July 17, 2003
FSM 335 CM/FM
12/98
Copyright © 1998 by The Family
(Jesus speaking:) Through the following true stories about jealousy, I want to illustrate to you that I am able to lead and guide My children who need Me, even if only with a verse or a Bible story. The purpose of living on Earth is to learn to love, and each of these stories illustrates different ways that My children, though not in the Family, felt called to reach beyond themselves and love others even above and beyond what they saw to be the call of their Christian duty.
I call each of you, personally, to learn your own lessons of love. Your lessons may be similar to one or two here, or they may be completely different. Do not fear that just because someone else was required to give or share in a way that you feel you are not able, that I will also require this of you. The main point I wish for you to draw from each of these stories is that these faithful children of Mine chose to cling to Me and the knowledge of My Word that they had with them, so I brought them through their Jordans. I comforted them and I kept them, and their lives were actually enriched as a result of their willingness to give to others that which was so precious to them.
The story with a less than happy ending also serves a good purpose, and again, that purpose is not to create fear or foreboding in your hearts. Rather, be thankful that you can learn from the mistakes of others. Instead of learning through hard experience the fruits of selfishness and bitterness and lack of communication, thank Me that each of these people were willing to step through the veil to tell their stories for your sakes.
Most of all, realize that I am always present to lead you into My perfect path. You, of all the people on the Earth, have so much of My voice and My Word to comfort and reassure you. Though all the details may not apply to you or your situation, still, you can draw good lessons and principles from these stories. Even when your situation is unique and there are no previous records of the tests you are experiencing, I can speak to you with fresh words of counsel. There is no puzzle too complicated for Me, no well too deep, no ocean too wide. I am always ready and able to help you.
I have also promised you, My dear children, a glorious victory if you will but cling to Me and yield your all to Me. So worry not, for through whatever depths you may pass, you can always know that a glorious, sunny and wonderful victory awaits those who hold on! (End of message from Jesus.)
—By Nora
From the time I was a child I dreamed of the day that I would be married, when I would have my very own man whom I could hold and love and care for, a man I could provide for in all the little ways that only a wife could. I wanted to cook for him, to mend for him, to make our home happy and warm. I wanted to have his children.
I wanted my perfect man so much. I prayed for him. I prayed and asked Jesus to please give me my man, my husband.—And He did! He honored my prayers and sent my beloved to me, and he was everything I had ever wanted. He was handsome, he was kind, he loved me and he cared for me. He was a good husband and a good provider. We were so happy.
But let me tell you my story from the beginning. I lived in the late 1800s. I was raised in a farming community, and later moved to Philadelphia.
There was lots of Bible reading and praying and singing of hymns when I was a child. We didn't live communally like you do, but we were all very close—just like a family. I knew everyone in our little community. Neighbors would come at different times to visit my parents' house, and sometimes we'd even hold services in our parlor. They would pray for rain or pray for their crops or something else concerning the farms and their farming. Sometimes it was a sick relative, or even a sick animal. You know, the animals are very important to farmers, and so they would come and pray for the Lord to heal them. When I was a child I felt there were so many people there. But as I grew older I realized just how very small our little farming community was.
Benjamin was raised in the same community. We knew each other as children, and our love for each other began at an early age. We married quite young; I was only 16 and Ben was 18. But in those days it was very common and acceptable.
We had given our hearts to Jesus from childhood, and found love and peace and joy in our faith. That was the true desire of my heart—that I might love Jesus and bring His joy to others.
Sometimes this desire was a little overshadowed, though, by my love for my husband and my desire for him. There came a time in my life when my husband was more important to me than even doing the will of God. I'm ashamed to admit it now, but that's what happened.
In the early days, I continually thanked God for having given me such a wonderful answer to my prayers for a husband. I was so happy and we found such love in each other's arms. In fact, I found great love for everyone. I already loved my wonderful family. But being so in love with the husband that the Lord had given me caused me to love others even more.
I felt love continually flowing from my heart and I wanted to love everyone. I wanted to let everyone know how wonderful Jesus is and how wonderfully He answers our prayers and what great love He gives us in our hearts.
Ben was ambitious. He wanted more than just a life on the farm. Although he loved his family and those in the community, Ben wanted to move to the city. He wanted to make more of a life for himself. So we left the farm and went to the city of Philadelphia, where Ben found work in a shoe factory.
It was in the city that I had my first child, Marissa. We were so happy. We had just what we had always wanted—a lovely little daughter. We loved her so, and she was the apple of her daddy's eye. Then, along came Laura and Benjamin Junior. We were so happy with the little family that God had given us. And, as mothers do, I became very absorbed in the rearing of my children.
I had always leaned on Ben, but when the children came along, I began to depend even more heavily upon him because he was there—he was always there. I could reach out, I could feel him, I could touch him. How I longed for his hug, for his touch, for his reassuring smile. It meant so much to me and brought me such peace and contentment. Little by little, my life began to revolve more completely around him and my children. Though I did keep the Lord in my heart and mind, and did want to serve Him, I drifted away, being more concerned with my own family—my husband and children.
Then the Lord began to do a marvelous work in my heart and in our lives. I didn't recognize it as a marvelous thing at first, for in the beginning it seemed to be a disaster, a terrible thing. It all began one day when Ben was away at work. He met Annie, a poor young woman who had come to the factory selling flowers to try to earn a meager living to keep her and her little family going. Benjamin naturally took pity upon her at first sight and bought a rose. But he felt he had to do more for her than just give her a small gift for the rose. He wanted to give her something more lasting. So he talked to her about God and His Son, Jesus, and His gift of salvation.
We weren't used to witnessing much, but we had strong faith, and at that moment, I guess Benjamin felt compelled to share the good news of salvation with poor Annie. She listened politely to his witness and thanked him when he was done. She didn't understand everything he was telling her, and was not ready at that moment to receive all that he had to say. But she did feel his love and concern for her, which touched her even more deeply than his words.
It was not long before Annie came back around about a week later, again selling her flowers. This time Benjamin gave her a little donation, but told her to keep the flower, and asked if she had thought more about God and His Son, Jesus. Annie said, yes, that she had thought about it, but she had thought more about Benjamin and his kindness and concern for her. She asked if he could tell her more about Jesus, and if knowing Him was what made Benjamin so kind and pleasant. Benjamin again shared the plan of salvation with her, and this time, being more accustomed to the words and more comfortable in Benjamin's presence, she prayed with him and received Jesus as her Savior.
That was the beginning of a wonderful friendship between Benjamin and Annie, and the beginning of a profound change in my own life. With excitement, Benjamin told me of the experience with Annie, and how she had prayed with him to receive our Lord. This in itself was an unusual happening for Benjamin or myself, and he was quite elated at the way God had used him to share His message and love with almost a total stranger. We were both happy about this wonderful spiritual experience.
As time went on, Annie stopped by the factory more regularly to chat with Benjamin. No longer did she offer to sell him flowers, but knowing her need and that of her family, Benjamin always gave a little something to help Annie.
Eventually Benjamin and I decided that we should invite Annie over for lunch one Sunday. I wanted to meet this girl and learn more about her. Benjamin had told me so much about their talks and her interest in God and the Bible that I felt I already knew her, so inviting her over seemed to be the most natural thing to do.
Annie was a sweet, quiet and charming girl, and I liked her the minute I laid eyes on her. She had a meek and humble spirit, and though she was plain and simple in appearance, this brightness of spirit shone through and gave her a wonderful light that drew you to her. She was already a special girl, and I'm sure that receiving the Lord brightened her spirit, and that was what we saw shining through her simple smile and laughing eyes.
This was the beginning of many Sunday visits, and we greatly enjoyed Annie's company every time. We were growing closer together and Annie was almost becoming our adopted daughter. We both loved and cared for her and were concerned for her welfare, and that of her family.
Then by and by, something happened. I began to notice that my husband was taking more than just a fatherly interest in our Annie. He seemed to find all kinds of ways to have some sort of physical contact with her, whether it'd be taking her wrap from her and squeezing her shoulders as a friendly greeting, or kissing her hand as she left to return home. I could tell that something was growing between them, and I began to feel twinges of jealousy.
I really didn't know what to do. I had never been faced with this kind of situation before. I was uncertain about my own feelings and emotions, and when I spoke to Benjamin about them I found that he too was feeling confused and his own feelings were leaving him unsettled. He told me that he felt very drawn to Annie, but he couldn't understand why. He assumed it must be a very strong friendship forming between them—perhaps because he had been the first one to meet her and had shared God's message of salvation with her. He thought that this must be what was happening.
I could only agree, and I felt that that was true. And yet, with a woman's intuition, I sensed that there was something more, that his feelings were stronger for her than just the bond of friendship. Perhaps I understood Benjamin's feelings and sensed what was coming even more than he did.
In the weeks to come my premonition was realized, as before my very eyes I saw Benjamin and Annie fall in love. They didn't have to say anything. I just knew it. Oh, how difficult it was for me, what torment of mind and spirit I began to go through. Was this it? Was this the end of my marriage? Was I going to lose my husband to a poor street girl he had met? Was dear Annie, who was becoming such a friend to me, going to take away that which I loved most dearly? Was she going to take away my husband and the father of my children? Oh, what agony of heart and spirit I felt. How many nights I fell asleep pleading with God to help me, to show me, to speak to me. I loved Benjamin too much to let him go, and I knew he loved me, but I could not understand his actions and what I saw happening before my eyes.
Since moving away from the farm and living in the city we hadn't spent as much time reading the Scriptures or praying like we had back home. But now I felt something compelling me to get my Bible, to sit and read. Somehow I sensed that through that Book I was going to find the answers I was searching for, and that I would be strengthened or helped in some way.
I began to read through the Gospels, and when I came to the story of Jesus speaking to the woman at the well, I couldn't help but relate it to my Benjamin and Annie. The knot in my stomach began to subside, and I felt a calmness as the thought entered in my head that perhaps God was aware of all that was happening here. Maybe He had brought Annie to Benjamin that day, not because of his need, but because of hers. This thought reassured me, and I began to think the Lord could have a reason for it all.
This still did not explain my husband's love for Annie, but it was a beginning. I felt at peace. I prayed a prayer of thanks to God for leading me to that passage of Scripture and for giving me that contentment, the peace that passes all understanding that had swept over me that day.
I wish I could say that that was the end of the matter. But during Annie's next visit that sinking feeling came back again and I felt myself growing somewhat resentful toward Annie, and even toward Benjamin. The knot in my stomach was beginning to form, and I felt so ill at ease that I had to excuse myself from their presence.
After Annie left, Benjamin came to me, inquiring what was wrong. Why had I left during Annie's visit and why was I being so quiet, and what was that distressed look on my face all about? I couldn't hold it in any longer. It all burst forth at once and I told Benjamin the secrets of my heart. I told him how terribly jealous I was becoming of the love between him and Annie. I explained to him how the passage of Scripture had comforted me so, and how I felt that maybe it was even God's will that they had met; but somehow I could not accept this love that I saw growing between them. It was tormenting me. I was beginning to worry that I would lose his love to her, that I would lose not only my husband but the father of my children.
Benjamin was silent and hung his head for what seemed to be a very long time. At last he looked at me and said that, yes, for some unexplainable reason, he felt a very strong love for Annie. The love that had begun as a simple spark was now beginning to grow into a large flame. We were both confused, we were both somewhat distraught over what was happening. We loved each other. My husband professed his love for me and desire for me as his wife and the mother of his children. And yet he felt so drawn to Annie. He said he was feeling pulled apart and he didn't know what to do.
In our sore distress and time of trial—me with my jealousy, fear of the future, and being so eaten up inside with anxiety over my husband's love for Annie, and he in his confusion and bewilderment over what was happening—we knelt down together and did something that we had not done for a long time. We prayed. We cried out desperately to Jesus to help us understand what was going on, to help us to see our way, to show us what to do and to help us to find peace and joy and happiness again, to take away the pain and to replace it with His comfort.
As we finished our prayers a sense of rest and calm came over us. We heard no answers, we received no revelations, but we knew that something had changed, something was different. We still had our problems, but we felt peace and reassurance that God had heard our prayers and that the answers would be coming.
In the weeks that followed we made prayer a regular daily habit.—We had to. The difficulties, the trials, the strong emotions we were feeling drove us to the Lord, and each time we found peace, contentment and assurance in praying and reading God's Word. We also talked about what to do, and Benjamin shared with me how he strongly felt that God had called him to help this young woman, Annie, and that she needed his protection and his care; she needed his love and affection also.
I found this very difficult to comprehend. Why couldn't Annie find someone else? Why couldn't Annie find her own man? I had prayed for Benjamin and the Lord had given him to me. Why couldn't she pray and get her own man? Why must I share mine? There were so many questions, so many difficulties, so many emotional upheavals.
When this crisis happened in my life, I found it necessary at one point to make a visit to my parents' home with the children. The burden of it all was too much for me and I felt I needed to talk to my parents and to avail myself of their faith and strength and prayers.
We had no fast transportation in my day. Traveling to my parents' took some time, and I stayed with them for a few weeks. It wasn't possible for Benjamin to make the trip with me, but he agreed to let me go, as he knew how important this was to me and how much I needed the time with them.
We agreed together, and in fact, it was Benjamin's own idea, that he would not have Annie over during the time I was gone. He would meet her out if he met her at all, as he was very concerned not to have me worry about him and Annie, and he didn't want to put himself in a position of being alone with her.
So with this agreement I left to visit my family. Of course they were a little surprised when I related to them the story of what was happening. But with age they had grown wise, and they understood human emotions and the need for love and understanding much better than I did. They prayed with me that the Lord would guide me in this matter. They prayed for Benjamin, for they knew he was a good man. They knew how much he loved me, and I assured them of his love for me too, and that I knew his motive was pure. I told them that he was just as concerned as I to do the right thing.
My parents loved me and my dear husband enough that this story did not shake them; it did not shake their faith in God, and it certainly did not shake their faith in me or Benjamin.
During my visit, this predicament I had found myself in became quite a family affair. We had no secrets and my two older brothers and my younger sister were in on it too. Of course, they had their opinions, and at first some of them felt that it was outrageous for me to even tolerate such a thing, and they didn't understand why Benjamin wasn't being more reserved in his affections with Annie. But when they saw my parents' understanding and how they looked at it, it helped to change their perceptions.
My family was supportive. They weren't sure if they agreed completely with what I was doing or what Benjamin was doing, but they wanted to support us in our decision. They let me know that no matter what I decided, they would love us, because they knew we were trying to do the right thing. I think it was my parents who had the greatest influence over me and my brothers and sister, because of their great faith. I find it difficult to put into words, but they just seemed to understand; they seemed to perceive that something new was happening in my life and Benjamin's life. They recognized that God was doing it, and that gave them faith.
Then one day, soon after I had returned to the city and to my husband, you could say I saw the light. I was reading my Bible, as I had come to do so often throughout this time, and I came across the passage which read: "All the law is fulfilled in this, that you love your neighbor as yourself" (Gal.5:14). Those words seemed to leap off the page at me—"thy neighbor as thyself."
Why, that was it! Annie was my neighbor, and if I was to love Annie as myself, then I would want Annie to have all the love that I had and all the love that I had experienced. It all seemed so simple now. If I was going to love Annie as my neighbor, then why should I mind if she loves my husband? I love my husband. I want my husband's love, and if Annie is to be loved by me as myself, then the Christian thing is for me to allow my dear husband to love Annie.
This was a revelation to me. This was not something that I would have ever found strength to do myself. It was supernatural. I recognized this. After months of jealous fits, anger, remorse, despair, and even resentfulness and bitterness toward my husband and Annie, to have such a change of heart and mind and attitude was nothing short of a complete miracle.
Here I was, understanding and realizing the kind of love that my Creator wanted me to have for another human being. When Benjamin came home that night I shared with him the passage from the Bible and recounted to him my experience and the joy and the peace that I had found from knowing and understanding God's plan and why he had brought Annie into our lives.
My husband was dumbfounded. He was amazed to see the change in me, to see the light return to my face, to see such joy and happiness. We embraced, we kissed, we wept, and we thanked God together for His mercy in revealing these things to us, for answering our desperate prayers and for speaking to us through His Word.
Things were very different in our home when Annie came for her next visit. I embraced her at the door and shed a tear or two. Poor Annie looked so bewildered. Although we had never talked about Benjamin's and my struggle with her, I know she had sensed that something was not right between us. But now it seemed that all was well. The light had broken through and I felt such, such love toward Annie. I felt such gratitude and love for God's help and for opening up this channel of love in my heart.
After that, my husband, Annie and I spent wonderful seasons together, laughing, talking, reading the Bible, praying together and feeling love, unity and oneness among us. My husband continued with his fond affection for Annie, gentle hugs, a kiss on the forehead, and sometimes long and deep talks into the night. But now I had such peace, such a feeling of doing God's will and sharing my husband's time, and even allowing him to show his affections to this dear girl.
With time, things changed. Annie's family fell upon good fortune and Annie no longer had to sell flowers to try to support her whole family. She found herself a job in a ladies' hat shop, and eventually met a fine young man and they were wed.
Benjamin and I had two more children, but there were no more Annies. Our lives were changed, though, and we found that we just couldn't contain the love that we had discovered in our hearts. We couldn't hold back the flood of love that God had poured through us and shown us through the experience of loving Annie. We opened up our home. We had guests and visitors come over. We shared God's Word with them and led many souls to Jesus. People often commented how much love they felt in our home. We had learned to love without fear. We had learned to show affection, not to worry what people thought and not to doubt the love that God had given us.
I hope my story can help you in your struggle to fight on for victory. Life was given for living, for loving, for sharing and for growing. Don't let the Enemy rob you of the wonderful life on Earth that Jesus has given to you. Yes, we have wonderful love in Heaven, we have all the fruits of our labors Here, but you can experience Heaven there on Earth. You can experience the love that we have Here. You can experience the joy of sharing and the wonderful freedom of letting God's love flow through you to others. You can learn for a fact that you never lose by giving.
We see it so clearly Here, but you can see it clearly there too if you'll just believe the Lord's words and trust Him.
Trust Him for your loved ones,
Trust Him for your life.
Trust Him for your husband,
Trust Him for your wife.
Trust Him for your children,
Trust Him for their care.
Trust Him for all your loved ones,
For He is good and fair.
—By Ralph
I grew up in South Dakota. I was young and adventurous; I couldn't sit still for a moment. I was 16 when the hippie movement began and I threw myself wholly into it. My father was a well-to-do businessman in the textile industry, and our family was fairly rich and respected. I can't explain my dad's horror at my decision to become a hippie. He ranted and raved half the night before ordering me to "clean up or get out." Being a rebellious teenager you can guess what I did: I packed a backpack and cleared out.
I began hitchhiking around the state, finding friends and others to stay with. We began to smoke dope and I really got into it. I was determined to find something better than the world as I knew it, something higher than myself and the System around me which disgusted me. I couldn't stand the hypocrisy of so-called Christians; it sickened me. Our family was Catholic, but I had stopped going to church a long time before I left home. My parents would try to get me to go to church with them, but I would tell them that I saw no point in worshipping a God Who couldn't keep us out of war, Who couldn't stop the suffering, and Whose servants abused and misused the power bestowed upon them. So while I knew about God, I can't say that I was a believer.
I launched out, riding the very crest of the hippie movement. I tried it all. Then a few years later while I was passing through a small town, I met a girl who changed everything. I was captivated, enchanted, enthralled, mesmerized. Her deep and searching eyes bored through me like a drill looking for oil. Her gaze churned up the very deepest emotions of my soul. I was in love.
She wasn't a hippie, but she wouldn't conform to the ways of the world. Jennette was a student in a local university, but I could tell she wasn't "one of them." Despite the way I looked, in spite of my strange dress and manner, she took an interest in me and we began spending more time together. When she told me she thought I would look better with shorter hair, immediately I cut it. I began shaving again and I tried to find decent clothes to wear. It seemed everything I did was for her.
I got a job as a delivery boy, and soon I was promoted to coordinator. I worked hard, but the only reason I did was because of her. She sparked a desire in my heart to change, to be better, to do better. Her kind and gentle ways melted away the hard front I was so used to carrying to avoid being hurt. I couldn't think of anything I wanted more than to be at her side, and when we were apart all I could think of was her.
By the time I was 21, I had a promising career ahead of me and my boss liked me. I had worked my way slowly up the chain of command until I was working right under the regional overseer. We would shuttle mail and cargo, gifts and books, all sorts of things all over the country. I began to love my work.
Jennette and I continued to see each other, and we went out to dinner every Friday night. We talked, we danced, we had a lot of fun. I was sure in my heart that I had found the love of my life. Before that time I had no good reason to put my heart into anything. But when she came along it all changed. Something about her drew me out and made me want to live. She made me want to help others.
To make a long story short, I proposed to her one day while we were sitting by the lake on campus. To my extreme joy and relief, she accepted. I wrote my parents and told them all that had happened over the past years and how I was now a "normal" person again, and I was getting married to the girl of my dreams. Needless to say, they were overjoyed and decided to let us come visit. My mom prepared a delicious dinner for us and we had a good time of talking and fun. My wife-to-be seemed to fit right in with my folks and they liked her.
The first three years of our marriage were very wonderful years. Sure there were rough spots. Learning to live with another person wasn't always easy, but with the Lord's help we made it through. Yes, I had begun going to church again and I had found a renewed interest in God. As we hit rough spots we learned to pray together in order to find the answers, and together we became a pretty stable couple.
I had so wanted a child ever since we were married, and the Lord blessed us with sweet "Jennette junior." We called her Gloria Rosanne. She was the joy of our lives—the cutest darling, with bright blue eyes and blonde curls falling softly around her plump face. This was heaven.
Then Randy entered our lives. He was an old school buddy of mine; our families had been good friends throughout the years. When we were younger, we used to spend Sundays together. We'd go fishing and hang out together. But when he came to visit Jennette and me that first day, I had a hunch that he was going to cause some serious trouble. To explain the reason I felt this way, I wasn't what you would call "God's gift to women" or anything. I wasn't exceptionally handsome, smart or any of those things. On the other hand, my wife, Jennette, was definitely one of God's gifts to men. She was a picture of beauty. She could have been a model, if you get the picture.
Sure enough, she and Randy hit it off right from the start, and I could see a little twinkle growing in her eyes. He began to visit regularly and they became good friends. Sadly, I could not control the ever-growing feelings of resentment, loss, and jealousy in my heart. I would go out in a rage and get drunk, and often I wouldn't come back till the wee hours of the morning. Poor Jennette, no matter what she tried to do to convince me that I was the only one she was in love with, and that Randy was a friend and no more, it didn't help. I read something into every action, every deed, every moment they spent together. This ordeal began tearing us apart and we began to argue and fight. Then one day, she said she couldn't take it anymore. She was going to leave till I got over this whole thing; when I had, then she would come back. In a jealous rage I threw things across the room and yelled for her to get out and go and marry Randy. She left sobbing.
I, too, was hurting deep inside. I saw all the pain I was causing the one most dear to my heart, yet it was as if I was powerless against these possessive attacks of jealousy. I felt helplessly caught in the clutches of an evil beast and I was being ruthlessly torn apart.
Separated now from the one I loved, I had time to think, time to reflect, pray and beg for God's mercy. One evening as I sat in our living room rocking back and forth, remembering all the times we had shared and trying to figure out where it had all gone so wrong, a thought hit me.
What if her friendship with Randy continues on for the rest of our lives? What if, in spite of his good looks and charming personality, she still wanted to be with me—of all people? Couldn't I accept this as God's will in my life? Couldn't I accept it, and reach a point of humility and acceptance? Surely there must be a way that I can bring Randy in rather than trying to shut him out.
Then I knelt down and poured out my heart to the Lord in fervent prayer and in utter desperation. I told the Lord that I was willing to accept His will. I was willing to accept what He had chosen to bring into my life. After I had done this, I found peace. It flooded in like a cool rain quenching the burning fires in my heart. I slept in peace for the first time in months. I was able to fully commit my way to the Lord that night, and He gave me perfect peace.
The next day I went to see Jennette at her parents' place. I humbly asked her forgiveness and told her that if she could find it within herself to forgive me, I wanted with all my heart to give it a second try. She took my drooping head in her hands, and with tears in both of our eyes she said yes. We hugged and kissed and held each other for longer than I can remember ever doing before.
The secret had been to accept that what had happened was God's will. It was His plan and it was for some purpose. Well, I'm not saying here that from that moment on things were hunky-dory. We still had some pretty tough times and it was difficult, but we came through unscathed. Randy became an integral part of our lives for the next six years until, due to his habit of smoking, he died of lung cancer. During those last weeks of his life we took him into our home; we both cared for him as our best friend. Jennette spent many hours comforting him, holding him through his pain, weeping with him. I was happy to lend her to this, my friend, who was in such need.
The whole experience drove our love so much deeper. No longer did the petty things upset us. We both knew that no matter what happened, no matter who the Lord brought into our lives, He had a plan. We had learned at last that the best thing to do was to trust Him and accept His will.
We buried Randy on April 1st, 1979, and with him we buried part of our hearts. He had become a friend so close that it seemed that we had brought him into our marriage. It was like losing a husband or a wife. But through the experience we had learned that it was better to give than it is to receive.
Together we raised our four children till at the age of 39 I unexpectedly passed over to the Other Side. So that's my story—one of jealousy, pain and forgiveness, acceptance and love. I thank God that I have been allowed this opportunity to tell you the tale of my life, that you might take hope and courage from this testimony and be strong enough to yield to Him and accept His will in your lives.
—By Helga
I lived on the outskirts of Stockholm with my husband, Sven. We had no children, and my husband was a fisherman. He would go out for several weeks at a time on the big fishing boats, and then would come home for a few days.
Sven liked his work and enjoyed the sea. His father had been a fisherman, and his grandfather before him, so he knew the trade well. It was in his blood. It was all he'd ever wanted or hoped to be.
I was a farm girl, raised in the country. It was odd that my life's path and my husband's crossed the way that they did. Our parents had a mutual friend, and it was at his wedding that I first met Sven. I was 17 and he was 19. We liked each other from the start and determined that we would write after returning to our homes.
Sven was already working with his father on the fishing boats, and though he had time in the evenings to write, it took a long time for his letters to reach me. We carried on our friendship through the mail for several years before meeting again. We drew close through our communications and at last made arrangements to meet in the little village where we had first met so long before.
It was a sweet and simple reunion. Our lives were so basic that there wasn't much to tell. I worked on the farm, he went fishing—what more was there to say? We were not the best conversationalists, but we did enjoy each other's company. We sat for hours that day in a little café, much of the time in silent communication, letting each other know that we cared for the other by a simple squeeze of the hand.
After that meeting, Sven's letters came more regularly and, at last, through the mail he proposed to me. I was in heaven. I was so happy. I was content with my life on the farm, but I was lonely and longing for companionship, someone to be by my side, someone to be my husband and a father for the children that I wanted to have.
At last the day came and we were wed. We decided that Sven would move in with me on the farm. There was a spare room in my parents' home, and they graciously offered to let us stay with them. It was hardly a sacrifice, for in opening their home to my wonderful Sven, they retained me and my help on the farm.
Sven continued to be gone weeks, and sometimes months, at a time. I missed him dearly, but I determined that I would rather have Sven when I could, than to have another man whenever I wanted. Our hopes to have children were not fulfilled as we had expected, for reasons only God knew. I did not give up hope though, and having been raised on a farm, I was prepared to patiently wait until the time of my fruitfulness.
Life went on like this for several years. Sven and I were very happy, and though when he was gone my heart was a little sad, longing for him and wishing desperately for children to care for and to fill the empty space, still I was happy and felt blessed.
One spring Sven was late coming home from a fishing journey. He had written and told me what day his boat would come in, and that after attending to business in Stockholm with his father he would be home in a few days. Nearly a week had gone by since the day he said he would return, and there was no word from him. I began to worry. This was not like Sven. He was always faithful to write. Why did I receive no news, no word of his delay?
I persuaded my father to take me to Stockholm, to the port where Sven's boat lay anchored. We found the captain on board and he explained that the boat, because of bad weather had been delayed two days in returning home. He said that Sven and his father had left the boat shortly after docking and mentioned a certain tavern in town where they were intending to stay and take care of some family business. My father and I went to find the tavern the captain had described to us, and there we made inquiries. Yes, they said, two such gentlemen had been there, but had paid their bill that very morning and left town.
With nothing else to go on, my father and I returned home, only to find that Sven was there, having arrived only a few hours ahead of us. Quickly I raced to embrace him, for I had missed him so.
But after a tender hug and a welcome-home kiss I pushed him away, angry and accusing, asking why he had not written, why he had not informed me that he would be delayed in his return. He apologized and said that they were delayed at sea by a storm. I confirmed that I knew this from my talk with the captain. But why so many days in the tavern, and why had he not found a way to contact me? What was going on? Sven explained the business with his father, and that as he knew he would be home soon, he thought it not necessary to get in touch. He said he knew that I would understand and would not worry about his return.
As simple and mild-mannered as I was, I found it within me to let my hurt and anger come out. I expressed strongly how worried I had become night after night when he did not return and I had heard no news from him. I told him that it was thoughtless of him to leave me without a word of his well-being. How could he not realize how heartsick I was night after night, worrying that something terrible had befallen him? Sven offered no defense and simply said he was sorry; it wouldn't happen again.
Months passed by without event. The anguish passed and life returned to normal. Then the event repeated itself. Sven was late again, and so much so that I, as before, persuaded my father to take me to the city to search for my husband. This time the captain gave no news of a storm or delay, but informed us that he had come in on time. He said that Sven and his father had gone again to the tavern, as was their custom.
As was their custom? I thought. I knew of no such custom! I thought Sven would always return home immediately after arriving in port, and though home was a day's journey from Stockholm, I never knew of Sven staying in a tavern after the boat pulled into dock.
Again my father and I went to the tavern in search of Sven, and as we entered, there, to my surprise, sat Sven—drinking and laughing and engaged in happy conversation with a beautiful young woman. I was furious! I stormed across the room toward the two. Sven caught sight of me and was startled. He leaped to his feet with his arms outstretched and began to try to explain the situation I had just found him in.
He told me that after each long voyage at sea, before returning home he would come and stay in this tavern to relax and to drink. While doing so, he would also converse with the lovely young woman who was the daughter of the owner of the tavern and worked as a barmaid. He assured me that there was no harm done, that he simply enjoyed the company of the lady, and that before returning home he needed to wash the sea and the fish from his mind.
Why could he not do that at home? I asked myself. Why must he be engaged in the company of this woman to wash his mind from the sea and the fish? Wasn't I enough for him? Wasn't our home to his liking?
In those few moments I made up for all my quiet years. The words seemed to pour forth; hurt, fear and anger, all rolled together, were coming out in an accusing torrent of words toward my speechless Sven.
I told my father to take me home, and Sven raced after me saying that he would come right away. I told him that no, I wanted nothing to do with him. He could have his barmaid! We were through.
Sven arrived home only a few hours after we did, but I would not speak to him that night.
The next days were very painful. I could not find it in my heart to forgive Sven, though he continually told me how sorry he was and that it would never happen again. But I was becoming bitterly jealous. The girl was younger and prettier than I. Why shouldn't Sven be attracted to her, and why should he give her up? I was so filled with jealousy over the young girl's beauty and over my husband's enjoyment of her company that I could not even hear Sven's apologies and pleas for forgiveness.
Then he had to go. It was time for his boat to pull out to sea for another two weeks. During that time I brooded, I thought and I contemplated it all. My jealousy did not subside with time; it only grew and gained a stronger hold on my heart and life. When Sven returned I was colder than ever. Though he was not late, I accused him of having gone to see the girl again. And though he denied it, I returned his denial with cynical remarks and refused to believe that he had not tricked me and devised some way to see the girl and yet not appear to come home late as before.
This carried on for many months, and life began to be miserable for both me and Sven. Though Sven never gave me cause to believe that he was still seeing the girl, I could not accept it. I had let my jealousy run wild. I had opened a door for it to enter into my heart and mind, and fantasy had caused the incident to grow to enormous proportions. I imagined that much more had taken place than what I had seen with my eyes. In my mind I enacted scenes of my husband with the barmaid over and over again.
I thought on this so often that I could no longer separate truth from fiction. In my heart and mind were thoughts of numerous acts of infidelity which I was convinced had taken place, but which he denied. My jealous imagination dictated to me what was truth and reality.
I now know what a monster it was and can see how it devoured me because I did not resist it; I did not even consider the facts that my husband was relating to me.
In time I made life unbearable for Sven, and he left me. He told me he loved me but he could no longer live with me, as life together was miserable for us both. Sven returned to the sea and spent many long years there. I stayed on with my parents and worked on the farm, all the while heartbroken and disappointed, wondering what had happened to my life.
It took a while for me to realize that I had truly lost Sven. Finally, I knew he would never come back. The jealousy that had held my heart and mind so firmly in its grasp plagued me no more, having completed its evil work of separating me from the man I loved. I began to see clearly what I had lost and how I had lost it.
I did make amends with my poor, dear Sven, years later, when we had both passed on to our reward. We wept and we held each other and I apologized again and again. I understand things better now, and the greatest lesson I can share with you is that no matter how you feel you have been wronged, it simply isn't worth it to hold resentment in your heart. Love is forgiveness and forgiveness is love. Jealousy, on the other hand, is unforgiving and unloving; it destroys love if allowed to remain.
There's only one life, so please learn from my mistakes and do not quench the fire of love in a jealous moment. If you let Him, Jesus can help you overflow with love and forgiveness instead of jealousy and bitterness, so that your life can be one of satisfaction rather than one of regret.
—By Reverend Jake
I never considered myself a man who could give in to sin easily. I thought of myself as good-natured, easy-going, even cheerful. I was a Christian, and not only a Christian, but a young pastor of my own small church in Pennsylvania.
Life was simple in those days, the early 1900s, and I always marveled at the blessed and almost charmed life I seemed to lead. I was happily married to my sweet and precious wife, Anne, and we had two small children to brighten and fill up our days. They were my treasures, and the pride and joy of my heart. We lived in a small but quaintly furnished house adjoining the chapel of our small town.
I had completed my studies of theology and doctrine in the same seminary where I had met my wife. She was working at the seminary cafeteria, and through a series of incidents we ended up seeing each other, found ourselves growing closer to one other, and before my studies had ended, we were married.
She was a Christian too, naturally, and had the sweetest heart, along with the most charming look. We loved each other dearly. Our hearts were young and our dreams were noble—to serve our Lord in the service of the Church. So it was that, soon after having graduated from the seminary, I applied for and received my first pastorate in a small and rustic Pennsylvania town.
Life was simple—as I said. In fact, it almost seemed too simple, but I was not one to complain. I had my church, I preached my sermons, we visited our neighbors and did what we could to spread the Gospel to as many surrounding homes as we could, inviting them to attend church and to receive Christ as their Savior.
In those days, no one could have told me that I was not close to God. Indeed, I spent my regular hour in prayer every day, and devoted many hours to the private study of His Word, both in preparation for my Sunday services, and in seeking help and counsel for those who came to me for it. However, my faith was not very deep in the Lord. In fact, it was probably more a textbook faith, if anything. I knew God through my studies, through my theology. I knew Him in my mind, yet I was soon to discover how much more He wanted to be with me in my heart and life.
In the eyes of man, I had completed my time of preparation to be a pastor, a minister of God's grace and comfort to the people in my fold. But in the eyes of God, the time of my preparation was only beginning, and the tests were about to start.
Our Lord had come to Earth that He might be "touched with the feelings of our infirmities" and be able to understand and comfort us. (You'll have to forgive me if I start preaching, but after all, I was a preacher.) He requires the same of each of us—those who are called and chosen to be His hands, His eyes, His mouth to the world. He calls on us, also, to be touched with the feelings of others' infirmities, "that we might be able to comfort them which are in any trouble, by the comfort wherewith we ourselves are comforted of God." Thus far, I had been touched by very few "infirmities," whether of body, or the more trying "infirmities" of the spirit.
You have heard it said that God can only use broken men and women. Well, I was prepared, as many of you are prepared, reared in the nurture and admonition of the Lord, with a knowledge of His Word implanted in your hearts. But I was not broken. And it would take many years for me to become the instrument in the hand of God that He wanted me to be. There were to be many tests and trials, breakings and remakings along the way. The test of jealousy was just one of the many, but it was an important one—a battle in which the Enemy desperately tried to destroy my usefulness for the Lord. Thankfully, it was not the first test or difficulty I encountered.
God never gives you a battle too great or too difficult to win, with His help. He prepares you, step by step, giving first the little tests and battles, and when you are victorious in overcoming those, then He gives you a greater one. So it was with me. Still, because of the nature of jealousy, at the time it hit me, it came most unexpectedly, and easily threatened to overwhelm me.
It all began one day when a young man offered to join my wife in teaching a Sunday school class for children. This had been my wife's project, and one which she poured her heart and life into week after week. She loved children, and having two of our own, was most interested in raising them in the nurture and admonition of the Lord, much as she herself had been, bless her heart. Although I participated somewhat in this project, I devoted most of my time and attention to our larger congregation, and to the duties God had called me to, that of tending to the sheep rather than to the lambs of our flock.
But one day this young man—I shall simply call him John—offered his help. Naturally, Anne was delighted, as this young man was a talented teacher. He had an inspiration and zest that quickly made him a favorite among the children. His lively and animated manner of teaching and telling stories could hold the kids captivated for hours. I was impressed, and so was Anne.
At first, I thought little of it. I went about my duties, and Anne went about hers. We continued to see each other at suppertime, which was always a favored hour of the day for me, being together with my beloved wife and children, and recounting the events of the day.
It's hard to pinpoint exactly when the jealousy started. Perhaps it was because John's name was mentioned more and more during our dinner conversations. We'd often have visitors over for supper, and whenever John would come, the children were drawn to him, and seemed to have little trouble conversing with him. Perhaps it was at one of those meals that I first began to feel a little awkward, wondering why it seemed they liked being around him more than around me. Was I becoming boring to be around? Had I turned into only a pastor-figure to them, rather than a father?
These were the seeds of jealousy, as I now see them—little thoughts of comparing and self-abasement. From there, it grew. At first it was unnoticed, as the feelings crept up in small gestures I observed in my wife, and in John, and in the children. There was no change in Anne's communication or in the times we spent together. They were sweet and caring as always. But these little seeds of resentment had been planted, almost without my realizing it, and now, day by day, they were being watered and their roots were taking hold until one day, the ugly weed first reared its head. And once it had, the rest of it grew unusually quickly.
I had returned home somewhat earlier than usual from a visit to one of the parishioners. As I entered the house, I heard the sound of laughing. Curious, as always, to observe goings-on without being noticed myself, I walked quietly through the hall to where the lively conversation was taking place. There, in our living room, sitting on the couch, was Anne. With her was John, engaged in conversation—I don't recall what it was about, but I recall that Anne was laughing a good deal.
It sounded good to hear her laugh—like peals of silver bells echoing through the room. But then it mingled with another more boisterous laugh, that of John—and I was suddenly riveted into a state of alarm. When was the last time I had heard Anne laugh? Surely, it had been awhile. We had laughed often and had many good times during our days of courtship at the seminary, but now things seemed to have become more settled between us—perhaps because I had grown so intent on my duties for the church. Yet here she was, laughing with another man and obviously having an enjoyable time. Why were our times together not like that?
I decided not to interrupt them—perhaps I didn't want to spoil the fun I soon found myself resenting her for having. I retreated quietly into my study, hoping Anne would soon discover that I was home. I waited a good deal of time. I don't remember how long it was—it could have been ten minutes; it could have been an hour. It made little difference—it seemed an eternity to me. Then I heard them in the hall, bidding each other farewell, and the door closing behind him as he went on his way. The door to my study was cracked open so that I could hear all these things, though from the angle at which I sat, I could see nothing.
It was not until Anne walked by in the hall that she noticed me sitting there.
"Oh, Jake, you're home early. I didn't hear you come in," she said cheerily, oblivious to the cloud that was hanging over me. "Would you like some tea or something to drink?"
"No thank you, darling. I'll be all right till supper. I have some studying I need to do. Thank you, though," was all I said.
"All right," she said with a shrug of her shoulders, then turned and left.
Inwardly, I had hoped she would stay. But again, I could not ask that of her—at least, it would be out of the ordinary. I also felt uncomfortable with myself for the way I was feeling. I had never had to confront such emotions before, and above all, I didn't want to confront or burden her with them. I resolved to put them aside and ignore them, and instead, divert my attention to preparing my next sermon.
From that day on, I was always wary around John. I became more and more silent when he would join us for supper. I would take more diligent and careful note of how much Anne and the children spoke with him during mealtimes, and how much they spoke with me during the meals when he was not present. I found myself avoiding the Sunday school classroom at any day of the week, perhaps out of an effort to block those negative thoughts and emotions from my mind, or perhaps to distance myself from the circumstances that caused them, hoping that maybe that would help them to go away.
I began leaving the house more and more often, on my own, and for unexplained reasons, hoping that Anne would ask me about them. I did not think about what I would tell her if she did, for my only intention was to discover how much she was aware of what I did, and whether or not my goings out interested or even concerned her.
To my dismay, she hardly noticed. And even the times she was aware I had left, bless her trusting heart, she figured I had some purpose in it, and that if it was anything of note, I would have told her about it myself. Instead, I began talking to her less and less about things I did, hoping this would cause her to ask. But her mind and time was devoted more to the children during those hours of the day, and as she began to find her own life busier, inquiring into my comings and goings did not cross her mind.
So the days passed. I continued going about my duties, and she continued attending to hers—together with John. There was no reason for me to doubt Anne's affection towards me, but it seemed increasingly obvious to me that she enjoyed her times with John and the children more than her times with me. Slowly, the inner distance that I felt growing between us continued to increase, though I didn't realize that this "distance" existed only in my mind.
In all this, Anne seemed unaware of the feelings and emotions running through my mind, and this troubled me more. Could she not see what was happening between us? Did it make no difference to her?
Whenever we were together, things seemed to be all right. When she lay in my arms at night, and we had our time of fellowship at the end of our busy days, peace would return to my heart, and whatever gloom may have clouded my day seemed to vanish—at least for the first while. However, slowly but surely these thoughts and emotions, which I did not yet recognize as jealousy, began to sap every ounce of joy and strength from my days.
By all appearances I kept up a fairly calm front of good-naturedness, delivering my sermons and prayers as I had been well trained to do, and, at least from my perspective, being the model of Christian grace and virtue which I, as the shepherd of this flock, felt I needed to be. But underneath my Christian surface the tempest was raging, threatening to burst forth in all its fury and unleash great damage and hurt upon those dearest to my heart—my own family.
But I held it all inside. In fact, not only did I keep it inside, I tried to block it out of my mind. I tried to pretend that it didn't exist. I did this for two reasons. The first was that I was wholly unfamiliar with such emotions, and unsure how to handle them, or what to do about them. The second was that, if I faced the fact that they did exist—and worse yet, were the direct result of my wife's actions—I feared I would begin to resent her, and I knew that to resent was a sin.
Thus I tried to be good. I tried to push these things aside and ignore them, to banish them from my mind through the process of ignoring the evil, hoping that it would of its own self go away. But that is not how evil is conquered. The way to overcome darkness is to let in the light—not to ignore it and stumble blindly through the maze of emotions and circumstances. But how could I know this? This was not something they had taught in theology class.
You children of David are blessed in that you have a wealth of material and Word available on the subject. And this is important, and a key tool in overcoming this attack of the Enemy. Jealousy is one of his favored weapons, as it attacks unity. First of all, it attacks love. It sows doubt, suspicion, and negative thoughts. Then, it introduces anger, revenge, and a host of things I would not even care to mention were it not for the fact that my story can help expose this device of the Devil.
This green-eyed monster is such an ugly demon; its manifestations are every bit as ugly, and even more hurtful if allowed to be carried to their intended end. God is Love, and He seeks to engender love and unity. Thus, the Devil is Hate, and he does all he can to choke this power of love, and sow division. This is why the book of Proverbs speaks of one that "soweth discord among the brethren" as an abomination to God—because it goes against every manifestation of God, and is rooted in every manifestation of the Devil. And this path can hardly be followed faster than on the highway of jealousy.
My problem was that I didn't recognize the signs that had led me onto this highway—those little thoughts of comparing, of envy, of suspicion, and of negative thinking, the seeds of bitterness and jealousy in their youngest form. Then they grew to thoughts of resentment and self-pity, thinking that these things, which in reality were occurring only in my mind, were being done deliberately, in an outright attempt to hurt me—whatever for, I could not imagine. And how could I, when these things were not really happening? That is the most dangerous aspect of jealousy—that something which is based on a figment of your imagination becomes perceived as totally real and factual. Things which, under normal circumstances, would appear as absurd to any rational man, suddenly look logical and all too apparent.
Before I knew it, I was heading straight into Enemy territory—and his doors were wide open. Thus, unknowingly, I found myself in the middle of the Land of Jealousy. I had seen no signs marked "Jealousy" along the way. There had been one path of Comparing, then a side-road of Negative Thinking, heading in the direction of Envy. Then eventually onto the ramp of Suspicion and I was on my way, not knowing that the road I was now traveling led right into the heart of Jealousy Land. Had I held in my hand a map, I would have seen the large red letters over this region labeled "Jealousy," but the individual roads that had led me here carried less ominous labels.
By the mercy of God upon me and my family, it did not take me long to discover that, wherever I had ended up, I was in the wrong place. The path I was following was driving me away from my wife and family, yet all the while I thought Anne was the one driving away from me. That's what jealousy does to you. You begin to see everything the wrong way. I'm not going to waste your time or sully your hearts with how far I had drifted into this land before I cried out to the Lord to rescue me and show me a way out of the mess I had gotten myself into. The important thing is not how messed up with jealousy you have become, but how desperate and how willing you are to find God's way out of it, and back into the Land of Love and Unity.
For me, the answer came when a visiting supervisor passed through our town, to check on how things were going with our pastorate. He was a kind and gentle old man, and what few white hairs he had left crowned his head like a halo over a blessed saint. Of course, as the shepherds of our flock, it was our duty to take him in, and he stayed with us for nearly an entire week, observing not only my services and interaction with the parishioners, but our home life as well.
As talkative as he could be in the pulpit, or in his encouragement and conversation with others, he could be just as silent, and almost invisibly present when he wished to be, as if he were merely a spirit looking on, rather than a human being sitting at the same table with us. This was no doubt a key to his keen insight into everything that was going on around him. Very little escaped his attention, as I was to discover. But, for all I could tell at the moment, his mind was merely far away at such times—an observation which, even to myself, seemed entirely too rude, therefore I gave it little thought.
Thus, I was most surprised when one day, in the course of our conversation, he managed to so clearly spell out what my problem was, and thus, by helping me to see the problem, set me on my way to victory. Half of the solution lies merely in recognizing the problem, and being able to put it in its proper perspective. Such was my case. He had taken note, in the course of his visit, not only of my services, but also of Anne's work with the children in the Sunday school. He had also observed John, and been present at a number of meals at which John had graced our table.
His years of experience, both that of his own, and what he learned from observing many others, had made my condition plainly apparent to him, though it was still hidden from my own eyes. He was kind and thoughtful, and even in helping me to see the sin which had taken hold of my heart, I felt no condemnation. Instead, there was the understanding tone of a man who, as he confessed with a wink to me, had lived through many such problems himself, and much worse.
In fact, I was so impressed with the man's insight and understanding, and his ability to help me see what I had gotten myself into, and how I had done so, and his counsel as to what I could do to get out of it, that that same night, aside from praying that God would deliver me from these chains that had wrapped themselves about me, I also prayed that I would one day be able to help others as greatly as this dear old man had helped me. Little did I know that this had been exactly God's intention in putting me through this test, so that I would have greater compassion and understanding in my heart for those in my service whom I would come to meet, and who would be battling similar thoughts and emotions.
It was the beginning of a great work of God in my heart, for suddenly I became aware of just how much of a sinner I was. I had always seen myself as a sort of model of righteousness—at least, I tried to be, because that was what I had thought I needed to be, and what God wanted me to be. But the sample of this supervisor, a man who had spent many days in the pulpit and among the people, and yet was a humble, quiet and meek man, changed my outlook completely. This man's manner of interaction with God conveyed the deep knowledge of God's love and ways that dwelt in his heart. Somehow I could now see his words, the ones I had at first merely admired for their eloquence, stemming from a much deeper source of love and compassion in his heart. I thought of my own carefully chosen and prepared words and sermons, whether to my congregation, or to those I sought out and visited in person. They proceeded more from my head-knowledge than from my heart, and much less from the deeper well of experience, and of knowing what it is like to be a sinner, and coming to the realization that you can't even walk without Him holding your hand.
The lifting of this burden—the burden of thinking I always had to be right, and perfect—helped me to see that others did not have to be perfect either. At once, I became filled with a greater sense of my own need for forgiveness, as well as a greater tolerance for others' mistakes, sins, and the simple blunders of the mind. I had preached repentance and forgiveness. Now I needed to experience it for myself, in a very real way. This, then, became a major key in finding my way out of the Land of Jealousy—forgiveness. I had to choose to forgive Anne for what I had thought and for what I had built up in my mind that she had done wrong.
With the burden lifted, life seemed to get a whole lot easier. My heart seemed lighter, and I suddenly felt a renewed sense of wanting to enjoy life, and whatever friendships and associations came with it—whether mine, or those of Anne. Suddenly I found myself enjoying her laughter again—a sound I hadn't recalled hearing for years.
The circumstances hadn't changed. Anne was still working with John. He continued to be a regular guest at our dinner table. But the grip of jealousy had been broken. Suddenly Anne's friend had become my friend, and I found that I could enjoy John's good company and animated manners as much as Anne and the children did.
I don't know how much Anne knew or was aware of my feelings and emotions at the time. I certainly don't think John was aware of the inner turmoil he had caused me. It wasn't until a good deal later, I think, that I even told her of the thoughts that had been going through my head. By that time, of course, I had long gotten over the matter, and the intensity of the episode as I vaguely remembered it seemed almost laughable by then.
Yet, in all seriousness, it was not a laughing matter, no matter how absurd it looked in retrospect. Because through this vice, the Enemy had sought to destroy my usefulness. I thank God that He stopped it from progressing any further than it did, or the ending of my story could have been very different. Had I followed those emotions to their natural end, had the Lord not helped me to see the error of my ways, and given me the strength to lay aside all the weights the Enemy was heaping upon me, I care not even to think of what might have happened. But perhaps I should—and in so doing, give praise to God for keeping me from it.
I could have grown sullen and retreated into myself. I could have ended up blaming Anne inwardly for "making" me resent her. The blame against her could have mounted in my mind, perhaps even to the point that I would have begun to suspect her of being unfaithful to me. My unchecked imagination could well have fallen to such depths.
Though Anne had done nothing wrong, nor had she given me cause to be jealous or fearful, my jealousy had still run rampant. The jealous imagination has no limits, and it is one of the most fertile breeding grounds for the Devil's most outrageous thoughts. It's amazing what your mind can be stretched to suspect or even believe when you're jealous, and the Devil is all too aware of this fact.
I gave way to the Devil's outrageous thoughts, for there was really nothing going on between Anne and John. But even if there had been, or if she had fallen in love with John or been "unfaithful" to me, as I would have seen it then, still God would have gladly given me victory over my jealousy. I would have still had to forsake my jealousy and the negative thought pattern I had gotten myself into. I could still have found God's grace and been able to forgive and forget, and to mend my relationship with my wife and go on.
There are times when you may feel that your jealous imagination is justified, because you know that there really is something going on between your loved one and someone else. But even in that situation, you still must resist and rebuke those thoughts and give no place to them. That will only lead you further into the Enemy's territory. So whether or not your jealous feelings are warranted or illegitimate, you must refuse to entertain them.
My story shows one side of the picture, where there was no true cause for jealousy, yet the Enemy got in with his lies and fears. Even though my circumstances were in reality not threatening, the jealous thoughts I entertained would have paved their own road to their destructive destination: At best, I might have exploded in a fit of fury against Anne, blaming her, accusing her, hurting her—perhaps even in front of the children—and but for the grace of God, the scars of such an outburst would have lasted even longer after the outburst itself was forgiven and forgotten, and would only have provided breeding ground for possible further contention, strife, division and grief. At worst, oh, as a minister who has preached against sin his whole life I don't even wish to utter it, or even consider the possibility of the depths to which I could have sunken had not God intervened.
Most likely my resentment would have festered within me until I found it impossible to keep silent. Then I would have lashed out at Anne, hurting her and our children, tearing apart our marriage. The worst would have been the vindictive, hurtful urge that often comes with jealousy to shame your loved ones in front of others. In my case, I might have eventually left her, feeling that I could have no part with a woman who had been unfaithful to her husband—a minister of the Gospel—and in her service to God. All of that would have probably torn me up inside so greatly that I might have even forsaken my place of service, and most certainly been a poor example of one of God's servants. But gratefully, I was given the keys to victory over my jealousy.
The first key was recognizing my jealousy, and God used the kind supervisor to open my eyes to the state I had gotten myself into. The second key was to confess it—to myself, first, and then to God in prayer. The third key was to come before God in utter desperation, asking Him to deliver me from the hold these thoughts were having on me, and from the clutches of this demon. The fourth key was to yield. I had asked God to deliver me from the hold these thoughts were having on me. Now I had to give those thoughts to God. I had to resolve that, whenever such a thought came into my mind, I would refuse to meditate upon it. Instead, I would think about the good, the pure, the lovely, the things of good report, the virtues, the praise—praise of God, and of those to whom the negative thoughts were directed. This was not easy, but I found that, as I made the commitment, and yielded my heart to God, that He did the work in my heart and life, transforming my mind, creating a new heart within me, and cleansing my spirit by the washing of regeneration and the renewing of the Holy Ghost.
Oh, beloved, beware of jealousy, whether it stems from circumstances such as mine, which, as you might see, were hardly drastic, yet which still led me into inner depths of despair, or whether the circumstances are more apparent, even justifiable from your perspective. Do not follow these roads—the roads of comparing, envy, self-pity or remorse—inroads to the Land of Jealousy. Instead, when you come to the crossways such situations present you in life, turn onto the path of trust, the path of forgiveness, the path of giving the other person the benefit of the doubt, of suspecting the other person of kind-hearted motives rather than malicious ones. These are the roads paved by God; these are the golden paths leading out of the borders of Jealousy, and back to the Land of Love. These are the keys to victory, and the weapons for defeating that green-eyed monster of jealousy.
—By Margaret
Many of us have experienced the ravages of that hateful, possessive feeling that comes over you when you feel that someone is about to take away from you one of the dearest things to you in this life—your spouse. This is my story.
Mark and I were married in the summer of '29. It was a simple marriage in a country church with just a few friends and relatives in attendance. We wanted it that way. We were so very much in love and cared little about having a grand ceremony. Besides that, we couldn't afford it, and we felt we'd rather have the money we had go toward building our own little home and getting ourselves started in our new life together.
Mark and I had been raised in the country, as both sets of our parents were farmers. But he had a yen for mechanical things and decided he would prefer to pursue a career as a mechanic. Cars and tractors were becoming more plentiful, and he felt the opportunities for a mechanic were unlimited. So we used what little savings we had, and with some help from our parents, Mark opened a modest garage in a small country town. It was a one-man show, and Mark was his own boss and could keep his own hours. He liked it that way.
In our early years when business was slow, Mark would often close the shop early and we would go down by the river. We loved to go there to spend the afternoon together, talking, fishing, and enjoying each other and the wonderful life that we had been given.
Eventually, as we had hoped, business began to pick up. Mark's reputation began to spread around the countryside, and people started bringing their cars and tractors from miles around for Mark to repair. He even began to get requests from other towns to come and fix broken-down tractors and equipment that couldn't be moved.
It was just what Mark had hoped for. The demand for a mechanic was great and his business was booming, and believe me, we needed the money in those days. Our only regret was that now Mark could no longer close down early on those sunny summer afternoons. Those were days long past. Now a sign hung on the entrance of his garage, "Help needed! Plenty of work for a good mechanic." The work coming in was more than Mark could handle. The business was expanding and it began to take all Mark's time and energy just to keep up.
It was exciting at first, but I saw Mark less and less as he became more absorbed in his work and the challenge of expanding his business. There was talk of opening another garage in town, and then maybe another over in the next village.
My days became lonelier. I missed Mark, and as we had not yet been blessed with children, I found myself floundering, walking around our little house in search of something to do, something to take my mind off that ache and longing in my heart for Mark's companionship.
Then a pleasant surprise came. I awoke one morning to find a letter from my dear Aunt Jill in our mailbox. She was asking if she could come for a visit. Of course I was overjoyed. At last I would have some company. Why, I could show her around the little town, we could sew together—oh, there were so many things that we could do together.
Aunt Jill asked if she could also bring Martha, her cousin. Her request for entrance in a certain college had just been turned down and she was feeling depressed and forlorn, so my aunt thought a little trip such as this would do her good.
Had I known what a profound impact this little decision would have had at the time, I might not so eagerly have responded. But in that simple moment of excited anticipation I quickly scribbled off a note saying how happy I would be to receive them both. The weeks passed slowly as I eagerly anticipated their arrival. At last the day came, and Mark managed to make arrangements to be free long enough to pick them up at the station and drive them to our home just outside of town.
The first moment that Mark and Martha met, it seemed like some spark was ignited between them. At the time, I was so happy to have my long-awaited guests arrive that I paid little attention to this encounter, though it lingered in the back of my mind.
The days passed just as wonderfully as I had anticipated. Martha, though a little forlorn upon our first meeting, seemed to have brightened up considerably. My aunt and I enjoyed our time immensely, sharing stories and news, as we worked together on the long overdue quilt I had been intending to sew.
Then a curious thing began to happen. Mark, who was regularly late for dinner and would often eat his meal out, was now arriving right on time for our evening meal. At first I just thought it was very considerate of him to show an interest in our guests and make the effort to show his appreciation for their visit and to make them feel welcome. I was proud of Mark for going out of his way to make my dear aunt and Martha feel at home.
But then I began to notice that my husband seemed to have taken a definite fancy to Martha. They were always laughing and chatting away at dinner. I didn't mind so much, as I enjoyed the company of my dear aunt, but as the evenings went on I couldn't help but feel that something was developing. Mark and Martha seemed to be drawn together. Their conversations at the dinner table eventually transferred to the front porch as they sat in the swing and chatted, while my aunt and I cleared the table and did the dishes.
I tried to bring this up with Mark, but he brushed it aside, commenting that she was just a child and they were simply enjoying each other's company. I knew what was happening. Though nothing had transpired between my husband and Martha except for social chit-chat, I could feel jealousy rising in my heart.
I resented Mark's attention toward Martha. I questioned why he was now so easily able to leave his work to be home for dinner on time and to find these leisure moments to spend with Martha. Why had he not found this time before? Why had he not made the same effort to come home for dinner, even if only occasionally, before my aunt and Martha arrived? These questions grew in my mind and heart, and jealousy now held a grip on me. I felt myself growing cold towards Mark.
At last I had to confide in my aunt about my feelings. I needed help. I loved Mark, but as much as I did not want to have these feelings of resentment and jealousy, they were still there. In fact, they were growing and spreading, and I would find myself showing cold displeasure toward Martha as well. I inwardly questioned what she was after and whether she was trying to steal my husband's time and attention and even his love away from me. My resentment was growing toward them both.
My aunt sat peacefully, quietly, with a compassionate and knowing look in her eyes, rocking slowly in her chair as she listened to my story. I was crying as I told her my troubled feelings and the thoughts that were swimming around in my head from morning until night. When I was done she reached out her hand and took mine and lovingly patted it. Then, as she held firmly to my hand she did something rather unexpected. She said a sweet and simple prayer for me, asking the good Lord to comfort my heart, to soothe my feelings and emotions, and to help us get to the bottom of all this.
We were believers—Baptists—though I was hardly accustomed to prayers such as this. My prayers had been few and far between, usually only in unison with the preacher on Sunday morning. But this prayer seemed to have special meaning. I immediately felt more at peace, and a calm came over me that I had not felt for more than a week.
Then my aunt related to me some of Martha's history that I was unaware of. You see, her depression was about more than just having been turned down in her request to enter a certain college. She had also been jilted by her lover and husband-to-be. These two events had come almost simultaneously and had been too much for the poor girl to take. Martha chose to hide her heartbreak and grief at having been left by her boyfriend behind the disappointment of being turned down by the college board of examiners.
My aunt said that she too had observed Mark's interest in Martha, and that she was happy to see Martha enjoying the company of another man. Martha had been so hurt that she felt she couldn't talk to any man again. But that day on the platform when she first met Mark, there was a spark, and my dear aunt had seen it too.
The irony of it is that while I looked at it as a threat that my husband had become interested in another woman, more so than he had been in his own wife, my aunt looked at it as an answer to her prayer, that something would come into the dear girl's life to help her put aside those feelings of hurt and distrust of all men, and that she could again enjoy the company of a man and cleanse away the former hurt and disappointment that she had experienced.
I was surprised to hear my aunt's viewpoint. I had certainly never thought of it like that, and how could I have, not knowing the full story. I only saw half of the picture—my husband's interest in another woman and my feelings of jealousy and resentment. Although my aunt's prayer had helped me, the more they were together and the more I thought upon it, the stronger the grip of jealousy was on me and the stronger my resentfulness toward both Mark and Martha grew. Although I hated to admit it, as time went on, the love I had in my heart for my dear husband had begun to change into something I care not to mention.
I asked my aunt what I was to do. If this involvement was indeed God's answer to her prayer for Martha, then where was it leading? Did my husband know it was an answer to her prayer? Did he look upon it as such, or was he looking at Martha in another way? Although I felt comfort in knowing that there could be another side to the picture, and that perhaps I had not been seeing things in the right perspective, how was I going to complete my understanding of the truth of the whole matter?
Again, my aunt in her wisdom came to the rescue. She suggested that tonight she and Martha would do the dishes, and I could take the opportunity to sit on the porch swing and honestly talk to Mark and share with him what I had been feeling. My aunt urged me to tell her side of the story too, of her secret prayer that someone would come along to help Martha leave the past behind and get over her hurt and disappointment.
My aunt said that she would take the opportunity while washing dishes and cleaning up to talk to Martha and ask of her feelings toward Mark and if things were changing in her heart and thoughts about men.
This sounded like a wonderful plan and I began to feel the weight of uncertainty lifting off my shoulders and a lightness coming over my heart and mind. Then I did something rather unexpected. I asked my aunt if she wouldn't mind to say another one of those little prayers, asking the Lord to bless our conversations after dinner and help them all to work out. With a loving smile, she took my hand and granted my request.
At our evening meal all proceeded as it had on previous nights that week. Mark sat next to Martha and they chatted away, he giving her a running account of all his business activities for the day; she listened and laughed and commented from time to time how much she admired his business sense and ability to handle so many activities in a single day. My aunt and I exchanged small talk as well as frequent knowing glances, as our eyes met in silence and we anticipated the after-dinner conversations.
At last the meal ended, and my husband and Martha began to stroll out onto the porch for their customary evening chat. We let them get all the way out the door before my aunt followed them and requested Martha's help in the kitchen. She graciously agreed, and I followed close behind, not wanting Mark to go somewhere else as a result of this interruption of routine. He was already seated on the swing, and I sat down beside him and slipped my hand around his.
I told him I wanted to talk, that there were some feelings developing in my life over the past week and I very much wanted to express them to him. I then related the whole story from my perspective, my notice of his interest in Martha, my feelings of jealousy and resentment, my having concluded that he was ignoring me for her affections, and my talk with Aunt Jill, and her story of Martha's heartbreak and the suggestion that we talk this out.
Mark sat very quietly for a few moments, obviously taken by surprise at this conversation, as he thought it all through. His first words apologized for his actions. He said he hadn't realized what he was doing, and he could see now how he had hurt and neglected me. He then gave his own story of how caught up he had been in his work and wanting to be a success and be prosperous so that he could properly take care of me and our future family.
He said that when he first saw Martha he felt that little spark and didn't understand what in the world it was. All he knew was that he felt an interest in her and emotional stirrings that he hadn't felt in a long, long time. Now, though, he could see more clearly how he had been so caught up in his work that he had deceived himself in thinking that he was doing it all for us, and not realizing how much we both were missing those times of intimacy together that we had once enjoyed.
He said that something in this young girl, Martha, stirred him and helped him to break the routine that he had gotten into. He very much enjoyed her company, and he did find ways to get away from work, to be home at dinner to be able to see her and talk with her. He never purposely wanted to hurt me though; he never equated that taking an interest in Martha, in friendship and kindness as he saw it, was going to cause me hurt and harm. Now though, he could see it because I had told him and made it plain and clear. He said he realized too, that what he was really missing was the time he used to spend with me, and though he had grown fond of Martha, he reassured me that no one could take my place in his heart, and that was not his intention.
I could see how much Mark loved me. The sincerity in his voice rang true to the words that he was speaking. We embraced and kissed, and I shed a few tears, and we told each other how much we loved one another. Mark apologized over and over for being so involved in his work and for having neglected me, and I told him again and again not to worry about it, and that I was happy he'd try to do things differently now.
Later I learned of the talk that Aunt Jill and Martha had. Martha was elated at how her times with Mark were helping her to pull out of her depression and wash away the negative feelings that she had allowed to grow in her heart and mind toward men. She confessed to my aunt that she felt a certain love and attraction toward my husband, and it was that love that helped give her hope that she was capable of loving again.
She did not want to take Mark away from me, but she couldn't deny the feelings of love that she had in her heart and how she so enjoyed his company. She felt, though, that she had received a far greater reward than just personal feelings of love and attention. She had been helped over a very difficult and emotional time in her life. She knew that she would be different from now on, and that this time with Mark had helped to heal the wound, and had given her hope and faith for the future.
Then the most marvelous thing of all happened. As we sat at dinner the following evening, things were a little tense, and there was very little conversation to be had. I suppose Mark was feeling a bit hesitant to continue his normal chats with Martha, now that he knew my feelings and how I had been hurt.
After several minutes of silence, I rose from my seat and went over and stood behind Mark. Putting my hands on his shoulders, I gave him a gentle kiss on his cheek, and whispered loud enough in his ear for everyone to hear that maybe he would like to have a talk with Martha out on the porch swing. For a few seconds you could have heard a pin drop. Mark looked quickly at Martha and then to Aunt Jill, and then he turned and looked up to me and let out a quiet, somewhat embarrassed laugh, and the rest of us joined in. My encouragement that he take the time with Martha showed that all was well and that there were no secrets.
Mark stood up and embraced me tenderly. I then went and gave Martha a motherly hug and a kiss on the cheek. I held her shoulders and looked into her face and told her that I loved her and I was so happy that Mark had been a help to her in washing away the hurt of the past. She shed a little tear and returned my hug and thanked me for my love and understanding. I must say, I don't know where that love and understanding came from, as it was certainly beyond me.
I glanced over at my dear aunt, standing there smiling serenely, so content and happy to see the peace that we were all experiencing. I knew it must have been a result of those simple prayers that she had prayed. Certainly God had heard and answered, and now love took on a new meaning in my heart and life.
Aunt Jill and Martha left just a few weeks later. Meanwhile, Mark and I had found that spark in our lives again. It was never really gone, just hidden away under a blanket of Mark's work, ambitions, and good intentions of providing for his family. We did experience dry times in our marriage after that, but the remembrance of that time with Aunt Jill and Martha would help us make things right again. We would laugh when we thought about it and then thank God that He had given us such a priceless, long-lasting gift. You see, that gift of love we received through the experience with Martha was not just for that moment alone, but it continued to bless us throughout our days.
Aunt Jill visited from time to time and Martha, after leaving us, completely pulled out of her disappointment and depression. She qualified for entrance to another college, studied journalism and went on to get married and raise her own family. We saw her on occasion, but she was busy with her own life. She and Mark always remained good friends, but never recaptured the same feelings they had during that first visit, as they had accomplished their purpose.
—By Mary
My story goes back to the 1930s. I was living alone in a small apartment with my husband, Jed.
Jed and I were simple folks and came from humble beginnings. Our parents had been Italian immigrants and our earliest memories were those of hearing stories of the old motherland of Italy, spoken in our parents' native Italian tongue.
Jed and I were childhood friends. We lived in the same neighborhood. We grew up in New York's Lower East Side. I'm sure you're aware of what that type of lifestyle is like—pretty poor, struggling for every bite. Believe me, life in the "land of opportunity" was pretty bleak at times.
"Jed" wasn't Jed's original name. He tried to leave his Italian heritage behind and take on something more American. He felt it would help him to get further ahead in the world if he sounded more American and dropped his old name, Antonio. My name was Maria, so all I had to do was change it to Mary. I liked that. I wasn't as worried about my Italian past as Jed was, but then, he was the one looking for work. He was the one trying to get ahead in the world; he was the one trying to support his wife and our family to be.
I guess Jed and I married because we were about the only ones we knew at that time in our lives. We were somewhat isolated from the world around us because of our life in the Italian community. Oh, there were other Italian boys and girls, of course, but Jed and I hit it off real well. We liked each other, we were good friends. We supported each other through the good times and the bad times, so as we got older, it just seemed natural that we would get together as husband and wife.
Not long after we were married we had a big breakthrough in our lives. Jed found a good job. He was handy with his hands and quick with his mind and he found a job as a repairman in a large department store. He fixed things that folks broke. They'd buy things at the store, then they'd take them home and if they didn't work or they broke they'd bring them back and Jed would fix them. He had a mind for those sort of things, mechanical things. He was very practical.
He didn't make much money; it was barely enough to live on, but they gave us a small apartment in the building on top of the store. That was the best part. It was our big chance to move away from home, away from those overcrowded apartments full of our relatives and all of their kids. We had a place of our own. It wasn't fancy by any means, but we sure were happy. We had each other and we had a new start in life.
I didn't have work, so I busied myself in doing little things to fix up our apartment, and I would take Jed his lunch at lunch break and coffee from time to time.
We enjoyed our private little life for about a year, and then our dreams really began to come true. I was pregnant and expecting our first child. We were thrilled! Italians love children. It's part of our heritage that we couldn't put behind us. We were so eagerly awaiting that new little child.
Then tragedy came. I was five months pregnant and was on my way to take Jed his lunch, as was my custom. I was happy and whistling, thinking about my life, my baby to come, and my wonderful husband, Jed. I guess I got a little careless, and as I went down the old wooden steps from our apartment, I stumbled on my long dress and caught it under my toe and fell headfirst down that long flight of stairs to the first landing.
The next thing I remember was waking up in a hospital bed with Jed standing beside me. The first thing I saw was his tearstained face, and the words I heard that came from his lips were, "Thank God you're okay." I was soon to learn that I had had quite a fall and had been in bed unconscious for nearly two days. I had suffered a concussion, but now the doctors were certain that I would have a complete recovery.
Then I heard of the tragedy. The baby in my womb had not survived the fall, and the doctors had surgically removed my little boy. And that wasn't the worst of it. From that time on I could no longer have children. I thanked God for my life, but I found such remorse and difficulty in accepting the fact that I had not only lost the baby that I had been given, but I would never be able to have another of my own.
In time I recuperated and our life went back to normal—Jed working downstairs in the department store repair shop and me puttering around the apartment and taking Jed his lunch and coffee. But life seemed to have lost its spark and joy for me. I had no thought for the future; not being able to have a child pained me so, and having no children to share our lives with was almost more than we could bear. I knew that Jed and I would never be able to adopt a child; we didn't have the credentials, we didn't have the income, we didn't have the references. Jed was good at his job and he even received a small raise when management had taken notice of him, but promotion to a high enough paying job to give us the place in society to adopt a child would yet be far away.
I was desperate. In one of my lonely moments I prayed, something I rarely did, though I had been brought up a good Catholic. I guess in wanting to leave our Italian heritage behind to embrace America, we had left behind our religion as well. But now I prayed and I called out to God. I wanted to get over the bitterness and hurt of having lost my child. I was beyond remorse over the accident that day. I sat there praying, and asked God if there was a way out. Was there any way that we could have children in our home, that we could enjoy being not just husband and wife, but mother and father to our own darling children?
I'll have you know that God answered that prayer, but He did so in a most unusual and unconventional way. It went against my grain as a woman and as a wife, but I saw it as God's hand in my life. And though it was difficult, I learned from it, and I can say that I'm ever so happy that I made way for what He chose to do in my life.
Shortly after that prayer a woman came to the department store with a small wooden chair that she had purchased for her little boy. There was some fault in the manufacturing of it, and when he first sat on it the legs collapsed under him. Things were rather informal in those days, and the management asked the lady if she could just take the chair around back to the repairman and he would see to it.
Jed sat working at his little bench and table, when he looked up to see Milly for the first time. He was a bit taken by her charm and beauty and sat staring for a moment, almost to the point of being impolite. At last he got hold of himself and asked what he could do to help. The woman showed him the broken chair, and he said he would have it fixed in no time. She could return in two days to pick it up. That was the beginning of the relationship between Jed and Milly.
In two days the woman came back, bringing her little son with her. Jed pulled down the chair off the shelf, having repaired it already and set it on the floor for the little boy to try. He gleefully sat on the chair and exclaimed, "It's fixed, Mommy! It's fixed!" Jed and Milly exchanged small talk, and then both watched the little fellow enjoying his brightly painted wooden chair. It was just at that time that I happened to come downstairs to bring Jed his coffee.
He introduced me to the woman and her child and we all enjoyed some light conversation. I must say, though, that I detected in Jed a certain interest in this woman that I had not seen him take in anyone else since our marriage.
That night as we sat at dinner, Jed couldn't keep from talking about what a wonderful woman Milly Tanner was and what a wonderful little boy she had. I could only agree, but wondered why Jed was so taken with her. I assumed they'd never meet again, and so I didn't give much thought to the matter.
About a week later, Milly Tanner, along with her little boy, returned to the department store. They asked if they could please speak to the repairman, as they wanted to thank him for the good work he had done fixing her little boy's chair. She found Jed working at his repair table as he had been before. How surprised Jed was to see her and the little boy, and delighted as well. Milly told Jed that she was in the area and just wanted to stop in and thank him for having done such a wonderful job of repairing her little boy's chair.
Jed wanted to return her kindness, and as it was close to closing time, he invited Milly and the boy up to our apartment for a cup of tea. She accepted his invitation. After cleaning a few things up in his shop, Jed led the woman and her little boy, Tom, up the winding stairs to our apartment. You can imagine my surprise when Jed came in with Milly and her boy behind him. I tried to be as gracious as I could and offered her a place to sit in our humble little room while I prepared the tea.
We enjoyed a lovely evening with Milly as she and her boy stayed on for dinner. We found out more about her and that she was indeed Miss Tanner and not Mrs. Tanner. She explained that things with her husband-to-be just never worked out and the only remembrance that she had of him was her dear son, Tom. I could safely say that from that moment on we felt a real affinity with Milly. She had lost her husband, but had her little boy. Jed and I had each other, but no child of our own. We became fast friends, and over the months we saw a lot of each other and drew close in heart.
Time and space would fail me to tell you of all the events that led up to the next point in our lives. I'll spare you all that and go straight to the point. Jed and Milly were beginning to fall in love. I, too, loved Milly very much and felt very close to her. I counted her as my dear friend, just like a sister. But Jed and Milly began to develop strong feelings for one another. I could see it in their eyes; I could see it in the way they talked. Finally we could pretend no longer, and during one of our now common evenings together I felt I had to open up the subject for my own peace of mind.
I loved my dear husband Jed, and Milly too, and I had no desire to lose either of their love and friendship, but I was beginning to resent Milly's visits and the attention that my husband showed her. It was jealousy, plain and simple, but I felt quite justified in my jealousy. After all, Jed was my husband. What right did she have to pull on his emotions? And yet somehow I knew that Milly's intention was not to take my husband away from me. I had to bring it out in the open because I wanted to know the truth.
Although a little embarrassed, both Jed and Milly confessed to me their feelings for one another when I asked them about it. Jed reassured me that he had no desire to run off with Milly, that he dearly loved me and would be a faithful husband. Milly said that although she had feelings toward Jed, and thoughts had crossed her mind that she'd like to have him for a husband and father for her child, she had pushed these aside because of her love for me and her desire to not hurt me or Jed in any way.
It was a tender and sweet conversation, a genuine opening of our hearts, but after that night I began a journey of personal conflict and mental anguish that I would not wish to repeat. Hearing the truth and knowing for a fact how Jed and Milly felt fanned the spark of jealousy into a roaring flame, and it came close to consuming me. At first, things continued as normal. Milly made her usual visits several times a week, but I became more and more cold toward her, and both she and Jed felt this. I couldn't explain it, but I just couldn't stand to be in the same room with the two of them. It ate on me and I couldn't understand why. I just didn't want to see them together.
Milly's visits became less frequent, as the atmosphere was so tense and uncomfortable. She continued to see Jed though, and they would sometimes meet outside the store on Jed's lunch break. Oh, what torment I felt. How eaten up inside I was with jealousy and pain. So many thoughts raced through my head. Will Jed choose her and not me? Why wouldn't he? She has a child, she has the ability to have more, and I have none and can give him none. What do I have to offer him? Milly has so much more to offer him. On and on went my tormented thoughts. Little did I know that Jed and Milly were discussing my fears also. Jed would always reassure me that that was not what was going to happen, but I found it quite difficult to believe him, as I was caught up in my jealousy and bitterness. I just couldn't see things clearly.
One Saturday evening, Milly came over for dinner. At the end of the meal, Jed announced that he and Milly had something to share with me. My heart froze. I knew for sure the moment had come. Jed was going to leave me for Milly. I was in a trance. I almost couldn't breathe. I wanted desperately to run out of the room and stop my ears.
Then the unbelievable words fell upon my ears. "Mary, Milly and I have been talking, and we'd like to have a baby. We'd like to have a baby that can be yours and mine, Mary. What do you think?" My first thoughts were the instincts of a mother. Oh, how wonderful to have my own child! My next thought was one of pure rage—the thought of my Jed being in bed with Milly, giving her the baby that he should have given me. I didn't know what to think. I couldn't speak. I just got up and left the table. Jed came after me, putting his hands around my shoulders and begging me to return to the table and sit down and talk. All I could get out was, "No. No, I have to think. I'm going to bed now."
Those next days were so difficult for me. I was torn up inside. Why yes, I'd love to have our own child. Wouldn't that be wonderful? I could even reconcile the fact that the child did not come from me. I would be happy just to have our own child. But the thought of my Jed in bed with another woman was too much to bear. I couldn't see how it could be right.
Again I desperately prayed, "Oh, God, please help me." And I remembered my prayer before, asking God for a way to help me after the loss of my baby. Like a flash, the thought came to my mind that this might be the answer to my prayer. But how could it be? How could God expect me to allow my Jed to make love with Milly, for her to bear his child and for Jed and I to raise it? How could I do that? Where would I find the strength within me? And was it even right?
Just then, my eyes fell upon our old family Bible sitting on the little table beside our bed. It was mainly there for decoration, a gift to us from my mother on our wedding day. I went over and opened the old book, slowly thumbing through its pages. Then my eyes fell upon a passage in the Old Testament. It was the story of Abraham, whose wife was barren, and in their desire to have children the wife brought her handmaid unto her husband that she might bear them a child.
Tears began to stream down my face. Why, I had never heard this story before, but it was right here in the Bible. Such a thing must be acceptable, or why would God have included it within the pages of this Holy Book? I closed the Bible and looked up. I began to feel a peace come over me that I had not felt in many months. I began to feel that God was with me and that He had been hearing my prayers; that somehow He felt my heartache and my pain, and that in this unusual but not entirely unique way, He was going to answer my prayer and give me the child that I so longed for. That story planted a seed of faith in my heart, and for that moment the pain and uncertainty of jealousy and resentfulness ceased. I saw clearly that God's love and ability to provide was far greater than our human resources and conventional ways.
In the days to come I read that story over and over, and I read other Bible passages also. I found they brought me comfort. Though I was still feeling the pangs of remorse and jealousy, it seemed that whenever I read the pages of that Book, a calm came over me and I found refuge from my troubles; and the seed of faith that had been planted in my heart seemed to grow and flourish.
After several days I shared all of this with my dear Jed. He stood and looked at me in dumbfounded amazement. Then a smile broke across his face and tears came to his eyes as he hugged me and said over and over again how much he loved me and cared for me and how happy we were going to be with our child. Oh, how I looked forward to that wonderful day when I would hold that babe in my arms. It gave me hope, it gave me faith, and brought back my joy of living once again.
I can tell you, though, that it was nearly two years before I held that babe in my arms. And oh, so many things we experienced during that time. To provide Jed and Milly the opportunity to be alone, I would often take little Tom for a walk and leave Jed and Milly in our apartment for a time. We had to be careful and keep up appearances, but really, not too many paid much attention to us poor folks living in a little apartment on top of that big department store. So Jed and Milly spent their times together, and I had my time with little Tom, during which we grew close and became good friends.
When thoughts of jealousy and resentment began to surface in my heart at the thought of Jed being with Milly, I comforted myself often with the thought of the child that would come, and tried to push these other thoughts out of my mind. I found that my time with little Tom soothed the pain and the hurt. I found such joy at being a mother to Tom and enjoying his company, caring for him, learning all about him, teaching him and opening my life to him. It helped to wash away the difficult feelings that I experienced while Jed and Milly were together. I often thanked God for Tom, for he was a part of the plan and part of my saving grace, to pull me away from the torments of jealousy and into the joy of motherhood.
Then the day of the birth came. It was a wonderful day. The first moment I held that child I knew she was mine. Even though she had not been born of my flesh, I knew she had come as a result of my sacrifice, and as Jed and I were one, and she was his, so she was a part of me. Milly and the baby moved in with Tom and I. For those first few months I couldn't bear to take the child from Milly and deny her that time. After all, she was the child's mother too.
Our place was so tiny, the only choice was for Milly and I and the baby to stay in the bedroom. Jed agreed to sleep on the sofa, and we made a little place on the floor for Tom. We became a real family in that tiny apartment, and we learned to share our joy and happiness.
Milly and I shared the care of the children during this time. At the beginning, I took care of little Tom more, and she had our baby, for the baby was small and needed to nurse, and Milly needed her rest. As our little girl grew, I began to take care of her more, and we developed a very sweet bond. From the beginning, we agreed to teach our daughter that I was "Mommy" and Milly was "Aunt Milly." Of course, I was like an aunt to Tom as well, and he was a great joy and comfort to both of us—often being with whoever was not with the baby at the time.
Milly and I became very close during that time. I learned a lot of the basics of motherhood from her, and she learned much from my sample of sharing. Because we had both given much—she, her own child, and I, my husband—we had a great respect for one another, and that greatly enhanced our relationship.
In time, Milly felt it was best that she return home, and we agreed. God had answered my prayers. He had given me little Tom for a time to replace the boy that I had lost, and then He gave me a little girl as our very own. We learned of the wonderful love of God and how He moves in miraculous ways, His wonders to perform. Though our unusual relationship with Milly came to an end, we always had a special friendship with her and Tom through the child she had given us.