Forgivin' Ain't Forgettin'

by Mata Elliott

  Trevor removed the decoration and found three books on marriage. “Thanks, Pastor,” he said, and passed them around so everyone could get a closer look.

  Sam Myricks read the blurbs on the back cover of one. “Maybe a book like this could help me figure out Leandra. She’s been whining about how I don’t understand her needs.” He added sheepishly, “Especially in the bedroom.”

  Clement scooted forward in his seat and said, “Listen, fellows, I had planned to keep this afternoon light, but since it’s just us men, there’s something I’d like to say, if it’s okay.”

  Everyone nodded or murmured for him to continue.

  “Well, I want to talk to my married brothers first.” His gaze fell on Sam. “Perhaps what I’m about to share will help.”

  Sam nodded that he was paying attention.

  “Last week,” Clement said, “I had a young lady come to see me. She told me she loves her husband but she hates having sex with him.”

  One of the men let out a long whistle.

  “As the young lady and I spoke further, she confided, ‘He doesn’t know how to touch me, and when I tell him how I’d like him to touch me, he gets angry.’” The room was still. “This is not the first woman to come to me or Vivaca or one of our counselors with the same heavyhearted burden. So if I may, I’m going to give you gentlemen a scripture that will help you.” Every eye was alert. “Ephesians 5:28,” Clement said.

  “So ought men to love their wives as their own bodies,” Hulk said.

  “It’s really as plain as the nose on your face. My friends and my brothers,” Clement said with calm authority, “you don’t rush into bed, grope the most sensitive areas of your wife’s body, and expect her to be turned on. Listen,” he told them, “hold your hands up for a moment.” All the men held up their hands. “These hands have power . . . the power to encourage a woman to please you, if you know how to use them the right way.”

  “Power,” Sam boasted. “I like the sound of that.” He pounded hands with the man next to him.

  “Now, hear what I’m saying, guys. I’m not talking about possession or dictatorship or manipulation. I’m talking about preparation and presentation.” Clement leaned forward. “Let me break it down into language you all can understand.”

  “Break it down, Preacher,” Houston supported.

  “Football,” Clement said. “We all love the game. I know because Sunday morning male attendance drops drastically the closer it gets to the Super Bowl.” A few couldn’t look Clement in the eye. “Now, when that Sunday game is on, it has your total focus. Amen?”

  “Amen,” deep voices responded.

  “Well, you guys need to love your wives with the same devotion and passion. There are four quarters to a game. Tell me why you can’t dedicate the same amount of time or more to making love to your wife.” The eyes of some grew large, suggesting they couldn’t believe the pastor was going there. Others chuckled because the pastor did go there. “Most of you all in here are younger than me, and you mean to tell me you can’t hang for four quarters? And how about a little pregame activity?” Clement picked on one of the chucklers. “Joel, how do you approach your wife?”

  “I usually grab her butt and tell her it’s time to get busy.”

  “Crude, man,” someone said.

  Clement’s focus remained on Joel. “Is your wife receptive to that type of invitation?”

  “Sometimes. But she usually gets an attitude,” he admitted.

  “So why don’t you change your game plan?” His gaze shifted from man to man. “Start with a light touch to her face or a gentle squeeze of her hand. Hug her without mauling her. Kiss her without shoving your tongue down her throat. And by all means, massage her back or rub her feet.” Clement taught on, “Love your woman softly, brothers. Would you like it if your wife grabbed you the same way she might grab that last pair of shoes in her size from the sale table?”

  “Ouch,” Durante said, bringing his legs together.

  “Your wife’s body is just as sensitive. She needs you to handle her the same way you want to be handled.”

  “What do you do when she doesn’t want to be handled?” Bryce Stanford pretended to be his wife and stood up with his hands on his hips. “I’ve been taking care of these kids all day and I’m too tired.”

  There was laughter, but Clement was serious. “What have you done to ease her load?”

  Bryce shrugged and took his seat.

  “Did you do the dishes for her? Did you run her a bath?” Giving none of the married men the benefit of the doubt, he aimed the rhetorical questions, like football passes, around the room. “Did you let her sit and read while you put the kids to bed? When’s the last time you opened your mouth and told her how much you appreciate her? Said I love you? I guarantee if you did a couple of those things consistently, she’d respond differently.”

  “What do you do when she says she’s bored?” a young man named Marcelle asked.

  “You’ve only been married a year,” Bryce pointed out.

  Marcelle looked to his pastor.

  “If you approach the same team with the same strategies every time you play them, you’re going to have difficulty. You’ve got to change the game plans. Women love variation, so throw a new play in from time to time.” All the men were quiet and attentive. “Look, brothers, I surely don’t claim to know all the answers. But there are dozens of books on the market, many of them Christian-authored books, on sex and romance and intimacy. The three go together, you know. You can’t have one without the others and expect your wife to be satisfied.”

  The men signaled acceptance of Clement’s message with nods.

  “So do you have some words of wisdom for us single men?” someone asked.

  Someone else moaned, “Don’t get him started, man.”

  “Well, I’m going to get started,” Clement said, his voice beginning to rise like it did when he was in the pulpit. “I’ve got a homework assignment for you single brothers who label yourselves men of God.”

  “Take your time, now, Preacher,” Houston said.

  “I want you to go home, get on your knees for more than three minutes a day, and ask the Lord who you’re supposed to be dating”—Clement looked at no one in particular—“because I’m sick of some of you running around the congregation from woman to woman like you don’t know no better.”

  “Some of the women in the church are chasing us,” Durante was quick to say.

  And Clement was quick to jump into Durante’s gaze. “The chase will stop if you plant your feet firm in God’s Word, look that fast sister in the face, and tell her and the devil in her to get away from you.”

  Amens echoed from several directions.

  “Let me tell you how God operates,” Clement said. He was in sermon mode now, voice charging up and down in all the right spots and eyes focused on the congregation. “God doesn’t need to have you experimenting with a bunch of different females to see which one is right for you.” Joel handed Clement a paper towel so he could wipe his brow. Clement said, “Thank you,” and surged on. “Our God already knows who you need, and He’s just waiting for you to get serious and consult with Him about who she is. And until the Lord reveals her to you, you should be fervently asking God to get you ready to be the kind of husband she’sgoing to need.” Clement creased the towel and used it. “While you’re waiting, you should be fasting and praying for her, although you don’t know who she is yet. Now, I’m not saying that once you marry her, everything is going to be perfect. But if you’ve prayed and got the right one, at least you’ll have the peace of knowing that no matter what the problem, this is the one God gave you, and He doesn’t make mistakes.” The volume of his tone decreased but not the sobriety. “And, my good brothers, please stop getting caught up in the packaging. Some of you are so focused on looks only, you gonna live out hell on earth because of it. Just because a gift is wrapped in what you think is perfect paper doesn’t mean that what’s inside the box is good for you
. So you better take time and get to know the character of that woman before you run with her to the altar. Proverbs 31 says what?”

  Trevor answered, “A woman that feareth the Lord . . . shall be praised.”

  “We’re not to base a woman’s value on the size of her body.” Some of the men started laughing. “I’m serious, fellows,” Clement said, ending the laughter. “Not too long ago, I asked a brother who came to me for advice to name some of the qualities he was looking for in a wife. The dummy started out by telling me he wanted her to be at least a D-cup. I said, ‘Young man, you better hope she can get a prayer through in the time of trial and tribulation.’” Clement met as many eyes as he could with one sweep of the room. “I’m the man I am today because Vivaca intercedes in prayer for me.”

  “But for real, Pastor,” Durante voiced, “the woman you marry needs to have physical attributes that turn you on.”

  Clement responded with a smile. “Yes, she does. And that’s how goodGod is, son. God will give you a woman who you will see as the most beautiful woman in the world, while the rest of us would rather scratch our eyes out than look at her.” All the men laughed now, including Clement, as he motioned for them to stand and for Trevor to take a seat on a folding chair. Moments later, Trevor was in the center of a huddle, and he felt the firm pressure of Clement’s hand resting on his head. Some of the others stacked their hands on Trevor’s back and shoulders, then Clement asked God’s blessings on Trevor and Cassidy and the family they would form next weekend.

  Later, as Trevor drove away from the party, his new books on the seat beside him and the brochure tucked inside the glove compartment, he continued to pray. He believed he had been a good husband to Brenda. He wanted to be all that and more to Cassidy. He pulled his SUV into the Willow Grove Mall parking lot. An hour later, Trevor came out of the complex with shopping bags full of candles, bath and body items, and classical music, some of the ingredients he would use to fill next Saturday night with memories that would make Cassidy smile for the rest of their marriage.

  Strain lined Cassidy’s face. After months of reprieve, the nightmare had returned. Cold sweat on her chest and back glued her nightshirt to her skin. Cassidy left the damp short-sleeved shirt on, though, too weary to get up and change.

  Tears pushed against her closed eyes, demanding freedom.

  Not tonight. There would be no tears tonight. Tears would make her eyes puffy and red. She could not have puffy and red eyes tomorrow on her wedding day.

  The wet nightshirt gave her a chill that reached her bones, and Cassidy pulled the covers tighter around her. Although her eyes were wide open, she could hear the piercing pleas of the little boy fighting to keep his head above the water. Gripping the bedding, Cassidy wondered if the dream was in any way related to the terrible thing she had done to her baby. A few times, she had come close to telling Trevor about her child. Once, during a premarital session, the minister encouraged them to speak about anything that might have the potential to register as a problem somewhere down the road. Cassidy’s mouth had stayed tightly closed. After all, didn’t the Bible say to forget those things which are behind and press toward the new?

  Cassidy turned onto her stomach, keeping the covers close to her frame as she pondered what good could come out of taking old baggage into her life with Trevor. It would be best for their future if she remained silent about the baby.

  “Forgetting those things which are behind,” she muttered several times as sleep drifted near and lulled her into a cradle of calm.

  chapter thirty-one

  Trevor sat in the church parking lot and listened as Luther Vandross sang one of the songs that had been performed at Trevor and Cassidy’s wedding. The last note rang from Luther, and Trevor turned off the radio, got out of the truck, and walked inside the church. He signed in with Clement Audrey’s secretary, Francine, and took a seat in the small waiting area outside of the pastor’s office. Two months ago, when Clement married him and Cassidy, Trevor never imagined that he would be in need of a session with his pastor.

  “Are we still on for lunch?” Francine loaded a new bundle of paper into the copy machine as she talked with Barbara, the secretary from across the hall who handled the Sunday bulletins, all incoming announcements, and general church business. Francine and Barbara finalized their lunch plans before Barbara dashed from the room to answer her phone. Midway through the return trip to her desk, Francine glanced at Trevor. “Are you sure I can’t get you a cup of coffee?”

  “I’m sure, Francine. Thank you.” Trevor patted his shoe against the carpet, every nerve in his body unraveling while he sat and waited for his appointment with Clement Audrey. He closed his eyes and willed himself to think of something pleasant. Something . . . anything other than the reason he’d scheduled this meeting. Every time he gave himself permission to meditate on the reason behind this meeting, his stomach grew fists and swung punches.

  Clement opened the door of his office, and a young man and woman Trevor didn’t remember seeing before walked out. The man had quiet but stern eyes. The woman’s eyes were filled with tears. “Come on in, Trevor.” Clement stepped aside.

  Trevor glanced at the pastor and entered the office.

  “Have a seat.” Clement gestured to the chairs in front of his desk.

  Trevor eased onto the nearest chair, keeping a firm grip on the leather arms. “I’m not sure where to start.”

  Clement smiled lightly. “Prayer is always a good place.” The pastor prayed as the Spirit of God led him to pray, and some of Trevor’s nervousness receded.

  Clement leaned back. “How can I help?”

  “Cassidy and I are having a . . .”—he cleared his throat, yet spoke lower—“a marital ministry problem.” Trevor briefly rubbed his left ear as if that might silence his pulse, a steady drumbeat playing deep in his head. Otherwise, the office was quiet, and he continued to look down at the creases in his slacks. Sometimes the pastor referred to sex as marital ministry when speaking about it over the pulpit. Trevor was finding a marital ministry problem a humiliating thing to own up to, especially to another man, and especially since he and Cassidy had only been married for two months.

  “Can you be more specific?” the pastor asked.

  Lifting the barbells of bravery, Trevor looked at Clement. “Our marriage has never been consummated.” With a swipe of his palm, Trevor wiped the sweat from his hairline and told the whole story.

  Clement was silent for a few seconds. “Vaginismus,” he concluded.

  Trevor stared deep into Clement’s face. “What?”

  “What you described sounds like vaginismus. It can be quite traumatic for those involved.”

  “Yeah, tell me about it,” Trevor said before asking, “What is it?”

  Clement answered, “It’s classified as a dysfunction.” Trevor perched on the edge of the chair, his eyes rarely leaving Clement as he explained in detail. A few minutes later, the pastor concluded, “Any attempt at physical union is enormously painful for the woman, if not impossible.”

  “Do you know what causes the condition?”

  “There are a variety of factors, physical or psychological, that may cause it, and it’s important that a woman who suspects she has it see her gynecologist so that physical reasons such as infection can be either established or ruled out.”

  “You said it could be psychologically induced?”

  Clement bobbed his head. “A psychological condition can cause the physical symptoms. Sometimes females who’ve gone through the traumatic experience of rape or molestation suffer from the dysfunction. Or sometimes the condition develops after a woman has had an unpleasant sexual experience and she fears the experience will repeat itself.”

  Trevor lapsed into intense thought, then said, “Cassidy was a virgin. She didn’t have a prior experience. And she would have told me if she had been raped.”

  “Not necessarily. Some sexual assault victims are so ashamed about what’s happened to them they won’t sp
eak about it. And some of them can’t speak about it without help because they’ve blocked bits and pieces, if not all of it, out. But we shouldn’t jump to conclusions. Like I said, there are many factors that can bring on this particular disorder.”

  A sudden sense of insecurity crept through Trevor. Maybe he was the cause of Cassidy’s dysfunction. Maybe she was repulsed by something he was or wasn’t doing. He’d never known Brenda to be dissatisfied, but now he wondered if maybe she had been, but had failed to mention it. Now, with Cassidy tense and in pain every time they attempted marital ministry, Trevor had to consider that he could be the problem. His skills might not be as tight as he thought they were.

  Clement clutched the bottle of orange juice sitting on the desk and took a drink from it. “I met a couple some years back that were in the same situation as you and Cassidy. The wife was raised in a home where intimate relations, even in marriage, were viewed as perverted. Although she was married to a man she loved dearly, the negative messages she heard as a youngster continued to play in her head, affecting her ability to lead a normal intimate life. But with much prayer and some therapy, she was able to overcome. She’s been married for eight years, and she and her husband have two children.”

  Trevor felt slightly better knowing that someone else in the world had gone through the same thing as he now was. Not that he wished the problem on anyone, but if this other couple had been cured, then there was hope for him and Cassidy.

  Clement swiveled back and forth once, and the hinge underneath the seat sang a tune. “What does Cassidy say about all this?”

  The question reminded Trevor of how isolated he’d been feeling lately. “The subject’s not discussed if I don’t bring it up. When I do bring it up, Cassidy simply apologizes for not being an adequate partner. I told her I don’t see her as inadequate, I just want to find out what’s going on.”