We affectionately called her Mrs. C. In her sixties, with remarkable zeal, she possessed a charisma and a gregarious personality. She was a Bible teacher, an author, a missionary, a powerhouse, and a woman of great faith. She exuded genuine friendship in a Godly persona and took me under her wings. She held many prayer meetings in her home. Often, she prostrated herself on the floor on her face, interceding on behalf of others. She became my lifesaver, my spiritual mother. I counted on her for spiritual advice and much-needed counseling throughout the years.
On one dreary afternoon, the sky, along with my hope and faith, grew overcast. Suffering from battle fatigue, I sat in Mrs. C’s den. I told her I was sick and tired of being sick and tired.
“I can’t take it anymore,” I confessed, wringing my hands.
Patiently, unassuming, and non-judgmental, Mrs. C handed me a tissue and gave me time to release the dread and pain in my heart.
“I’ve tried everything. Done all I know to do. Yet nothing seems good enough.”
“Has he stopped hitting you?”
I sighed, much relieved that he had. “Oh, yes.”
“Mary Ann, you know he loves you, in his own way,” she began, “but you have become ‘weary in well-doing.’ In your mind’s eye, you’ve conceded it’s not worth it.”
She honed in on my sentiments. I hung my head in shame.
“You know,” she insisted, “it is worth it all.”
At that moment, I wished I were stronger and smarter and that Mrs. C wasn’t so wise and couldn’t read me so well. “But shouldn’t this be a two-way street?” I suggested.
“Are you and the kids better off without him?”
I figured she knew the answer before I did. “We . . . we have nowhere else to go.”
“Are you better off without him?” she repeated and handed me the tissue box.
“I can’t afford to do anything else.”
“Are you better off without him?”
No,” I whispered and wiped my nose.
I felt weak and inadequate as a Christian wife. I struggled to keep a measure of peace and sanity in my household with four children. I was also tending to a man wrestling with his demons.
“Then, go home and be the best wife and mother you know how to be,” she said.
Sometimes, it’s easier to talk the talk than to walk the walk.
“But first,” she added, “I want to pray for you.”
That woman knew how to enter the Throne Room of God in her prayers. Electricity surged through my entire body when she touched me as she prayed. Before I left, she handed me her book, Wives, Unequally Yoked. I figured reading couldn’t hurt; plus, the title intrigued me. I’d already devoured The Total Woman, by Marabel Morgan. Much like my Bible, the pages were worn and underlined with a yellow marker.
I didn’t leave Mrs. C’s company the same way I arrived. Resolved in my heart not to become bitter, I determined to be better and left strengthened, with a made-up mind.
Excerpt from “Running in Heels: A Memoir of Grit and Grace,” Chapter 35
{Mary Anne Copelin: Aug. 30, 1926 — Dec. 4, 2017}
Additional mentioned about Mrs. C here — Saying Goodbye For Now
From Heart to Heritage
Reflections From the Heart 