Faith looked down to where she was tapping her bookmark against the arm of her chair. She had her share of the fidget gene, all right. She wasn't nearly as bad as Zach though. She refused to sit in a restaurant booth with him. His shaking leg would cause the whole booth to bounce, making indigestion a near certainty.

"My fidgeting increases when I'm nervous," Faith thought. "Like right now. I still don't know what I'm going to say to Aaron. There has to be some way to explain my about face without admitting that I met Kyra."

#

The introduction of a wee one into a relationship is like sucking an earring into a vacuum cleaner. If you're not careful, the relationship gets lost in the chaos, as the needs of the child supercede those of the spouse. Add to that the demands of a church and you have the potential for domestic derailment. The danger would not become real to me until Zach was an infant.

Before Zach's birth, David and I both managed to obtain masters degrees, and he completed all of his doctoral work – except the dissertation. Josh flourished, even though we both were in school and worked. He was the darling of the preschool where I taught kindergarten. When I was pregnant with Zach, David took a full-time job as a pastor, giving up the associate position in his home church.

Although I was raised in a preacher's home, the reality of being 'the preacher's wife' jolted me. A country-church, pastoral, search committee arranged for David to preach both Sunday services in a small-town church down the road. They were to interview both of us after the evening service.

Josh was a rambunctious toddler. After the morning service, we were invited for lunch at the home of one of the church members. The couple that fed us had two children, one a red-haired male imp Josh's age and the other a precocious five-year-old angel in golden ringlets. While we were lingering over good country fare, the kids went into the living area to play. They were being extremely quiet.

"Is there anything they can get into in there?" I asked our hostess.

"No way," came the laughing reply. "That room is completely childproof. It's the safest room in the house."

We finished desert and coffee and adjourned to the living room. As we entered the room, the calm mother let out a shriek, "My sewing basket!"

Josh was sitting on top of the piano happily playing in her sewing basket, while two envious munchkins looked on in awe.

As David grabbed his startled son, I apologized for my little terror.

"It's okay," the woman said valiantly as she swept a tangled mass of sewing paraphernalia into the basket. "I just," she trailed off. "Well, they don't climb."

"They will now," I warned. "Josh started climbing almost before he could walk. I'm sure your two learned as they enjoyed the show. I'm so sorry, but you'd better find another place for your basket."

As I spoke, her son said with a devilish grin, "Look, Mama," and began to scale the piano.

While her husband went after the smelling salts, I coaxed the youngster down, and his sister lured him away with the promise of a game. Josh, suitably chastised, went with them.

Our visit resumed in a more subdued manner, with both of us moms keeping an ear tuned to the game on the screened-in back porch. Things progressed normally for about thirty minutes. We were lulled into complacency when a chilling screech, in decibels only a young girl can achieve, was followed by the sound of a banging door and running feet. A very distraught five-year-old came sobbing into the living room.

"He bit me," she wailed, holding out an arm with a clear bite imprint that was beginning to ooze blood.

Everyone present knew the 'he' did not refer to her brother.

"Josh," David roared, as the agitated young mother hurried her daughter into the bathroom and began the painful process of cleansing, medicating, and bandaging.

Realizing there were still hours remaining before the evening service, David told the couple that we wanted to take a driving tour of the parish. We beat a hasty retreat to our vehicle. Josh received a scolding and a spanking. He insisted in his baby vocabulary that she was a 'bad girl' – Mommy translation, little witch – and that his resort to biting was simply 'to get her off' – meaning self defense. He hadn't used this particular tactic before, but he had been exposed to it in the preschool on numerous occasions.

The exhausted toddler fell asleep in his car seat. David and I drove randomly, ending up in the parking lot of the church that was considering him as a prospective pastor. It was a calm, balmy, spring day. We rolled down our windows and had an unscheduled date, while our son slept off the affects of his adventures.

That night after the service, one of the deacon's wives enticed Josh into the nursery with play dough and cookies. David and I went into a Sunday school room to talk to the visiting committee. I thought I was just along to look pretty and lend moral support. I soon learned otherwise. The members of the committee had almost as many questions for me as they did David. His had to do with theology. For me they reserved questions like whether I planned to work outside the home and what age Sunday school I planned to teach. They seemed a bit taken aback when I told them I planned to do whatever God led me to do, and, as of yet, I didn't know if it would include teaching Sunday school.

The clincher came from the deacon whose son had been our luncheon host: "1st Timothy says that the children of a minister should be submissive and reverent. I understand that your son is already exhibiting strong-willed, rebellious behavior. How do you plan to train him so that he will abandon his defiant ways?"

I was at a loss for words. David stepped into the breech.

"We know that discipline is the key to teaching respect," he said. "We use times like this afternoon as teachable moments. Josh bit a little girl. We talked to him about how much that hurts and reminded him of how he felt when he was bitten last week at the preschool. We punished him for his poor judgment. We won't really know whether those teachings stick for years to come. All we can do is teach him and lead by example. Parenting doesn't come with a manual, but in my guidebook," he held up his Bible, "it tells me to talk to him about God and God's standards when he lies down, when he gets up, and when we're walking along the road. When he violates God's standards, I'm responsible for pointing it out and for making sure he understands that misbehavior has consequences. God gave him free will, though, and I can't take it away. If that's not good enough, then perhaps I'd better seek another line of work."

I wanted to give my husband a standing ovation. So did some of the female members of the committee. I could tell by their nods and the mouthed 'Amen' that one sent in my direction.

#

"Bravo, Daddy," Faith thought.

She and her brothers had always thought of Mama as the wise mentor. They hadn't really thought of Daddy that way. When there were practical problems to solve, they went to him. He knew tons of things about how to fix things, or at least rig them. He read Popular Science and magazines like that. They would even discuss theological questions with him, because he knew his Bible backwards and forwards. But when they wanted someone to offer words of wisdom, especially when it came to relationships, they went to Mama.

"I've been approaching this Aaron question like Mama would," she thought. "What would Daddy tell me?"

"Daddy would tell me to make a list of the pros and cons of marrying Aaron. He might give me some scriptures to read about the importance of marriage. And probably some on forgiveness, too," she thought. "Daddy was big on second chances."

Faith took out a sheet of paper. She wrote the word pro on one side and con on the other. Under pro she listed: committed to God, good sense of humor, good provider, loves me, good communicator, encourager. Under cons she wrote: aborted his child, often lacks spontaneity, stubborn, prone to overuse sarcasm. She had long known about the last three and learned to live with them. In fact, they had talked about the situations in which sarcasm was detrimental and not funny, and he had shown improvement.

"Is the abortion enough to outweigh his good qualities?" Faith asked aloud. "It's not like he beats me or constantly puts me down or anything."

Even with the list, Faith had doubts. She wasn't sure that she could trust her heart to a man who was capable of killing his unborn child. She understood him better since she'd been to Monroe. She was willing to try. But could trust be reestablished? She still wasn't sure.