A January Wednesday
by Constance B. Fink © 2002
Wednesday, January 29, 1997 was one of those rare days that becomes a
point of reference for the rest of life, when events are explained as having
occurred either “before” or “after”. It started as a typical Wednesday in a rural
Midwestern town in winter. But by night, it was quite different.
After seeing my husband off to work, I looked at my calendar. Not too busy a
day. Just a few errands and, if I get an early start, I can even curl up with a good
book and a cup of tea. So, with grocery list in hand, I headed out.
I did not dilly-dally at the store; I wanted to get home and snuggle in. However,
etched in my memory is one moment—a moment that is permanently suspended
above the frozen vegetables and ice cream. Walking toward the checkout lanes
with a smile on my face and contentment in my eyes, I thanked the Lord for my
husband’s job, which freed me to enjoy the things I love—friends, Bible study,
writing, women’s ministries, reading, and homemaking. But eight hours later,
everything would change and neither I, nor my circumstances, would remain the
same.
At 5:00 P.M., dinner was almost ready. Dave should be home any minute. But
an hour passed. Where is he? With each passing minute, my anxiety increased.
Then the phone rang, startling every nerve in my body. My concern shot up
another level when the caller, my husband’s associate, asked for Dave.
“Isn’t he at work?” I asked. The associate answered vaguely, and my heart
started beating fiercely. A frightening picture began to form: a husband, drained
and stressed, enduring several difficult weeks at work, and ominous talk of
downsizing the company. The caller finally said, “When I left I saw a stack of
empty boxes outside Dave’s cubicle and the personnel director was with him.”
The picture was framed and the blood drained from my face.
I immediately dialed Dave’s number. He answered professionally and politely.
Everything seemed normal. “When will you be home? Are you okay?”
He replied, “I’ll be home in an hour and I’ll explain then.” He sounded calm and
composed, and that eased my mind but it also confused me. “Calm and
composed” did not belong in the picture that had been painted.
What am I going to do to get through the next hour? I couldn’t comprehend
what I might soon have to face emotionally, spiritually, and physically. “Lord,” I
prayed, “I need Your help to deal with whatever it is in love, wisdom, and
strength.”
As I waited, I recalled that a few days earlier I had asked God to encourage
Dave and accomplish His purpose, no matter what the cost to me. I began to
sense God’s preparation and presence. At that moment God attached the
stabilizing threads of hope and peace deep within my heart and they have
remained firm to this day, years later.
Finally, the garage door opened. As Dave walked toward me, he calmly said, “I
don’t work at my job anymore. Look, here are all my things.” The back of his
truck was filled with boxes containing five years of memories and effort. He was
so calm; it seemed so surreal.
As we sat together, Dave shared the details. Reality began to sink in—fear for
the future, sadness for the loss. A list began to form in my mind of all I would
lose. “But I love my house!” I cried. Just the previous weekend we finished
unpacking and hung the last of the pictures. And cried uncontrollably.
In the next hours, our friends struggled to absorb the news. Word traveled
rapidly among our church family and the phone began to ring. Some asking
questions and we had no answers; others trying to make sense of it and we had
no encouragement. It was like watching a sad, scary movie. I felt as helpless as
when I sit in a theater, unable to rewrite the script. This sudden turn in our life
was not just about us, but would affect all of our involvements and relationships.
Feeling the loss of others, I slowly became numb to my own pain.
Replacing the clarity I experienced that morning in the store, it was as if now I
saw through a fog. In an attempt to get my bearings, I glanced at my calendar.
My plans were now either on hold or had to be erased. How could I lead other
women when I was knocked down? Would we have to move after recently
finding the home that seemed so right? Would I have to give up everything I
loved the last five years in order to go back to work? That night, fear,
resentment, anger, hurt, and embarrassment, as well as sadness, set up residence
deep within my heart.
Then I noticed the sadness in Dave’s eyes—sadness that came from his heart,
that reached out to me, that drew us together. My pain can wait until later.
Even though this January Wednesday night was one of our most difficult nights,
there was an understanding that only the two of us could share and we were
drawn together. We cried for ourselves and for each other; we cried outwardly
and inwardly. As we held each other, God held us both. Immeasurable peace
found its place in my heart—a place that I would cherish and return to often.
As my eyes closed on this day of emotional unraveling, I recalled the stabilizing
thread God had attached earlier—the thread that secured me to the strength of
His faithful presence. Even though I knew there would be difficult days ahead, I
also felt that no matter what happened, I was secure and protected for I was
firmly attached to Someone stronger and greater.
That January Wednesday marked the beginning of a long path of steep inclines,
rushing waters, gnarly trees, dark clouds, and loud thunderstorms. The day
turned to weeks. The weeks to months. The months to years. It was a time of
intense financial, emotional, and spiritual stress. Instead of much-needed relief,
disappointments continued. We dealt with unanswered prayers and unanswered
questions, rejection letters and bills, sleepless nights and tear-filled days. I
struggled to stay connected to my friends, home, and church, while trying to
detach from the house. Maybe then the pain of moving day would not hurt as
much.
Friends showed care in many ways, but my heart cried for expression. If only
someone had asked how I was doing. Instead, an optimistic friend told me,
“You’ll have a better home, a better church.” Inwardly, I protested, But I don’t
want anything better!
A concerned friend asked, “What are you going to do?” I answered in panic, “I
don’t know; I can’t think past lunch!”
A compassionate friend would ask, “How is your husband?” From deep within
myself I heard the cry, Please ask how I am and acknowledge that I am
struggling, too. Sometimes I felt lost and afraid, sometimes alone and sad, most
times exhausted.
Living in a rural area made it difficult for my husband to find employment.
Although a clerical position opened up for me in a short time, it took over a year
for Dave to find an engineering job. But, it was three hours away. For personal
reasons, we decided not to relocate, so Dave stayed near his job during the
week. Though employment was necessary, the living arrangement did not seem
fair.
Despite panic-filled questions and disheartening concerns, Dave and I started
down the new trail. Overwhelming emotions, conflicting thoughts, and unfocused
faith flooded me, and the path grew darker. I no longer enjoyed carefree days
of activity. Instead, the nights seemed long and, as the weeks dragged on, my
body grew wearier.
Until one night, I caught a glimpse of insight and I began to see seclusion not as a
lonely cave but as a haven where I discovered the treasure of quietness. Four
evenings by myself – unique for a woman in her forties. I may never have this
time again, I admitted to myself. I must cherish it. So, over the next two years I
retreated to this place of refuge and I discovered the richness of God while in the
midst of dense woods.
I saw that He was always with me. He was my Shepherd, giving me guidance.
He was my Rock, upholding me. He was my Haven, giving me rest. He
protected me. He gave strength and confidence. He was my Husband, the One
with whom I could share my deepest hurts. He was my Father, the One I sought
for comfort. He was my Brother, the One to whom I turned to for
companionship. He knew every tear, every need, every hope, and every loss.
He provided. He was faithful. He caught me when I fell. He delighted in the
details of my life because He delighted in me. He heard my unspoken whisper
and calmed my stormy emotions. He awakened me in the morning with a song in
my heart. His love was unconditional. His grace was sufficient. His will was
clear and His promises true. And through it all was His reminder to “Be still and
know that I am God” (Psalm 46:10, NIV).
Now, several years later, we still have our home and I still have my job.
However, recently Dave’s out-of-town employment ended. Though unexpected
to us, we soon discovered this change of direction was part of God’s bigger plan
of preparing Dave for full-time ministry. He is now enrolled in a nearby Bible
college. And still intact is my treasure of personal, quiet time, although it does not
look the same. Instead of four hours each evening, I have ten minutes here or a
half an hour there. Everyday I look for quiet moments to spend to spend with
God.
Through the years of questions, discoveries and changes since that January
Wednesday, the faithfulness of God has prevailed, bringing a measure of security
that has set the pace for the rest of my life. Walking each step with the Shepherd
and finding a quiet place with Him in the midst of chaos has been more vital than
finding a way out of it. For with Him, are found stability, rest, and hope no
matter the path.
Constance B. Fink was raised as the pastor’s daughter of a large
metropolitan church in New Jersey. She has a degree in psychology from The
King’s College in New York, and has worked at Moody Bible Institute in
Chicago, and in the Counseling Center at Bradley University. She has also been
director of Christian education, church secretary, church librarian, and
coordinator of several women’s programs. Married for twenty years, she and
her husband are currently members of a quiet community and rural church in
northwest Illinois. Her articles have appeared in Bible Advocate’s Now What
magazine, Voice Magazine, Charisma, New Wineskins, Rest Ministries
Newsletter, and local newspapers. Email Constance B. Fink
back to Hope Stories
by Constance B. Fink © 2002
Wednesday, January 29, 1997 was one of those rare days that becomes a
point of reference for the rest of life, when events are explained as having
occurred either “before” or “after”. It started as a typical Wednesday in a rural
Midwestern town in winter. But by night, it was quite different.
After seeing my husband off to work, I looked at my calendar. Not too busy a
day. Just a few errands and, if I get an early start, I can even curl up with a good
book and a cup of tea. So, with grocery list in hand, I headed out.
I did not dilly-dally at the store; I wanted to get home and snuggle in. However,
etched in my memory is one moment—a moment that is permanently suspended
above the frozen vegetables and ice cream. Walking toward the checkout lanes
with a smile on my face and contentment in my eyes, I thanked the Lord for my
husband’s job, which freed me to enjoy the things I love—friends, Bible study,
writing, women’s ministries, reading, and homemaking. But eight hours later,
everything would change and neither I, nor my circumstances, would remain the
same.
At 5:00 P.M., dinner was almost ready. Dave should be home any minute. But
an hour passed. Where is he? With each passing minute, my anxiety increased.
Then the phone rang, startling every nerve in my body. My concern shot up
another level when the caller, my husband’s associate, asked for Dave.
“Isn’t he at work?” I asked. The associate answered vaguely, and my heart
started beating fiercely. A frightening picture began to form: a husband, drained
and stressed, enduring several difficult weeks at work, and ominous talk of
downsizing the company. The caller finally said, “When I left I saw a stack of
empty boxes outside Dave’s cubicle and the personnel director was with him.”
The picture was framed and the blood drained from my face.
I immediately dialed Dave’s number. He answered professionally and politely.
Everything seemed normal. “When will you be home? Are you okay?”
He replied, “I’ll be home in an hour and I’ll explain then.” He sounded calm and
composed, and that eased my mind but it also confused me. “Calm and
composed” did not belong in the picture that had been painted.
What am I going to do to get through the next hour? I couldn’t comprehend
what I might soon have to face emotionally, spiritually, and physically. “Lord,” I
prayed, “I need Your help to deal with whatever it is in love, wisdom, and
strength.”
As I waited, I recalled that a few days earlier I had asked God to encourage
Dave and accomplish His purpose, no matter what the cost to me. I began to
sense God’s preparation and presence. At that moment God attached the
stabilizing threads of hope and peace deep within my heart and they have
remained firm to this day, years later.
Finally, the garage door opened. As Dave walked toward me, he calmly said, “I
don’t work at my job anymore. Look, here are all my things.” The back of his
truck was filled with boxes containing five years of memories and effort. He was
so calm; it seemed so surreal.
As we sat together, Dave shared the details. Reality began to sink in—fear for
the future, sadness for the loss. A list began to form in my mind of all I would
lose. “But I love my house!” I cried. Just the previous weekend we finished
unpacking and hung the last of the pictures. And cried uncontrollably.
In the next hours, our friends struggled to absorb the news. Word traveled
rapidly among our church family and the phone began to ring. Some asking
questions and we had no answers; others trying to make sense of it and we had
no encouragement. It was like watching a sad, scary movie. I felt as helpless as
when I sit in a theater, unable to rewrite the script. This sudden turn in our life
was not just about us, but would affect all of our involvements and relationships.
Feeling the loss of others, I slowly became numb to my own pain.
Replacing the clarity I experienced that morning in the store, it was as if now I
saw through a fog. In an attempt to get my bearings, I glanced at my calendar.
My plans were now either on hold or had to be erased. How could I lead other
women when I was knocked down? Would we have to move after recently
finding the home that seemed so right? Would I have to give up everything I
loved the last five years in order to go back to work? That night, fear,
resentment, anger, hurt, and embarrassment, as well as sadness, set up residence
deep within my heart.
Then I noticed the sadness in Dave’s eyes—sadness that came from his heart,
that reached out to me, that drew us together. My pain can wait until later.
Even though this January Wednesday night was one of our most difficult nights,
there was an understanding that only the two of us could share and we were
drawn together. We cried for ourselves and for each other; we cried outwardly
and inwardly. As we held each other, God held us both. Immeasurable peace
found its place in my heart—a place that I would cherish and return to often.
As my eyes closed on this day of emotional unraveling, I recalled the stabilizing
thread God had attached earlier—the thread that secured me to the strength of
His faithful presence. Even though I knew there would be difficult days ahead, I
also felt that no matter what happened, I was secure and protected for I was
firmly attached to Someone stronger and greater.
That January Wednesday marked the beginning of a long path of steep inclines,
rushing waters, gnarly trees, dark clouds, and loud thunderstorms. The day
turned to weeks. The weeks to months. The months to years. It was a time of
intense financial, emotional, and spiritual stress. Instead of much-needed relief,
disappointments continued. We dealt with unanswered prayers and unanswered
questions, rejection letters and bills, sleepless nights and tear-filled days. I
struggled to stay connected to my friends, home, and church, while trying to
detach from the house. Maybe then the pain of moving day would not hurt as
much.
Friends showed care in many ways, but my heart cried for expression. If only
someone had asked how I was doing. Instead, an optimistic friend told me,
“You’ll have a better home, a better church.” Inwardly, I protested, But I don’t
want anything better!
A concerned friend asked, “What are you going to do?” I answered in panic, “I
don’t know; I can’t think past lunch!”
A compassionate friend would ask, “How is your husband?” From deep within
myself I heard the cry, Please ask how I am and acknowledge that I am
struggling, too. Sometimes I felt lost and afraid, sometimes alone and sad, most
times exhausted.
Living in a rural area made it difficult for my husband to find employment.
Although a clerical position opened up for me in a short time, it took over a year
for Dave to find an engineering job. But, it was three hours away. For personal
reasons, we decided not to relocate, so Dave stayed near his job during the
week. Though employment was necessary, the living arrangement did not seem
fair.
Despite panic-filled questions and disheartening concerns, Dave and I started
down the new trail. Overwhelming emotions, conflicting thoughts, and unfocused
faith flooded me, and the path grew darker. I no longer enjoyed carefree days
of activity. Instead, the nights seemed long and, as the weeks dragged on, my
body grew wearier.
Until one night, I caught a glimpse of insight and I began to see seclusion not as a
lonely cave but as a haven where I discovered the treasure of quietness. Four
evenings by myself – unique for a woman in her forties. I may never have this
time again, I admitted to myself. I must cherish it. So, over the next two years I
retreated to this place of refuge and I discovered the richness of God while in the
midst of dense woods.
I saw that He was always with me. He was my Shepherd, giving me guidance.
He was my Rock, upholding me. He was my Haven, giving me rest. He
protected me. He gave strength and confidence. He was my Husband, the One
with whom I could share my deepest hurts. He was my Father, the One I sought
for comfort. He was my Brother, the One to whom I turned to for
companionship. He knew every tear, every need, every hope, and every loss.
He provided. He was faithful. He caught me when I fell. He delighted in the
details of my life because He delighted in me. He heard my unspoken whisper
and calmed my stormy emotions. He awakened me in the morning with a song in
my heart. His love was unconditional. His grace was sufficient. His will was
clear and His promises true. And through it all was His reminder to “Be still and
know that I am God” (Psalm 46:10, NIV).
Now, several years later, we still have our home and I still have my job.
However, recently Dave’s out-of-town employment ended. Though unexpected
to us, we soon discovered this change of direction was part of God’s bigger plan
of preparing Dave for full-time ministry. He is now enrolled in a nearby Bible
college. And still intact is my treasure of personal, quiet time, although it does not
look the same. Instead of four hours each evening, I have ten minutes here or a
half an hour there. Everyday I look for quiet moments to spend to spend with
God.
Through the years of questions, discoveries and changes since that January
Wednesday, the faithfulness of God has prevailed, bringing a measure of security
that has set the pace for the rest of my life. Walking each step with the Shepherd
and finding a quiet place with Him in the midst of chaos has been more vital than
finding a way out of it. For with Him, are found stability, rest, and hope no
matter the path.
Constance B. Fink was raised as the pastor’s daughter of a large
metropolitan church in New Jersey. She has a degree in psychology from The
King’s College in New York, and has worked at Moody Bible Institute in
Chicago, and in the Counseling Center at Bradley University. She has also been
director of Christian education, church secretary, church librarian, and
coordinator of several women’s programs. Married for twenty years, she and
her husband are currently members of a quiet community and rural church in
northwest Illinois. Her articles have appeared in Bible Advocate’s Now What
magazine, Voice Magazine, Charisma, New Wineskins, Rest Ministries
Newsletter, and local newspapers. Email Constance B. Fink
back to Hope Stories
© 2004 Dave and Merry Marinello, all rights reserved.
Welcome! Thanks for visiting our little "harbor" amid life's storms. We hope you
will find rest and encouragement in your struggles, big or small. Here you can:
will find rest and encouragement in your struggles, big or small. Here you can:
A January Wednesday
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Hope is My Anchor
Strength for your soul amid life's storms
Strength for your soul amid life's storms