No Weapon Formed (Boaz Brown)

by Stimpson, Michelle

  “Well, honey, let’s get one thing straight. Fitness and health is two different things. Fitness is about your body in the natural realm. But prosperous health comes from life in Christ. Don’t confuse the two.”

  She didn’t have to worry about me confusing the two. I, for one, was confused enough. I was sure she’d said something profound, but it escaped me.

  “It’s just that, normally, he’s a strong, godly man. Lately, he’s…miserable,” I shared.

  Her eyes softened. “And so are you, I bet.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I know by the Spirit—you’re a good wife. A good mother.” She waved at Zoe.

  “Do you think, maybe, my husband is…doing something wrong?”

  “You don’t have to do anything wrong to be the target of an attack. A lot of Christians forget—we do have an enemy in the land. But don’t let that worry you. We’ve been given power over Him through Christ. You understand?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “What’s your husband’s name?”

  “Stelson Brown. Thank you.”

  I backed away so she could pass.

  “Where are you going?” she asked.

  “I was getting into my car so you can get into yours,” I laughed slightly.

  “Well, you asked me to pray, didn’t you?”

  “Yes.” I was thinking she’d write his name on a prayer list and get to him later.

  “Let’s touch and agree now.” She offered her spindly hands. This woman brought my husband, his doctors, me, our children, our jobs, and the strife from my family—which I hadn’t mentioned to her—before the Lord. She spoke healing and peace over us. And then she prayed for more patience for me. Matter of fact, she spent most of the time praying on me, which came as a surprise. Why are we praying on me?

  “Fill her with more love, Lord. Let her be slow to anger, quick to forgive. Let her not look to the left or to the right, Abba Father. Gird her up in Your strength.”

  The comfort in her touch was pure love. Almost as good as if I was standing in agreement with Momma. In a way, I was—we were—because I knew Christ was in our midst.

  “Amen and it is so.”

  “It is so.”

  I was hoping that she’d ask me for my phone number or some way to keep in touch with her. But the finality of her prayer, “it is so” put a period at the end of this situation, like when Jesus told the ten lepers to go show themselves clean, and they were healed as they went. It was a done deal from the moment He spoke it.

  This lady had believed she’d received what she had prayed.

  And so did I. For a while anyway.

  Chapter 22

  Stelson

  Stelson had no business driving on an expressway and he knew it, which was why he took the back roads to work. He could stomach the ride at 40 miles per hour much better than 70 or 80.

  When he arrived at work, he parked as close as possible to the elevators. Walking had become a chore. Though no one seemed to notice him leaning, he felt off-balance when he took more than five steps.

  After the previous day’s blow-up with Cooper and Helen, Stelson wondered if he should bother walking into the office at all today.

  They had been right, however, about how he’d dropped the ball by not returning messages. But Stelson didn’t appreciate his partner and his secretary teaming up on him, holding a meeting to get to the bottom of what Cooper had called “a miscommunication”.

  The most important people in his life were turning out to be his worst allies through this illness, especially LaShondra. Instead of being there for him, offering compassion, she was turning cold and pulling away.

  Can’t blame her, though. Especially since he hadn’t told her the whole truth. For all she knew, he had a bad headache.

  And God wasn’t saying much. Though he still believed the Word, what he needed more than anything was a friend.

  Stelson texted Cooper: Not coming in today.

  Cooper replied: Good idea. I’ll handle things. Take a few days off.

  Couldn’t have come at a better time. Stelson left the garage and wandered around the city for a while, thankful for the overcast skies hiding the sun’s glaring rays. The only quiet place that came to mind was a library. He stopped at the local branch, brought in his laptop and found an unoccupied corner.

  Wish I could sleep here.

  For probably the tenth time in a week, he searched online for hints about his condition. Individually, his symptoms were clearly linked to specific diagnoses. But taken altogether, he could have just about anything.

  God, You have to show me.

  His phone vibrated. Jim Moore’s name flashed across the screen. Stelson rejected the call, as he’d done to all other calls from church members recently. All they wanted to do was pray and tell him to find the bright side.

  Praying was always in order, Stelson knew, but right now, he was too discombobulated, too disoriented to pray. Besides, the Lord knew he was sick. If He didn’t intervene, it wouldn’t be because Stelson hadn’t told Him already.

  In a desperate attempt to find his own cure, Stelson Binged “multiple symptoms” and “misdiagnosed” which led him to a site called “HoldMyHand.” On a whim, he scrolled through the message board topics. Don't want to tell my wife, No one understands, Just want to go to sleep and wake up when this disease is over, Still don’t know what’s wrong with me.

  He could have written any one of those posts.

  Finally, he’d found people who were walking in his shoes.

  Chapter 23

  “Hi, LaShondra. I’m so sorry to call you in the middle of the day. I know you’re busy and all,” Helen apologized.

  “Is everything okay?” I could count on one hand the number of times his secretary had called on my cell phone.

  “Yes. Everything’s fine. Sort of. I have Mr. Cooper on the line. He’d like to speak to you if you have time.”

  “Certainly.”

  Talking to Cooper was even rarer than talking to Helen. Aside from the company Christmas party, Stelson’s business partner and I didn’t communicate.

  “LaShondra,” he started, “thank you for taking my call.”

  “No problem. How can I help you?”

  He paused. “We’ve noticed some changes in Stelson around the office as of late. I’m wondering if you can give us any insight. Is he well?”

  How could I answer that question without damaging my husband’s professional reputation? I dodged him. “What kinds of changes?”

  “All I can say is that he’s not himself,” Cooper summarized.

  I understood his vague verbiage to mean that he wasn’t at liberty to discuss my husband’s work performance with me. From my conversations with Peaches, I knew that there were laws against divulging information about co-workers, even in a partnership.

  “Oh. I. Yes. Stelson has been under a tremendous amount of stress,” I excused my husband’s behavior. “As you may know, I’ve taken a leave of absence. With our two kids and taking care of my father…we’ve both been juggling a lot.” I slathered it on, though none of those reasons seemed weighty enough to explain the abrupt decline in my husband’s attitude.

  “I see. Has he been to a doctor?”

  “Yes.”

  “Uh huh,” Cooper huffed. “Well, I’ve told him he should take a few days off.”

  No! I don’t want him home! You keep him!

  “If there’s anything I can do to help him, please let me know,” Cooper said.

  “Thanks for calling.”

  The garage door squeaked open. When Stelson walked through the door, I looked up from the row of seasoned chicken and acted surprised to see him. “Hey, babe. To what do we owe the pleasure of seeing you this early?”

  “Got finished. Came home.”

  Oh, he wants to lie to me now? “Really?”

  He answered with a malicious glare.

  Zoe beat on her high chair for her father’s attention, but he walked right
past her to our bedroom. My baby’s bottom lip poked out. Her beautiful smile turned upside down as she processed what had just happened.

  “It’s okay, Zoe,” I cooed, picking her up and rocking her until she seemed to forget. She was already sleepy, so nap time came easy.

  Once Zoe was snoozing in her playpen, I hopped on the internet. There was no way my kids and I were going to suffer because my husband could not manage his pain. Granted, I’d never had a migraine, but I knew people who worked with headaches and lupus and shingles and in between cancer treatments. They got up and went to work every day and they didn’t snap people’s heads off. They learned how to cope. “I will not, not, not let the enemy steal my joy,” I chanted.

  The question came from inside: Who is the enemy?

  My initial thought, which I know the Lord heard, was “Stelson”.

  I tried to change my answer to something spiritually correct.

  His loving chastisement stilled my hands on the laptop keys. What exactly was I looking up on the internet anyhow? A way to stop my husband from being mean? Ten steps to ignoring your spouse? How to live a parallel life in the same house?

  “I don’t know, God.” Giving sound to my confusion led me to the prayer closet like a puppy with his tail between his legs. I knew better than to go to Google before going to God. Why was I acting so brand new? How could I have forgotten so quickly that we were under spiritual attack?

  Here I am, God. Let’s whip this thing.

  Wrapped up in His Word and His love, I learned the first rule of spiritual warfare real quick: The war is not against people.

  Fresh from the prayer closet, I finished dousing the chicken, put it in the oven to cook, and then made Stelson a sandwich.

  He was sitting up in bed reading his Bible. He had kicked his shoes off, but his clothes were still intact.

  “I brought you something.”

  He took the plate of food. Set it on the bed. Without veering from the book, he said, “Thank you.”

  Since he hadn’t said anything smart, I crawled in bed next to him and bundled myself against his right side. “Baby, I’m praying for you.”

  “I need it.”

  My flesh wanted to ruin the moment: to ask him if there was any way he could stop acting bully-ish and let him know how much he had hurt my feelings over the past weeks.

  I glanced down and noticed that my husband was reading from the Psalms. Books of woe and lamenting written by David when he felt most neglected by God.

  No, this wasn’t the time to start fussing and demanding improvement. I sat there next to my husband and wept for him, for us, while holding on to his arm.

  He rubbed my forearm. “It’s going to be all right.”

  “I know. It’s hard watching you go through this, though.”

  “I’m better this week than I was last week,” he confessed.

  “And you’ll be better than this next week,” I prophesied over my husband. “By His stripes, you were healed.”

  “Amen.”

  The words from my mouth to his ears became our truth the next week. Stelson reported less intense headaches and his attitude showed marked improvement. I should have been shouting for joy, but I wasn’t.

  I was still angry. Hurt. Stelson did render a two-second apology and thank me for nursing him during his bout with migraines. My feelings, however, were not satisfied. I knew Stelson wasn’t perfect and we had both done things and said words we recanted later.

  This was bigger than me, though. He’d been rude to our kids, my father and our friends. And he’d lied to me. I couldn’t just dismiss all this behind migraine headaches. These were character issues lying dormant inside my husband before this sickness brought out the worst in him.

  Maybe the ladies at table four were right after all. Maybe my husband was doing something wrong that I knew nothing about, which the Lord wanted to bring to light. Maybe his sudden changes were not as sudden as I thought they were. Had I been blinded by love? So busy working and taking care of the kids that I failed to see the signs? For all I knew, he could be having an affair and I’d be clueless. All those late nights at work. “Business” trips. Hmph.

  I didn’t put anything past him, and I certainly wasn’t going to give him an opportunity to trample on my heart again in the future, headaches or not.

  “Babe, can you take my shirts to the cleaners today?” Stelson asked as he repositioned his laptop case on his shoulder, preparing to leave.

  “Got it,” I sang to cover myself.

  He pinched my waist and kissed me. “See you this evening. Seven-ish.”

  “Got it.”

  I must have spoken a little too sharply because he asked, “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” I nodded rapidly and smiled.

  Stelson peered, like he wanted to ask another question, but he didn’t. “I love you.”

  “Love you, too.”

  My prayer time was short, but not sweet at all because I was getting tired of God giving me all this information about me. What about Stelson? What about the way he’d acted? What about the fact that I didn’t want to find myself stuck-out, without a job should my husband ever start trippin’ again?

  My Momma raised a Christian, but she didn’t raise no fool.

  As soon as Zoe’s first naptime came, I was on the internet searching through my employer’s website to see if there were open slots listed for principals or even in the curriculum office. I called Terrie Meunse, a fellow administrator with whom I’d taken several graduate level classes. We were study buddies and we’d both risen in the ranks with Plainview School District over the years. She worked at the central office now.

  “Hey, Terrie, thanks for taking my call. How are you?”

  “Not as good as you, obviously,” she teased. “Wishing I was home, too!”

  “Girl, I’m tryin’ to get back in the mix after the semester, if I can. You know of anybody leaving?”

  She hummed, “Mmmmm. I think Ms. Adams, over at Lakeview, may be pregnant. But she had a miscarriage with the first one. You know how that goes.”

  It seemed heartless to be discussing someone’s infertility issues so trivially, seeing as Stelson and I had wandered through our own barren years when we first married. “I hope she makes it to term this time.”

  “Yeah. But other than Adams, I can’t think of anyone. Who took your spot at the high school?”

  “We hired a lady named Natalie Lockhart-Gomez.”

  “She’s from the valley, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I heard she was a pretty good administrator down there,” Terrie said.

  “Thanks for the memo.”

  “But you’re great, too!” Terrie quickly recovered. “Anyway, I’ll keep an eye out for you and let you know if I see any vacancies coming up.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

  There. I had done it. I’d put the wheels in motion to get my life back on track. I felt better already knowing that if push ever came to shove in this marriage, my kids and I could survive.

  Since I’d crafted an escape hatch for me and mine actually improved my attitude. Since I didn’t envision myself depending on Stelson for my livelihood much longer, I figured I would not be as vulnerable to the possibility of him acting the fool.

  Life went back to my new normal. Taking care of the kids, the household and Stelson. Praying in my silent space every morning. Trying to make sure Daddy didn’t turn Seth into a Black Panther.

  I still loved Stelson. He still loved me. But I had roped off a corner of my heart. Just in case.

  Chapter 24

  When the headaches came back a few months later, Stelson didn’t tell me. He didn’t have to. Walking past me and the kids without acknowledging us when he came in from work was all the clue I needed. Not to mention he’d started texting me rather than returning phone calls.

  Ain’t this somethin’?

  I sent Terrie an email the week before Christmas break, reminding her t
o keep me in the loop. My in-laws usually joined us for Thanksgiving, but he had told his mother about the headaches and she’d decided it best not to come up this time around. Normally, I would have welcomed a nice, quiet Thanksgiving at home. The last thing I wanted this holiday, however, was some alone time with my five year old, my 9 month old, and my grouchy husband.

  Attending church on Sundays gave me a slight reprieve; although we couldn’t sit in our regular spots because Stelson needed to put distance between himself and the loud speakers at the front of the sanctuary.

  The one thing I had to look forward to for Christmas was Peaches and her family coming home. Their flight arrived on the twenty-third so I’d had plenty of time to get fed up with the Brown household between Seth’s school break and Stelson’s decreased business hours due to the holiday.

  On the way to Peaches’ parents’ house, I darn-near gave Stelson a lecture about how to behave. Told him if he couldn’t act cordial, I didn’t want him to come.

  “You think I’m a heathen?” he defended himself.

  “No. I just…don’t want another argument.”

  “What do you think you’re starting right now?” he questioned.

  I sighed. I was tired of going in circles with this man. He knew he wasn’t himself, and yet he expected everyone else to adjust their expectations about normal, everyday common courtesy due to his frequent headaches.

  “All I’m saying is, if you are in too much pain and you don’t think you’ll be good company, you shouldn’t go.”

  “If I stayed home with every headache, I’d never leave the house.”

  We certainly can’t have that happening, buddy.

  We had gone to another doctor who’d tested for allergies. Another one tested for pinched nerves. All to no avail. After the third specialist, we were referred to a psychiatrist to find out if Stelson’s problem was psychosomatic.

  He had been incensed. Insulted that doctors were insinuating the pain was all in his head, mind over matter.