THE FOG OF ABUSE - Christianity Today

The late-term miscarriage didn’t matter-not really, Carla thought. What mattered to Carla was pleasing her husband. She would do just about anything to improve their difficult marriage.

Carla had married young, committing herself to helping her husband earn his graduate degree at the university. Some day he would be an important man, and then she would be respected as well.

Carla could not remember her parents ever praising her as a child. She was frequently punished and told that she was bad. Once after church, she heard her parents say to the pastor, “We can’t help it if our child was born bad, can we?” The pastor didn’t say anything, but Carla was sure he disliked her, too. Just about everyone else did.

So when the international student at the cafe where she waited on tables asked her out, she was shocked. She was still more shocked when later he asked her to marry him. He was older and so intelligent. She wasn’t going to college, of course. Her parents didn’t consider her worth educating, but they approved of her getting married.

Carla assumed that when she got married, her mother would like her-maybe even show her some affection. Marrying someone intelligent certainly was proof she was worth something.

But her parents didn’t respect her any more after the marriage than they had before. They showed a lot of attention, however, to the young man she married. They even helped him with finances to continue his studies.

Carla didn’t know much about her husband before she married him, but that didn’t matter to her. He was smart. She had often dreamed about going to college herself, but she pushed the idea out of her mind. Instead she married her dream and worked hard so her husband could advance himself.

Going to church had always been part of Carla’s life, although she couldn’t help but wonder if God could like someone like her.

At first Carla’s husband went with her to church, but he wasn’t comfortable. He avoided people. But, she reassured herself, he was going to be important someday. If he didn’t function well in church, well, maybe that was because he was so intelligent.

Before long her husband stopped going and began to ridicule her for going. But she would slip out on Sundays while he was still asleep. She would have liked to be more active at church, but she couldn’t risk her husband’s anger.

When Carla’s pastor got the call from the hospital about her miscarriage, he left at once for the hospital. He didn’t know her personally, but he made it a point to visit. He brought several phone numbers of support groups in the area that might be of help for her. He offered to call a group for her, if she preferred, to help her get started.

The pastor asked gently why she showed no sign of sadness. She didn’t seem to be affected by the loss of her baby. She felt numb.

At home her husband showed no unhappiness about losing the baby, so Carla decided not to mention it further. She didn’t want to upset him while he was studying so hard. Her parents, on the other hand, wanted to know, “What did you do wrong that caused the miscarriage? We had been looking forward to the birth of our first grandchild-and now look at what you’ve done! Can’t you do anything right?”

Carla didn’t know what went wrong.

Meanwhile, her husband suggested it was about time that she iron his shirts. “I need to look good at the university,” he said. “While others waited on you in the hospital, I’ve gone for days without ironed shirts.”

Carla felt tired but couldn’t understand why. She just wanted to rest, but she took out the ironing board and started to iron methodically. Why did she feel so unhappy? She just wished she could sleep somewhere.

Her husband looked up from the table where he was studying and looked at her ironing his shirts. Snapping his fingers, he said, “Say, what’s your name again? I seem to have forgotten it. I just can’t remember it.” Then he put his head back down in his books and continued to study.

“It’s Carla, isn’t it?” he said suddenly. “Yes, why yes, that’s it.” And he was deep into his books again.

Things weren’t turning out the way Carla thought they should. She felt worse being married than she ever felt before.

The next Sunday she went again to church. Her husband, studying for exams, didn’t know she had left. Carla felt weighed down by a depression that refused to lift. She tried to tell herself everything was fine, but she knew it wasn’t. She wondered if she’d be better off dead.

Carla looked up at the pastor. Vaguely, she remembered him at the hospital-one person in her life who had been kind. Why hadn’t he asked her what she had done wrong to cause the miscarriage? And, amazingly, he had known her name. Her husband hadn’t visited her in the hospital at all. But the pastor had come.

After the service, in the congregational line, the pastor said, “Carla! How are you doing?” His eyes showed concern.

At that moment something happened to Carla. She had longed all her life for someone to respect her; now it had happened. She looked at her pastor and couldn’t move. He seemed to be saying, “I’m with you, Carla. I’m on your side.”

Suddenly she couldn’t hold it back any longer. She started crying in front of all the people in the line: “My husband . . . my husband hurts me so much.”

The pastor said, “Let’s go into my study, shall we?” He could have let the problem wait until later. But he didn’t. They entered his study, and a woman brought some coffee for them. Carla thought it was nice to have someone do that for her.

Carla tried to tell the pastor what her problem was, but she had difficulty expressing herself. The pastor listened carefully, calmly, as she told about her parents and husband.

He spoke simply. “Carla,” he said, “God loves you. He wants the best for you.” Carla wanted to believe that, but she wondered if it were really true. Still, his calm, confident manner gave her a little courage to dare think it might be true. She felt a small sigh of relief escape from somewhere deep within.

“Jesus loves you so much that he died for you,” he said. “Carla,” he said again, “What kind of a mother do you think you’d make?” He wanted her to express her feelings about the baby, but she was too confused and upset to say anything.

“Very often, people who come from an abusive situation marry into another abusive situation, and the cycle goes on,” he said.

It had never occurred to Carla that she had been abused. To her, she had always been bad, that’s all. More than anything else she had always desired to be considered good, to be respected.

“Do you think,” he said, “you deserve more respect, Carla? Do you think you deserve more credit as a woman created by God?” She didn’t respond. Why should she deserve respect or credit, she wondered. It was so hard to get her thoughts straight.

“God created you and loves you. He wants you to be respected, Carla,” the pastor said. Cautiously he ventured, “Do you think your husband would make a good father?” Carla shook her head emphatically. No, he would not. Carla was sure of it.

The pastor prayed with her, and Carla felt honored and grateful. It was the first time she could remember an authority figure on her side. The pastor explained some of the groups in the church she might enjoy. He invited her to return to talk again and asked if her husband might like to accompany her.

Carla cringed noticeably. He wouldn’t want to come under any circumstances. He didn’t go anywhere with her.

The pastor gently asked, “What kind of a relationship do you have in your marriage?” Carla seemed lost in thought. “What does your husband do for you, Carla? Does he help you at all? Does he support you and your interests?”

Carla had a lot to think about when she left the pastor’s office. She walked home slowly, hoping what the pastor had said was true-that Jesus cared enough for her to die for her.

It was good to know someone cared. She looked forward to returning to church, where she felt something she felt nowhere else. Respect.

-Lynda Pujado

Palatine, Illinois