At a particularly low point, when we finally had nothing to lose, when we’d finally hit the bottom, I looked at him and said with exasperation, “I wish you’d stop talking about what ‘God wants’—what do you want?!” (I’m a good wife like that.) He paused and clenched his jaw the way he does when he’s trying to decide whether he can say what he’s really thinking. Then he dropped his head and his voice became quiet, almost a whisper. “I—I just want to be a country pastor in Virginia.” “Well, then, for heaven’s sake,” I said, throwing my arms in the air, “let’s just do that.”
