By the time I got home, it was quite late. I opened the front door as quietly as I could and tiptoed into the living room. I needn't have bothered. Mia was awake, standing there waiting. The look on her face spelled trouble. So did her tone.
       "Russell Rusk, where have you been? It's the middle of the night." She threw her arms around me and sobbed into my shoulder. "I've been sick worrying about you."
       I pulled my head back just far enough to look into her eyes. I hated making her cry, but the delay had been unavoidable. She hadn't answered my call, and I didn't try again later for fear of waking her up. Now I wondered if she had been awake the whole time I was gone.
       Love, why can't you accept the fact that my schedule isn't my own? When I'm needed, I have to respond. In this instance it not only meant having to go, but having to stay longer than I had anticipated. Much longer.
       I couldn't criticize her for worrying. Doing so would not only be unkind, it would be as unnecessary as her excessive concern.
       No matter how often I had reminded her that my job priorities were different from those of men in other professions, she hadn't made much of an effort to accept the fact that exceptional needs could trump even the most special of our plans.
       How often had I quoted Robert Burns' "The best-laid plans of mice and men oft' go awry"? But this issue had nothing to do with anything but our supper plans. Plans that had been special because of Mia's thoughtfulness.
       Although I always did my best to put her first, she came in last more often than I wanted to think about. That night had been one of those times — a more exceptional problem than I could bear to think about.
       I frowned. More at my inability to be in complete control of my time than at my wife's failure to accept and understand that she was still first in my heart.
       I pulled her closer and whispered, "What time is it, Love?"
       She glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner. "It's 3:13. It was 5:20 p.m. when you left. You didn't say where you were going. Was it the hospital?" She shook her head slightly. "You've never stayed there this late before."
       "I—"
       "I pictured you in a wreck on a dark country road. You were cut up and bleeding badly."
       She sniffled a time or two. "Then I imagined that you had already died." She broke out bawling.
       I hugged her tighter. "I would've preferred to be home with you. The Cranes' baby picked an unfortunately inopportune time to be born. When Bill called, he begged me to come. I could hear Betty screaming in pain. How could I have refused to go?"
       She narrowed her eyes. "The Cranes? Betty, you said? You mentioned her as you were leaving. Isn't she the woman who was seeing a problem pregnancy specialist?"
       I nodded, thankful she had remembered that much. "Yes, Dr. Gerlach, a perinatologist. The closer Betty got to her due date, the more frequently she needed to see her. The last two weeks, she went five or six times."
       "My…," Mia mouthed.
       "Even then Dr. Gerlach didn't have much hope for the baby. She even recommended an abortion. Needless to say, as a Christian Betty refused."
       I didn't try to stop a sigh from slipping out. "If hers had been a normal pregnancy and delivery, I could have begged off going to the hospital until morning. I could have and I would have. But you can understand now why I had to go."
       Mia sniffled. She appeared to be thinking. "You didn't tell me any of that before you left."
       "I didn't have time. At least I kissed you, told you I loved you, and said I would call as soon as I could."
       Although she nodded slightly, she looked a bit like a judge about to announce the verdict in a serious criminal case. "You didn't call."
       I wrinkled my brow. This discussion promised to keep going for a while and I was too exhausted to keep standing. I never got to sit down the whole time I was at the hospital. So I released Mia from my embrace and plopped down on my recliner. She sat down on the couch.
       "But I did. I called as soon as I learned what was happening. When you didn't answer, I left voicemail."
       "Voicemail? I…I didn't know I had any." I hadn't meant to put her on the defensive, but she was reacting as if I had. "I was in the tub taking a nice, long soak. I used one of those exquisite new bath bombs I bought the other day."
       I shook my head. I was disgusted. Exquisite with Mia usually meant expensive. She knew she shouldn't purchase anything like that without discussing it with me first. As costly as those bath bombs were? She really should have talked with me first.
       I would probably have given in. Then I would only have chastised myself. After all, I loved pleasing Mia, even if a purchase like that put an unnecessary strain on the budget.
       Hmm. Maybe I wouldn't have given in that time. Those bath bombs were small, but far more expensive than the ones she normally used. When she brought them home we had a nasty shouting match.
       Now wasn't the time to fight that fight again.
       "I was going to try phoning again, but Betty Crane's delivery took a turn for the worse just as I arrived. She had already been in labor twenty-two hours." I sucked in a quick breath. "The…the baby died a few minutes after I got there."
       Because Mia and I had been unable to have children, I hoped she would at least be mildly sympathetic. She didn't respond, though, and I couldn't read her expression.
       "I had to be inside the birthing room the whole time. That was not my idea. I'll never forget the horrible things I saw and heard. No wonder Bill was a basket case. Without God's help I wouldn't have been in any shape to keep him calm."
       I thought for a moment before adding, "As calm as possible."
       Mia cocked her head. She had been listening. Was she starting to accept the fact that I had gotten too involved in a church member's tragedy to attempt to call her again?
       "You can't imagine how the baby's death horrified Betty and Bill. All three of us, actually. That's why I'm so late getting home. Somebody had to stay with them until at least one set of grandparents could get there. That took hours."
       She looked into my eyes thoughtfully. Compassionately? Perhaps. That's how I chose to read her expression, anyhow. "I understand, Sweetie." Her pause made me think she might have. But then her tone changed. "You never had to go out after hours when you still had a secular job, did you?"
       She hadn't tried to hide her sarcasm.
       I couldn't keep from groaning. I had hoped she wouldn't bring that up now. She knew what to expect when I entered the ministry. I had been honest in telling her about both the good and the less desirable aspects.
       Truth be told, she hadn't adjusted to the less desirable. No wonder we had been more happily married before God called me into the ministry.
       I couldn't count the number of times I had lamented the effects of my ministry on our marriage. Only recently had I come to recognize and accept what should have been obvious all along.
       Why expect a non-Believer like Mia to feel and act differently from the way she did? She wasn't spiritually equipped or motivated to do otherwise.
       Her complaining had started as soon as I began taking online seminary courses. And continued when I started going out to night classes. But she complained fiercely about the pastorate I had prayerfully accepted fifteen months earlier. A pastorate in a small nondenominational church in rural Bald Hill.
       Even though Bald Hill was located within easy driving distance of the city we were living in, I had never heard of it before being called to pastor there.
       We hadn't even moved yet before nearly everything she said was negative. Now it seemed worse.
       Mia couldn't accept the fact that I had to obey God and do everything according to His will. Not hers. Even so, I respected her feelings as best I could.
       Respected, yes, but I couldn't change the way she felt. Only God could do that, and how could I hope to lead her to Jesus if I couldn't somehow maintain an adequate balance between home and church?
       It didn't matter that her question about the workday benefits of my former job had been sarcastic. I had to acknowledge it truthfully. "As you already know, I never had to go out after closing time. I hate to admit it, but my working hours were ideal. Most of the time I really enjoyed my job. Enjoyment was one thing, but I never felt like I was accomplishing anything. Anything eternally significant, I mean."
       Her snort resembled that of a wild animal. "You don't call earning enough to live comfortably important?"
       How can I make you understand…? Lord?
       "Mia, you remember I was only working at a minimum wage job when we decided to marry. There was no guarantee I would ever earn much more than that. But we knew we would get by."
       I smiled. "How could we fail to? We would live on love when we ran out of money. Other couples managed to do it."
       She barely let me finish before retorting, "But then you got a better job and ended up earning much more than minimum wage." I could tell she was about to zap me with an argument I would have preferred avoiding.
       "Don't you believe God helped you move up the corporate ladder because he knew the two of us needed more money?"
       Just what I was afraid you would say.
       I glanced up before responding. "He probably did. But don't you think He led me into the ministry because He had something more important and more fulfilling for me to do than what I had been doing?"
       Without answering, she scurried into the bedroom, slamming the door behind her. Whenever she did that, I knew that any further attempt to talk would agitate and aggravate her even more.
       So I tiptoed over to the bedroom door and listened quietly for several minutes. She was crying. When she finally stopped, I spoke in what I hoped was a loving tone. "I'm sorry this has upset you so much. I love you."
       I listened patiently for an answer. It didn't come. A series of stomach growls did, however. Mine.
       "Love, I haven't eaten anything since lunch. I was really looking forward to the fish 'n' chips. You said they wouldn't reheat well in the microwave?"
       Still no response.
       It looked like I was on my own for a very late, but badly needed supper. I wandered into the kitchen and looked in the fridge. No sign of my untouched meal.
       Then I checked the garbage can.
       I growled more loudly than I meant to. She had not only pitched my fish 'n' chips, she had thrown away my favorite plate!
       I marched to the front door but then stopped and returned a bit less aggressively to the bedroom. The door was still closed. To avoid being accused of failing to keep her informed of my plans, I announced my intentions loudly enough that she couldn't miss hearing me.
       "Jack's Place is open 24/7. He's always offering me a free meal. I've never had a chance to accept. I guess now is the time. At least a free meal won't be a hit on the family budget. Sleep tight. I'll see you when I get back. I love you, Mia."
       I really do love you. That's why I was foolish enough to ignore the advice of my family and friends. To a person, each of them had warned me that marriage to a non-Christian would lead to heartbreak. Despite our problems, I'll keep praying day and night for your salvation. Not just to assure your eternity in Heaven, though, but to solve our marital problems here on earth.