| My clergyman husband spent six months in | | | | there, a small slip of paper in his hand, reading |
| institutional care after he contracted West Nile | | | | gracious words, difficult words, informing the grieving |
| neurological disease. I spent most of that time with | | | | congregation he would no longer be their leader. As |
| him, encouraging and helping where I could as he | | | | though standing on the banks of a literal river, I |
| fought his way back from almost total paralysis, and | | | | watched what felt like an entire career swirl away on |
| the neurological complications of encephalitis. | | | | the turbulent current of the Nile. |
| Life challenged us as never before, but many good | | | | Behind me I heard members of our congregation, |
| things happened in those months. We spent more | | | | dear friends, weeping. In that moment it felt like I |
| time together than we had for years. I saw almost | | | | was standing in a field, watching a tornado rip the last |
| daily improvements. Positive people surrounded us, an | | | | of everything we had once been and done, even |
| entire team whose mission it was to attempt to put | | | | loved, from our eager, outstretched hands. |
| my Humpty Dumpty back together again. We had | | | | Aside from health and mobility, Rick and I had already |
| plenty of time for spiritual nurture. God seemed very | | | | lost to the pirates two complete seasons. Half a year |
| near. My spirits were seldom low. | | | | of celebrations with friends and family. Our |
| Each night, I kissed Rick good-night and walked | | | | anniversary, my birthday, thanksgiving, Halloween, |
| across a long grey-linoleumed ribbon of sky-hall to my | | | | Christmas, Rick's birthday, our daughter's birthday, |
| hostel room. There I wrote, sometimes for hours, | | | | our grandaughter's birth, Valentine's day... |
| before crawling between the hospital sheets. But | | | | Our faith had held steady to that point--and would |
| sometimes, I confess, I shut my eyes and longed for | | | | remain steady following it. But at that moment, the |
| my old pumpkin shell. | | | | stream of losses seemed one too many. |
| When we left the rehab center six months after the | | | | Because our home was a parsonage, and parsonages |
| pirates first attacked, we hoped to resume the life | | | | need parsons, I began packing our possessions |
| we'd left behind. A somewhat revised life, to be sure, | | | | immediately to move. We rented a small wheelchair |
| but dear and familiar nonetheless. We knew Rick | | | | accessible low-income house on the other side of |
| would need local therapy, but he hoped soon to | | | | town. I moved Rick in first. |
| return to the spiritual leadership of the congregation | | | | For weeks, as I packed alone at the parsonage, I |
| we had loved and served for the better part of two | | | | pondered the road ahead. Though I knew God would |
| decades. | | | | never abandon us, I was filled with an unutterable |
| Things did not go as expected. Contrary to our | | | | sense of grief. |
| hopes, following our return it rapidly became clear to | | | | Fighting life's pirates is not a pretty business. Loss |
| us: Rick must resign from his leadership of our former | | | | kicks one in the gut. If it weren't for our faith that |
| congregation. | | | | God held us in his hands, I would have felt else little |
| I'll never forget the sight of him leaning on his walker, | | | | but despair. |
| making his way to the pulpit one final time. Standing | | | | |