The Earring

Book 3 Part 3

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.