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Sparkle (1)
I have been contemplating this blog for some time. But I have been hesitant for many reasons. For one, the subject matter is controversial for some and downright offensive for others. But I don’t care. There is an error of silence orbiting around this issue and someone needs to talk about it. I think some headlines even are related to this secret issue. Only in the most intimate of social circles will women in this situation share feelings and struggles. Then others just grin and bear it hiding behind their faith, their pretty clothes and wearing their synthetic smile when they really want to weep.
I have been the wife of a pastor for a relatively short amount of time, just a few years. On the surface, our lives look pretty good. We have a nice home, HE has a nice car (long story), our kids are well behaved – by most summations, we seem pretty “perfect” to the naked eye.
But that is not the reality.
At home, my husband barely interacts with me or the kids. The lion share of his time is devoted to his church and the people that comprise it. He gets up every Sunday in his pretty robe and smiles a beautiful contented smile. Sometimes, he may even look over at me and the baby, or mention us, but that is rare. We are virtually invisible to him. Each Sunday, I go along with his hypocrisy. I smile and laugh at his jokes, right along with his adoring congregants. I pretend that I am happy when in truth, I wish I could run to the alter and cry until I throw up. But I don’t. I just sit there in my pretty little “pastor’s wife” suit and ask the Lord how long I must endure this superficial existence.
At one time, I was much closer to the Lord. That closeness ended when I married. Don’t get me wrong, my faith is still strong. However, like so many Christians, I allow my mistakes to distance me from the Lord. My mistake, in this instance, was getting involved in a marriage that has turned out to be such a mess, such a farce. I know what you are thinking. God forgives our blunders. But there is a part of me that is so sorry for marrying my husband that I feel like I have let the Lord down somehow. Maybe I should have prayed more, longer or harder. Either way, I messed up and failed the Lord.
Soon after my wedding, I knew that I had likely made a mistake. It wasn’t that he didn’t touch me on my wedding night- although that concerned me. It wasn’t that he didn’t sexually respond to me for almost a week during our beautiful honeymoon. Later in the marriage, it wasn’t even the twelve and thirteen hours days that he spends at the church. What it is, is a simple, nagging reality. It is the distance both physical and emotional. The strongest indicator of my error was the guarded emotional existence in which he lived. I tried time and time again to reach him. But I couldn’t. It wasn’t until a recent sermon that it became perfectly clear. He said that his heart is with his congregation and they are his “number one priority”. Now, I get it.
Even after I had the baby, he remained distant. Life grew maddening and was lonely. When the baby was small, I cried as he closed the door and slept in another room so that baby’s crying wouldn’t disturb him. Why? He slept in the other room-behind the closed














