But even her little bundles of wool stolen from her comforter were not doing a good job of keeping young Rachael dry. And Anna was terribly weary of the daily washing.
“It leaves me so little time for more important things,” she often mourned inwardly.
And then there was the difficulty of drying the laundry. Anna liked to place her washing in the bright rays of the sun, but on more than one occasion she had almost lost her precious wool pads to the wind. On one such day she had chased fluffs of wool for two blocks down the street until she had been able to retrieve them. She had felt foolish and embarrassed as she raced along after the small handfuls of padding, but she had not dared to lose them. Rachael’s dryness depended upon them, so Anna had hoisted her skirt and given chase. From then on she dried the small bits of wool indoors where the wind could not steal them away from her.
But it was hard finding drying space for even the small scraps. Anna tucked them everywhere. Under her kitchen stove, behind her kitchen stove, over her kitchen stove, and even in her warming oven. Maggie had finally been made to understand that she was not to play with the bits of wool, but Rachael, who was big enough to crawl but not old enough to understand, was often found with handfuls of the fluffy balls, bits and pieces on lips and tongue. Anna had to continually be on guard.
Anna knew that even wool would never get her baby through another winter. She also knew that she could not possibly pull more batting from her one quilt. It was quite thin in spots as it was. Anna tried to tell herself that she could sleep “cool.” But she realized that in her sleep, she crowded Austin for warmth. That not only disturbed her rest but his as well. Anna knew that he needed his nights undisturbed if he was to profitably fill his days.
So Anna longed and looked for the missionary barrel. The family’s wardrobe depended upon it.
And then one day as Anna worked over the tub of laundry, she heard a tap-tapping on the boards of the walk outside. Her first thought was of Mrs. Paxton, but just as quickly she dismissed it. Mrs. Paxton was gone. It could not be her cane thumping its way down Anna’s sidewalk.
Then Anna heard accompanying steps. Someone was coming to the house. Drying her hands on her apron, Anna moved toward the door, anticipating a knock.
When she opened the door, Anna could scarcely believe her eyes. There stood Reverend and Mrs. Angus!
“Oh my!” she cried. “I can’t believe you are really here. Come in! Please, come in!”
Anna didn’t know when she had been so pleased to receive company.
“The ladies had this big supply of clothing to come to you,” explained Reverend Angus. “They were going to ship it, but my wife was anxious to see you, so we thought we’d bring it up ourselves.”
Anna was doubly blessed. She beamed and motioned them into her kitchen. Mrs. Angus accepted the invitation and took the chair that Anna offered.
“I’ll just go bring in those boxes,” said Reverend Angus,
“and then spend some time with your husband. Is he at the church?”
Anna nodded. “In his study,” she responded. “He’s working on Sunday’s sermon.”
“I hear he’s a fine preacher,” said Reverend Angus, seeming quite pleased with the fact, though Anna knew Austin would have liked to have seen more fruit from his efforts—even if it was now his intent to leave that aspect of his ministry with the Lord.
“I appreciate his sermons,” Anna said simply.
Reverend Angus carried in four boxes of used clothing and stacked them in a corner of Anna’s kitchen. Even in her excitement of welcoming her visitors, Anna was quite aware of their presence. She was anxious to open the boxes and sort through the contents. But that could wait. She was even more anxious to have a nice long visit with the older woman.
They talked of many things. Housekeeping. Babies. Fellow workers. World events. Anna had not enjoyed a visit so completely for some time.
“I was so disappointed when you didn’t make Conference,” the older woman said. “I decided that as soon as the opportunity presented itself, we’d just slip on up and see how things were going.”
Anna toyed with her teacup. How were things going, she wondered? She didn’t have a ready answer. Oh, certainly, on the surface things seemed to be fine. Austin was working hard and preaching faithfully. His sermons were well planned and expertly delivered. But the work had been hard. Had been without much result. Matt Cross had changed. Seemed to be making good progress. Mrs. Cross had asked for baptism. That was something to be thankful for.
But was it enough? Anna wondered. Should they have accomplished more in their time spent in the small town?
Were people actually growing? Were the right people being contacted? In the right way? Certainly Austin was doing his best. He was faithful and obedient to his calling. What more could he do? The thoughts troubled Anna. If there was fault, if there was failure—and she feared that there was—then it was concerning her—her lack of ability and training for ministry. Anna felt the heaviness drag down her shoulders.
Mrs. Angus seemed to read the troubled look in her eyes.
“What was the real reason for your missing Conference?” Mrs. Angus prodded gently. “Have you been—been feeling just a mite angry with God?”
“Oh no!” said Anna quickly, jerking up her head. Never had she felt angry with God, only dreadfully inadequate and troubled.
“Good!” said Mrs. Angus. “I—I was just a bit concerned. You see many—I mean, a number of young minister’s wives—well, they do feel a bit angry at times. I did.”
Anna’s eyes widened in surprise. It was hard to believe that Mrs. Angus had ever had such unholy thoughts and feelings.
“Well, sometimes, the hard times—well, they get to you. Especially when you have a hard time putting meals on the table. Clothes on the family. It’s hard. Especially when others seem to fare much better.”
Anna let her gaze drop. She had thought her problem an isolated one.
“Many of the young wives miss Conference because they are angry that they don’t have new shoes or a new suit.”
“I wasn’t angry,” Anna explained slowly. “I just didn’t want to embarrass Austin.”
Mrs. Angus nodded in understanding.
“And I didn’t have enough clothes for the girls,” went on Anna. “I would have needed to spend all my time doing laundry.”
Mrs. Angus nodded again. “How are things now?” she asked simply.
“I’ve been waiting every day for the boxes,” replied Anna honestly, her gaze drifting to the corner where they rested. “I do hope they will provide enough material for us to have new winter things. Maggie has outgrown everything she has and they are too worn to be of much use to Rachael. And my own things are dreadfully worn. Austin must be ashamed of me.”
“Austin is so proud of you he nearly busts his buttons,” Mrs. Angus responded quickly.
Anna managed a weak smile. It seemed so ironic.
“If—if that is true,” she said hesitantly, “it is unmerited.”
Mrs. Angus waited. Anna toyed with her wedding band. She didn’t know what to say or how to say it. But she had to talk to someone. She had kept her pain, her doubts locked up inside for far too long.
“I—I was never cut out to be a minister’s wife,” she blurted out before she could change her mind. “I’m afraid that Austin made a dreadful mistake in marrying me. I—I have held back his ministry. I don’t know how to do any of the things that—that minister’s wives should know.”
“And what things are those?” prompted Mrs. Angus softly.
“Well—how to lead the women. How to teach the children. How to—to—have a part in the music,” stammered Anna.
Mrs. Angus waited for just a minute while Anna fidgeted.
“Well, let me see,” the older woman said slowly. “I guess I wasn’t much of a minister’s wife either.”
“Oh, but you were,” Anna quickly defended, her eyes widening. Anna had always seen the older woman as her role model.
“Well, I certainly wasn’t gifted in leading the women. I did it because there was no one else to do it. I used to tremble with fear when I first started. I knew that there were many who could have done it much better than I.”
Anna could scarcely believe her ears. She had never supposed that Mrs. Angus had ever felt nervous about her role.
“And I was never good with children. My husband used to chide me. Said I was far too exacting and far too impatient. I wanted them to sit still and listen, not wiggle and squirm.”
This too was a surprise to Anna. She had idolized Mrs. Angus as her teacher, even though she remembered that the woman would abide no nonsense.
“And—did you ever hear me play an instrument?”
Anna shook her head.
“I tried to learn. Oh, I tried so hard when we were first married. I had no aptitude at all. I finally just gave it up, in tears. And I couldn’t sing. I soon learned that it was best if I just sang softly—or even mouthed the words. I was afraid I would throw everyone else off key.”
“Oh, but—”
“Now let’s look at you,” the woman went on. “The ladies give good reports about your leadership. Oh, don’t look surprised. Those things do get back to Conference, you know. We have heard some very favorable comments.”
“But I—I suffer each time I have to—”
“A little suffering just keeps us humble,” said the woman. “That way we know that we must depend upon the Lord. And we also have heard that you relate very well to children. That you and your husband have managed to turn around a rather disreputable little gang of street rascals and have many of them attending services. That these same little scamps visit you regularly to feast on bread and jam. Right?”
“Well, yes—they come but—”
“And we’ve also heard that you presented an excellent Christmas program on your first attempt and have repeated it since, filling the church to overflowing each time.”
“But that’s because—they like to hear their offspring and so far we have found no one else to—”
“Exactly! That was why I took leadership, too. My dear, when my husband and I first went into the ministry, I was scared to death. I just knew that I didn’t have the—the abilities that a minister’s wife should have. I could have just curled up and let Satan defeat me. In fact, I would have had not a kind, elderly man in the church given me a little lecture. ‘God does not ask you to be perfect,’ he told me. ‘Just willing. Just obedient. Just faithful in what you have been given.’ After much prayer and trembling,” the woman chuckled softly, “I realized he was right, so I took what I had—what I was—and I offered it to the Lord. I wasn’t sure why He’d want it, or what He’d do with it, but I gave it to Him.”
Anna felt her whole body tremble. She remembered the ministry of Mrs. Angus. She had done so much in the church—in the community. Everyone loved her. Everyone looked up to her. God had certainly used what the woman had given to Him. But she, Anna, knew that she didn’t have anything to offer. She wasn’t good at any of the things mentioned. There was just no one else to do them. So she managed to bungle her way through the tasks even though someone with ability could have accomplished so much more.
But Mrs. Angus didn’t seem to understand. Anna decided not to argue further. In her heart she knew that the main reason for her feeling of inadequacy had not as yet been addressed. Dared she face it? Dared she admit her failure?
Would the woman before her ever be able to forgive her sin?
But Anna could no longer stand the weight of her burden. She lowered her gaze and blurted out her confession.
“I don’t even know how . . . how to lead a person to the Lord.”
Tears were running down her cheeks. Mrs. Angus reached out to clasp a trembling hand.
“We had a neighbor. Mrs. Paxton,” Anna hurried on. “She was bitter and hurting. She gave us the church building. But—but I couldn’t—couldn’t even explain to her how—I couldn’t make her understand. Me, the minister’s wife. The only person that she would really talk to—and I couldn’t say it right.”
Anna lowered her face into her folded arms and let the sobs shake her shoulders. Mrs. Angus could only watch and pray and let the tears flow as she patted the young woman’s shaking shoulder.
“Anna. Anna, listen to me,” the woman said when the tears began to subside. “Do you suppose you are the only one who ever failed in such a way? Do you think that everyone who is told the gospel story responds to it? Ministry would be so simple then. All we would have to do would be to proclaim the Good News. But it isn’t like that. We are in a war, Anna. We have an enemy. The battle is long . . . and hard . . . and there are casualties. Satan does not easily let go of those he has blinded. And the will of the individual must also be reckoned with. The Spirit will force no one to a commitment. Only woo. Only draw him. The response is left up to the individual.
“Mrs. Paxton had a choice to make. You could not make the choice for her. You could only present the Truth to her. As hard as it is to bear, to let her go—unchanged into eternity—the choice was not yours, Anna. It was hers.”
“But if I didn’t make it clear,” wept Anna.
“What did Mrs. Paxton say to your presentation of the Gospel?” asked Mrs. Angus.
“She said she had once been a believer but God had let her down. She said that she wanted nothing further to do with Him. That He had forsaken her in this life, so she didn’t plan to have anything to do with Him in the next,” Anna answered through her tears.
“So she did understand,” responded Mrs. Angus. “She made the choice.”
Anna thought about the statement. She guessed Mrs. Angus was right. Mrs. Paxton had understood. At least she had understood enough to turn her back on the forgiveness and love of a holy God.
“It’s—it’s terrible,” said Anna, new tears beginning to fall. “How can someone—how can anyone—just choose to—to turn their back on mercy?”
“It’s done all the time,” responded Mrs. Angus, and her own shoulders sagged with the heaviness of the thought.
Anna cried for a minute longer, then lifted her head and blew her nose. She wiped her cheeks and sniffed away the sobs that still wanted to come. She would be waking her two little ones with her crying. She must get herself under control.
“It’s so sad. So sad,” she repeated. “Oh, I wish we could just pray—or—or push them into the Kingdom.”