The Turning Point

And so, I have reached the point where I must record the single most defining moment of my life.  Curious that it should be today.  I had no idea when I began writing my life stories that this would happen, but in a Freudian sort of way it does seem rather appropriate. 


Today, at least in the United States of America, is an extremely important day.  The future of this country will be determined by the way it's citizens choose to vote today. On the other hand, the story I write today is about how my life was changed by the choice my husband made 26 years ago.  Only I didn't know it then.

Looking back, it's clear the Lord prepared me for this moment for a long time.  I certainly wasn't called to be Relief Society President because I had any great skills or gifts to offer my ward sisters. Amazingly, our Stake Relief Society President was impressed to spend months training us how to recognize and help our sisters deal with grief, unaware that it was me who was going to need that knowledge very soon. 


About this same time a friend of dad's gave him a book that he was really impressed with. He told me about it, and  it sounded good I took the time to read it while we were at the cabin. It was about the gift of forgiveness.  All my life I'd learned about forgiving.  I knew it was a commandment.  I knew the Lord said the person who wouldn't forgive was guilty of the greater sin, but I hadn't really understood the principle of forgiveness until I read this book.  Somehow this author was able to touch my spirit and help me see that the Lord wants us to forgive because it is the only way we can be happy and find peace.  It is actually not so much a commandment as a gift.  When we forgive we no longer have to carry the weight of anger, hurt, malice, revenge.  We are free to be happy.  I made up my mind then and there that I wanted to forgive immediately, whenever someone hurt me. Not that I was perfect at it, but I tried.


It was during the Christmas holidays, just after Stephen recovered from spinal meningitis, that I noticed how depressed and morose Sheldon was acting. We brought Stephen home from the hospital two days before Christmas, so things were like a whirlwind, trying to get ready for the big day.  Grandma Johnson asked Sheldon to play Santa Clause at our annual Christmas Eve Smorgasbord, and he said yes, but you never saw a sadder Santa.  Not because he looked bad, he was just plane sad.

I came down with the flue the day after Christmas and was very sick.  Sheldon came down with it a few days later, so I put  his blue mood down to his not feeling well, but he didn't get over it.  Finally, a few weeks into the new year, I sat him down in the front room after the kids were all in bed.

"What's the matter, Sheldon," I asked him.  "You act like you've lost your best friend or something."

He looked at me for a while, as if trying to decide what to do. 

"I've been having an affair with a woman, but she wants to break it off and it's killing me," he finally said, almost breaking into sobs.  "I can't bear it any longer."

I stared at my husband in shock.

"I met her six months ago,” Sheldon continued. “I didn't know I was going to fall in love with her or anything.  She used to be a prostitute, and I just picked her up while you and the kids were up at the cabin last summer.  I knew Heavenly Father was trying to tell me something when Stephen had those seizures and almost died.  I knew he got sick because Heavenly Father was giving me a reason to repent and turn things around, but I didn't do it.  I just kept on seeing her."

"She's married to a real jerk," he continued, "and he beats her and stuff.  She needed me.  And then I fell in love with her.  I don't know why.  I've been picking up women the whole time we've been married, but I've never fallen in love with any of them before."

"You mean you've been unfaithful this whole time, even after you promised nine years ago that you'd never do it again?" I asked.

"Heck, ya," Sheldon scoffed.  "I started picking up women again a week after that. Half the fun is seeing how far I can go before you get suspicious.  But this time I don't know what to do.  I really love this woman, but now she doesn't want to see me anymore."

I just stared at Sheldon in disbelief.  What he was saying didn't really seem to be sinking in.  All this time, all these years, he had been fooling around with other women?  And now he was feeling sad for himself and he wanted me to feel sorry with him?

"I've always been good at picking girls up," Sheldon bragged, "and I've always been the one to throw them away.  No one's ever dumped me before.  I thought things were going great, until Stephen went back to the hospital this time.  She came and stayed with me those nights I spent with him, and she says now that she realizes what a great family I have and she doesn't want to be the one to mess it up."

"You mean, the nights we traded off and I came home and took care of the kids while you took care of Stephen, this other woman was down there in Stephen's room with you?" I asked in unbelief.

"Yah.  She even brought him that great big teddy bear."

I couldn't believe it.  Another woman had been in the hospital room with my baby and my husband?  One thing for sure, that huge teddy bear was going in the garbage tomorrow morning.

Once Sheldon began, he didn't seem able to stop.  It was as if a dam had broken inside him, and all the garbage and dirty things he had been doing and keeping inside for ten years came rushing out.  Meanwhile, it was as if I listened with only one part of my brain.  The real me, the thinking, feeling, loving, crying part of me was numb, hardly taking in all the things Sheldon was admitting to.  But then there seemed to be a third part of my brain.   It was thinking the whole time, "Remember what you've learned, Gale.  Remember you have to forgive him.  Remember you're not alone.  It's going to be OK.  You've just got to forgive him right now, then you can work things out later."

 "I'm tired of living a lie," Sheldon finally said, after two hours of admissions, rationalizations, and feeling sorry for himself.  "I don't care about the church anymore.  I'm tired of pretending to be two different people.  I just want to do what I want to do from now on.  So, what are you going to do about it?"

"What do you want me to do?" I asked, still dazed.  "I love you.  I'm sorry you feel so bad, I'm sorry you've done all this bad stuff, but I still love you.  Surely we can figure this out now and make things better.  I love you."

"You mean you don't want a divorce?" Sheldon asked in surprise. 

"No," I answered truthfully.  Divorce was the last thing in my mind.  What I wanted was for Sheldon to tell me he was sorry, and for him to decide he wanted to change and make everything all right again.  Most of all I wanted to pinch myself and wake up from this nightmare and find out everything was still the same as it had been before Sheldon started talking.  But I knew I had to do something, first.

"I'm not mad at you, Sheldon," I told my husband.  "I'm sad, and hurt, but I'm not angry.  I don't know what to do right now, but I want you to know that I'm not mad."

"OK," he said.  It was funny, but he didn't sound relieved. Maybe he didn't really want me to forgive him.  Maybe he wanted me to throw him out of the house so he could go running to his girl friend for comfort or something.  "I guess I'll go to bed, then," he said.

"All right," I answered sadly.  Suddenly I just felt totally lonely.  It was as if the other half of me was suddenly missing, and I wasn't a whole person anymore.  Sheldon had never really been there for me, he'd never been compassionate and understanding, he'd never been supportive or kind, but he had always been there.  Now, I knew he wasn't, and it hurt.

"I'm going to call the Bishop," I told him.  That's what I had always counseled the sisters in our ward to do.  Now it was my turn.  "I'll probably go over and talk to him for awhile.  You're going to be here, right, for the kids?"

"Sure," Sheldon answered. "I'm going to bed."

Thus ended that awful night.  I did go over and talk to the Bishop, even though it was late.  He was very sweet and understanding, letting me talk until I got it all out, then telling me how sorry he was that I had to go through this.  It didn't make anything better, but it helped that night.  As I drove home I knew that I was at a turning point in my life, and that nothing would be the same again.  I hoped that from here on out things would get better.  I still wished, as I lay in our big bed next to my soundly sleeping husband, that I would wake up the next morning and find out this had just been a horrible nightmare.  But it wasn't.