On October 16, 1986, my world turned upside down. I'd been reared in a loving Christian home and had earned a teaching degree at a Christian college where I'd met John*, my husband of 13 years. I'd stayed home with our two children, Anne and Tommy, until 1984 when I returned to the classroom part time at the school where John taught, and where Anne was a now a fifth grader and Tommy was in second grade. We were members of a church, and enjoyed many family activities together. I felt John and I had a good marriage, although I wished we could communicate on a deeper level. Reading my husband's heart was like trying to see the bottom of a deep, murky well.
But over the past several months, I'd noticed he'd grown even quieter and more withdrawn. I knew his childhood had been difficult and that his father was an alcoholic with a violent temper. Understanding that sometimes the past can rear its head and cause depression, I encouraged him to meet with our pastor, Walter. He finally agreed, and they set up weekly sessions.
The morning after their third session, John was waiting for me as I came downstairs. I was shocked to see tears streaming down his ashen face.
"I have something to tell you," he said as he took my hand and led me to the couch. He paused, choosing his words carefully. Finally, he blurted, "I've been involved in homosexual relationships, before and throughout our marriage."
I felt as if the room started to spin and I was dangling upside down. But I also felt as if John had thrust a dagger into my stomach.