary school. She came in about two hours later, looking as radiant as ever. I was mesmerized. She was genuinely delighted to see me. I knew from the tone of her voice that she hadn’t heard the sad news. She stretched a hand in my direction and said, “Hi, Pet, what a pleasant surprise! Hope all is well.
How’s my Nat?” I put up a brave smile and assured her that all was well, to which she replied that she felt a busy banker like me had no business being in a place like Living Bourg on a working day. I mumbled something about having something to sort out in the town and invited her for lunch.
While waiting for our meals to arrive, I could barely contain my excitement that soon, this pretty woman would be mine. I was sure she’d say “yes.” All I needed to do was play my card with caution. With the meal over, I asked her if she wouldn’t mind taking a ride with me in my car. The moment we got to a secluded point not far from the Zoological Garden in the town, I broke the news to her.
She howled like mad and would have torn out of the car had I not held her tight. I did my best to console her, but she wailed even more. At that point, I volunteered to take her to her parent’s home, about 36 kilometres from Living Bourg. She reluctantly agreed, but suggested we inform the Director of Studies of her school.
The drive down to Christine’s home was anything but pleasant. She sat transfixed, like porcelain. I tried to start a conversation with her but she wouldn’t talk to me. I wasn’t pained, though, because I knew she was overwhelmed by grief. To break the silence, I slotted in a compact disk by Kirk Franklin, titled “The Hero,” but kept the volume low.
As soon as we got to her residence, Christine dashed out of the car without giving me a second glance. Although I felt slighted by her action, I kept my emotion in check. I remembered my father’s advise to me the day I told him I was withdrawing from secondary school because I thought the principal, Harry Longman, hated me with passion.
My dad had looked me straight in the eye and said, “Son, when a hunter is pursuing a deer, he ignores all obstacles in his way. If you withdraw from every race of life to avoid challenges, you will end up a total failure.”
With a straight face, I followed her into the house and came face-to-face with her family for the first time. Her dad and mum greeted me warmly when she told them I was her late fiancé’s friend. Apparently, they were serious Christians, as they quoted scriptures copiously to encourage her to trust God to comfort her. Somehow, that calmed her sufficiently for me to take my leave.
As we walked to the car, she thanked me profusely, and I promised to keep in touch if she’d be kind enough to give me her cell number. She obliged and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek as I was about to drive off. That startled me, as I wasn’t expecting that kind of display of affection.
On my return to Johannesburg, I called her to thank her for allowing me to share in her grief. I tried to be as formal as I could, since I knew that the time wasn’t ripe to show my hand. We continued to communicate by telephone until four months later. Actually, she’d invited me to her graduation ceremony, but I couldn’t get away from the office that weekend.
I was surprised to see her in my office the Monday after the ceremony. I quickly cleared my table and asked for an hour from my immediate boss to tidy up something in town. Of course, I made sure that Sou, my boss, didn’t bump into Christine and me as we made our way out of the bank.
Seated in a nearby restaurant with her, I felt as awkward as a school boy on his first date. Christine, on the other hand, chatted away as if she had no care in the world. Her light banter soon put me at ease, and we talked about Nat and the past without any cloud of sorrow hanging over us. It was then that I knew it was time to move into the next phase of our relationship.
Not knowing how to broach the subject, I asked her if she would proceed to the university immediately, or teach for some time. With a twinkle in eyes she said, “My ambition for now is to marry and raise children. University education can come later.”
Although I was glad she raised the issue, I still wasn’t sure I had any place in her heart, so I said casually, “Oh, that’s interesting! Have you met anyone we should know? We’ll be very happy to contribute our quota to the success of the wedding whenever both of you are ready.”
In response, she poked me in the rib and said, “I was hoping you’ll help me arrange for somebody in your bank. Is there any guy of marriageable age in your office who’s single, my dear? Link me up with one. You know what? I’d always desired to marry a banker. So help make my dream come through.”
The way she said it, I was sure she was teasing me, but I decided to play along. I mentioned some of the bachelors at the bank and asked her if she would mind my giving them her phone number. After a while, she said, “You left out a guy I know.
His name is Peter Botha. Is he out of the market?” It was then that it dawned on me that Christine desired to be my wife. With that, I stopped pretending and opened up my heart to her. Six months later, we were married at the Methodist Church in Living Bourg.
If the story had ended immediately after our marriage, it would’ve been a very sweet one indeed. Christine was a good wife and mother to our two children, until she enrolled for a Bachelor of Education program at the Trinity University, Johannesburg.
I don’t know the kind of bug she picked up after two semesters at the university, but suddenly, my wife of six years started attending late night parties. I, on the other hand, had become a Christian a year after our marriage. In fact, Christine’s father played a great role in pointing me to Christ, as he never missed an opportunity to preach the word of God to me.
Not knowing how to relate with the new Christine, I kept my pain to myself. I thought of going to her parents for help, but restrained myself. I didn’t want to drag them into the mud their daughter had raked up. In the seventh year of our marriage, things took a turn for the worse. Eventually, she returned one morning from a party and said she was leaving me for good.
At that time, I’d gotten an elderly woman from the church to baby sit for me during the day. She was the only person who knew the load I was forced to bear on account of Christine’s indiscretion. When I didn’t respond to her bombshell, she stormed out of the house. I didn’t see her again for three months, until she came to pick up her stuff.
With my marriage gone, I tried to pick up the pieces of my life. I threw myself into my job and church activities. When the pain was almost breaking my back, I went to the pastor of my church for counsel. Apart from the hassles of taking care of two little boys, I felt I was too young to remain single the rest of my life just because Christine no longer found me attractive.
The pastor, Brent Duncan, a Canadian, was very sympathetic. He, however, scolded me for keeping such a problem to myself that long. He said he might’ve been able to talk my wife into abandoning her self-destructive path if I’d sought his advice before now.
I apologized for keeping him out of the matter, and told him I needed to know God’s mind on the issue of divorce and remarriage. I said at forty-four years of age, I wasn’t ready to play the celibate, except God decided otherwise. The pastor knit his brow.
It was apparent he hadn’t expected this line of conversation. He sat silent for quite a while, and then he looked me straight in the eye and said, “It’s human to always want the easy way out of this kind of problem. As your shepherd, I know I’m obligated to guide you in such matters. Please don’t be in a hurry to take a stand on the matter. That’s all I can say for now.”
I can’t say if it was the stress of the day or the way the pastor treated the issue as if it was inconsequential. I was so furious that I picked up my car key from the side stool where I sat and stormed out of the church vestry. I was still sulking like a bad-tempered little boy denied access to his toys until I drove into my driveway. I was already walking towards the front door when I noticed the blue sedan belonging to my friend, Gale Dallen. Obviously, he’d been waiting for me. I walked over to his car and we went in together.
Noticing how taciturn I was, Gale excused himself to leave, but I pleaded with him to stay. I realized his company would calm me enough to know the next step to take. After our supper, I told him the outcome of my meeting with the pastor, and solicited his advice.
In response, he fished out a Gideon New Testament Bible from his portfolio and read out 1 Corinthians 7:1-40, with emphasis on verses 10 and eleven. He also read Mathew 19:1-9, where Jesus Christ said the only Scriptural grounds for divorce is infidelity.
He dropped the Bible on his lap and said, “We Christians like to make things difficult for ourselves. Just like the Pharisees of old, we take delight in stretching the truth to accommodate our idiosyncrasies. What exactly does your pastor want you to do? Take a vow of celibacy because Christine left you of her own accord?
Maybe you should seek counsel elsewhere. I know powerful men of God who have remarried after their divorce, and God hasn’t taken away his anointing from them. I can help you arrange a meeting with my bishop, Blake Japers, if you don’t mind.”
I raised my head heavenward and sighed deeply. I had always hated divorce, even as an unbeliever. Despite my disappointing outing with Christine, something in me rebelled against the possibility of replacing her in my life. I realized that I still loved my wife.
In fact, my love for her hadn’t diminished since the first day Nat introduced us. To calm the turmoil in my heart, I agreed to meet with the bishop. Right there in my living room, Gale put a call through to the man of God, and secured an appointment for me the next day. We parted on that note.
After work the following day, I drove with trepidation to the South African Headquarters of the Blessed Assurance Ministry, Inc. The bishop’s secretary ushered me into his office. It was obvious that the man was an avid reader, as the large office was ringed by well-stocked bookshelves.
There were also several books on the table. After exchanging pleasantries, the bishop went straight to business. He said my friend Gale had given him a run- down on my case. He assured me that God would give me an answer of peace from his word.
Thereafter, he read the same scriptures Gale brought out at my residence, and expounded on them. He said God, the source of all wisdom, knew people like me would walk through the valley of separation from their spouses; hence, God had made a way of escape for us.
With a mischievous look on his face, he said, “I hope you didn’t give your wife a valid excuse to seek pleasure elsewhere. You know, some of us Christians over-spiritualize sex. I tell my congregation to go ahead and enjoy conjugal rights. God didn’t make a mistake to give us sexual organs. So long as the marriage bed isn’t defiled by infidelity, God takes delight in our deriving pleasure from sex.”
Apparently, he expected me to respond to the question as to whether I had satisfied my wife sexually. I felt embarrassed by the thought that Christine could’ve left because I was less of a man. I was sure I had tried my best as a husband in that department. I shrugged my shoulder and said, “Sir, as far as I could remember, my wife never raised any objection in this respect. We were married for six years and have two children.
He stood up from his chair and walked to where I sat. With a hand on my shoulder, he said, “I perceive you still care about your wife. As to the mind of the Lord, I believe the two scriptures I read for you are clear on the matter. Go ahead and sue for divorce if you wish.” I thanked him, and made my way out of the church a very disturbed man, despite the bishop’s assurance that God would sanction my final separation from my wife.
As I stepped into my apartment, I had an uncanny urge to read the book of Hosea. In fact, I hated the story of Hosea and his prostitute wife, Gomer. I ignored the prompting and picked up a copy of Newsweek magazine I bought the previous day.
I tried to read the publication but couldn’t concentrate. In exasperation, I picked up the Bible from my bookshelf and read about the travails of Hosea. I had never pitied the man. I used to think that he was too much of a wimp to spend his life pursuing a tramp just because God wanted to make a point with stubborn Jews!
I read the book thrice without having any clue as to why the Holy Spirit was intent on spoiling my evening with the detestable story, as I saw it. It was while going through it for the fourth time that the heavens opened and God spoke very clearly to me about Christine and my plans for her. He said, “My grace confers on you the ability to do the impossible and the unthinkable. You despise Hosea because he did what mere men couldn’t or wouldn’t do.
Yes, the Scriptures your friend and the bishop read on divorce are valid, but that doesn’t mean I take delight in people who break the covenant of marriage. There is always the possibility of error when Scriptures are treated in isolation. Have you never read what I said in Malachi 2:16? Peter, I hated divorce under the Old Testament and nothing has happened in the New Testament to make Me change My mind on the issue.
You have a choice. You could act like a mere man, a man without my grace, and take the easy way out. I won’t try to stop you because I created man with a free will. On the other hand, you can rely on me to restore your marriage beyond your wildest imagination. All you need to do is forgive your wife and leave the rest to me.”
With my two hands cupped and head bowed, I broke into sobs. I knew the Lord was asking me to do the impossible. What would I say to my friends and relatives? Won’t everyone treat me like a leper? I cried my heart out, begging God to spare me such humiliation, but there was no response from him. Eventually, I knelt by the side of my bed and consecrated my life to God.
I said, “Lord, You know I’m unable to obey you in this matter in my strength. I surrender myself to you afresh, and ask for grace to forgive Christine. I choose to forgive her, Lord, and take her back into my life. I choose to forget the past and build my home with her, again. Give me the wisdom to know what to say to people who will take offense at my decision over this matter.
I trust in your faithfulness, Father, to see me through the days and months ahead, in Jesus name.” The moment I ended the prayer, peace flooded my entire being. I left my room to check on the boys, but they were fast asleep. I returned to my room and had a very restful sleep, the first since Christine left me.
Two months later, I was at a gym in my neighbourhood when my cell phone rang. It was Christine. With heart thumping wildly, I did my best to mask the excitement in my voice as I said, “Hi, Christine. What can I do for you?” She laughed hard and asked me what I thought she would ask a handsome man like me to do for a lady like her. I was too tense to enjoy her joke. I knew God hadn’t asked me to make the first move, so I kept my cool. My thought was if she wanted reconciliation, she would have to burn her pride and return home.
I was almost tempted to cut her off when she said, “Peter, I must see you immediately. Where can we meet?” I tried to fend her off with the excuse that I was too busy at work, but the Holy Spirit nudged me to grant her audience. I reluctantly asked her to meet me at a restaurant close to my residence. I just didn’t feel too good about her coming to the house and making a fuss about the kids.
At exactly 6:00 p.m., Christine walked into the restaurant. I hadn’t seen my wife for six years, and didn’t know what to expect. I was surprised when I saw her. Christine hadn’t changed. She was still the beautiful woman who had captured my heart. I realized my love for her was still strong. A danger signal blinked. I kept reminding myself to be cautious with her.
I was afraid to be given the knife a second time. As she walked in, I almost ignored her outstretched hand, but the grace of God overcame my resistance. Flustered, she sat down opposite me and said, “Peter, I was hoping we could be friends, at least. I know I treated you badly, but this cold treatment won’t turn back the hands of the clock. I’m terribly sorry for all I did to you and the boys. Please give me another opportunity to mend my ways.”
I was tempted to ask her to stuff her apologies down her throat, but was conscious of the presence of the Holy Spirit. I found myself telling her the restaurant wasn’t the right place to discuss such an emotive issue. We eventually ended up at home, and that was how Christine found her way back into my life. Of course, the kids were delighted to see her, although I had to convince the younger boy that she was, indeed, his mother. Christine had left home when the boys were five and two, respectively.
In spite of God’s presence in our home, having Christine back was initially very trying for me. For more than a year, I found myself crying out to God for grace to forgive and forget. The forgiving aspect was a little bit easy, but the memory of her infidelity lingered for months. As I kept yielding my heart to the Lord, He gradually restored my marriage, even beyond my wildest imagination.
My wife became such a changed woman that it astounded my relative s and friends who initially opposed the reunion. Today, Christine is an ordained minister of God at my church. She also runs an orphanage in collaboration with Oxfam, an American-based, non-governmental organization.