The Other Side of Darkness by Melody Carlson

been telling me that it’s time for a change.” She looks around her sparse living room. “We need to meet in a private home, where women feel free to really share and minister to each other. However, I don’t think this is exactly the right location.”
    Once again I nod. I couldn’t agree more.
    “How about your house?”
    Now this alarms me. While my house is much warmer and friendlier than this, I’ve never really had the confidence to open it up much to visitors. “I … uh … I don’t know. And, of course, there’s Rick to consider. He works swing shift, you know, so he sleeps late in the morning.”
    “Then he would be asleep when we met.”
    “Well, I … uh … I suppose, but …” I imagine Rick walking out of the bedroom in his boxer shorts, scratching himself, while the women are prayerfully gathered in my living room. I think I would die.
    “I sense the Lord is at work in you, Ruth. And although it might stretch you to open your home like this, I believe there is a blessing in store, for you and your family.”
    “Really?”
    “Yes. Are you open to this blessing?”
    And so it’s settled. Friday morning at nine thirty Cynthia Leman will lead the Bible study at my house. I feel a mixture of nervousness and pleasure as I drive home. I
do
want to serve the Lord, and I
do
want his blessing, but at the same time I don’t feel completely ready to open my home like this. And I have no idea how Rick is going to react to this news.
    “Why can’t Cynthia have Bible study at her house?” Rick scowls after I finish my little announcement. I thought it might soften him if I fixed meat loaf for lunch, since it’s his favorite, but I suspect he can see right through me.
    “Her house is pretty small, and she thinks the Lord is going to bless our family by having it here.”
    He makes a little groan and shakes his head.
    “It’ll be over by eleven,” I promise. “And you hardly ever get up before noon anyway.”
    “You
really
want to do this?” He studies me closely as he takes another helping of mashed potatoes.
    “I think it would be good for me,” I tell him, hoping it’s the truth.
    “Well, then I guess it’s okay. But just for the record, I don’t really trust Cynthia Leman.”
    “Why?”
    He shrugs as he digs his fork into the potatoes. “She kinda gives me the heebie-jeebies.”
    “Oh, that’s silly.”
    “Don’t be so sure, Ruth. All that prophecy stuff and giving words at church,” he continues with his mouth full, “it just rubs against the grain. How can you believe what they say? It sounds like a bunch of phony baloney to me. And some of it’s just plain mean-spirited. Besides, what about when Jesus said, ‘Let he who is without sin throw the first stone’? Glenn and Cynthia seem to throw stones right and left.”
    I know he’s referring to church yesterday. It was like pulling teeth to get him to go in the first place. And then he just sat there, frowning. I hate to admit it, but my husband is spiritually immature. More and more I feel that Rick and I are unequally yoked. He seems to be stuck in the spiritual dark ages while I am slowly but steadily moving forward, slowly but steadily being enlightened and spiritually stretched and renewed. At least he’s not too opposed to having the Bible study in our house. That’s a small victory. And maybe, like Cynthia promised, our family will be blessed for this. Maybe Rick will begin to take his spirituality more seriously. Maybe he’ll even want to join Pastor Glenn’s men’s group.
    Feeling spiritually strong, I call Colleen on Tuesday night. I’m allready to be a light and an encourager to her, but I can tell she’s got her hands full, fixing dinner for her family. I can hear her boys yelling in the background, and it sounds like someone’s in pain. “Call me back when you’re not busy,” I quickly tell her.
    “How about if we do coffee tomorrow morning? Like we used to do.”
    Before I have a chance for