My husband hadn’t set foot in a church in 15 years. Then Eric suddenly started going every Sunday—and refused to let me or our kids come with him. After weeks of watching him grow more secretive, I followed him inside. He was there, all right. But he wasn’t there for the reason he’d let me believe.
My husband hadn’t willingly set foot in a church in fifteen years.
So when Eric came downstairs one Sunday morning wearing a blue button-down shirt and decent shoes, I assumed he’d forgotten to mention a work thing.
I was making pancakes when he grabbed his keys.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
I assumed he’d forgotten to mention a work thing.
Eric grabbed his keys from the bowl by the door.
“Church.”
I actually laughed. He looked at me almost guiltily.
“Oh,” I said. “You’re serious.”
“Yeah.”
Eric had never been hostile toward religion. We just didn’t care about it.
“You’re serious.”
We weren’t the kind of family that prayed before dinner, and neither of us had ever felt bad about sleeping late on Sundays.
The last church service Eric had attended was his sister Laura’s wedding fifteen years earlier.
That day had ended with Eric screaming at his father in the parking lot.
So, yes, church was unexpected.
“What brought this on?” I asked.
That day had ended with Eric screaming at his father in the parking lot.
He shrugged. “I’ve been thinking about some things lately.”
“What things?”
“Life. Family. I don’t know.”
It was vague, but Eric could get like that when he wasn’t ready to explain himself.
“Okay…” I said.
“You know what I mean.” He kissed my cheek and left.
What happened next changed everything… FULL STORY on the next page.
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