Building the House

By Jere Denlinger

A family therapist is in the storm of his life - crises at home, work, and health.  He meets a kid at an Arby’s drive thru, and they strike up a friendship.  She’s got her own issues, surprises him every few weeks; he wants to help, encourages her, as a new deacon, limited by the setting.  She misses work often; he learns of her circumstances, one cup of coffee at a time!
When he returns home, it’s also bumpy; he and wife Heidi have a storm of their own brewing.  They watch the news, battle over religion and politics.  She has a large career, is focused and progressing.  
He speculates about his friend, looking for a diagnosis, meds, or her next step.  During the storm, he dreams of his grandson, two days before he’s born!  He loses his job, at the beginning of Me Too, falsely accused; later that week, an angel appears to him!  There are subsequent Godwinks – complex but encouraging!
He meets his friend’s family, surprised how vulnerable they are.  Can such a fragile, unlikely relationship torpedo a long-established family? 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Hawes & Jenkins Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jun 22, 2023
• ISBN: 9781637841327

Book preview

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Building the House

Jere Denlinger

ISBN 978-1-63784-131-0 (paperback)

ISBN 978-1-63784-132-7 (digital)

Copyright © 2023 by Jere Denlinger

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Hawes & Jenkins Publishing

16427 N Scottsdale Road Suite 410

Scottsdale, AZ 85254

www.hawesjenkins.com

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

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About the Author

Unless the Lord builds the house, the builders labor in vain

—Ps. 127

1

Pastor Tom called to ask me to do a session on gun attacks in the States. I couldn't believe it. We hadn't spoken before; apparently, he knew I was a therapist. It was mid-October; we scheduled for the tenth of November 2013.

My answer would go down an unlikely path, namely that such attacks became famous in Israel in '74, when the Palestinians gave up on conventional warfare. They'd tried the old-fashioned way in '48, '56, '67, and '73—to no avail. Israel won every time, against the greatest of odds—40 million Muslims vs. 5 million Jews—or were they longer?

You wonder if there's a God, if the Bible's real, look no further than Israel; they shouldn't exist!

Sitting at work Saturday morning, two weeks before, I had a harsh cough, and one client. One of my favorites, in her sixties, she was a customer rep for a pharmaceutical firm. She was having marital issues; her husband was retired and grumpy, resented that she was still working. He accused her of having an affair. Their son had moved home, lost his job as a college basketball coach.

My wife, Heidi, and I, were scheduled to go to dinner with our son and girlfriend, but I wasn't sure. I'd been hacking all week, so when I got home, I stretched out, rested, soon felt strong enough.

We went to a new place out their way. I had a healthy meal—fish, potato, and dessert to go. Heidi chatted up a kid in the next booth. I ordered dessert rarely, as a diabetic, had learned the hard way—cake, candy, cookies are a treat.

It was the end of October, and after we got home, I was enjoying baseball playoffs—Yanks/Red Sox. I felt comfortable, but needed to go to the bathroom, then couldn't move. I was having trouble breathing, started shallow panting. Heidi was sleeping behind me, so I tried again, still couldn't move; I woke her, she called 911.

The first responders got there, a male and female, in ten minutes, loud, right in our tv room. They supported me to the ambulance, and we headed to the local emergency room.

Heidi was with me, I'm not so uncomfortable, but there's a large doc there, reciting the grim possibilities, from a printout, smiling. I think he's a foolish individual, grinning and morbidly obese. He's painting a picture of my near demise, I'm reciting Bible verses on the inside, feel essentially unperturbed.

Heidi went home after hours of quiet reassurance. My wife is an ACOA, the best at handling unexpected challenges. She left in the early morning, to get some sleep, and check on our cat.

There's a nurse around, pregnant, I think. I made her laugh a few times, then transferred to intensive care. I'm to be moved to a sister hospital, half an hour south. Famous for heart procedures.

The ICU nurse was large, and not especially friendly. I remember having a catheter inserted by an older blonde nurse.

I'm there for a day, then off to the new location, around lunchtime. I remember the ambulance; worry I might get claustrophobic. But there's an experienced female there, encouraging me. The first few days are a drugged-up blur. I had a heart attack but am not in much pain. When is the surgery?

I had a horrible hour or two that night, tangled bedding, before a large black nurse talked me down; I felt stupid, got no attention in this strange, ancient, back room. Tangled in sheets, and the next day, major surgery?

The day before, to be assessed, I was almost kicked out by a bossy nurse, before an oriental guy named Toni, did a test; he touched areas of my chest with a high-tech tube; my breathing hurt as he did. I'd be getting a quadruple bypass.

The surgeon came in that evening, reminded me of a pastor; everybody tells me he's the best! I'm not uncomfortable or scared, just eager to get it over with.

When I awoke following, I was in a large, large room with a great view, a new intensive care, and a chest alternately painful and stiff. I'd be there for three days, with Heidi and a surprise visitor.

It's cool in the recovery room, before, and the nurse was even cooler—the worst possible combination. I was upset, and my chest hurt. I'd told everybody I'd be out by my birthday. That night was a low point. I came up short, as negative recollections paraded in front of me (accuser of the brethren, Satan).

But lying in that cold room, with a sore chest, kicking myself, regarding my lapses, was a full born attack. Levels of negativity were sky high, when I heard a hymn inside: I need you, oh I need you, every hour I need you, oh precious Lord, I come to you…

I start to recover and plan my escape, right then. I was transferred to a regular room, where there was used furniture. The quality of care declined—with older, disinterested nurses—but I'm bouncing back. Heidi was around. I wanted to get out, but first had to walk and go to the bathroom, not at all slight tasks.

There was a guy coming in to assess discharge readiness. That first walk was very rough, head down, every step a masterpiece, then back, exhausted. I felt pretty lousy, but there were lots of supportive staff, and they seemed fine with it.

The discharge guy came in a few times, until I finally made water that awful last night, and hard-as-rock poop. I had to go to go home, thought I couldn't. It seemed like a week. There was a beautiful nurse, supporting me, and meds. I held her hand, and there was success, eventually. With Heidi also, touch was much more critical than I ever would have guessed!

Out of nowhere, in Intensive Care a few days before, walks cousin, cardiologist, Stephanie; she runs with a younger family crowd, but is a great one. She sits, stays, and we talk.

Heidi was in half an hour later, and we had a great time. These two had been in daily touch. My docs had been asking my business-writer wife what we wanted, medically, and so overwhelmed her, she'd reached out to my cousin. They'd been texting hourly, so eventually, Stephanie drove up.

The next morning, Heidi and I met with the discharge doc, watched a video, and I was discharged! I could walk with a walker, so Heidi took me home a day before my birthday! I got into the house very concerned, not sure we could do it, but later, got jubilant.

The next day was even better as I got to reassure worried friends and family. I'm not only glad for myself, but it's great to wage the good fight, grasp a victory for one and all.

My brother, father, and sisters came and sat with me a few days later. Heidi's home early, and we celebrate.

We ride in the car daily, then head up to Pennsylvania for Thanksgiving. Heidi drives, we gather in the community room at the retirement center, where my dad lives with his wife. I'm so grateful, enjoy them more than ever. I'm the oldest, remember as a kid, our extended family Thanksgivings as one of our best times ever.

Pastor Tom asked Heidi and I to light the Advent candle. I read from Isaiah, she lit the candle. A week later, he points out the nurse who'd be in our upcoming group, as well as a pastor's wife, Alma, who's sitting quietly near the front.

Tom's wife, Ann, another group member, comes up to me after, and points at my yellow, clown, orthotic shoes, with a questioning look. I say foot surgery, she nods.

In church, we sit in the back. I defer twice before agreeing to meet with the peer group, in January. It's an ongoing group of therapists. When they were praying for me, through my heart attack, they learned I was a therapist, and invited me to join.

2

First time I meet with them, I drive out earlier, to locate Tom's house. He's Oberlin/Princeton, I'm Catawba/Oregon.

I know Alma will be there and she is, directs me to a kitchen seat. I ask if their husbands cook, they look at me with surprise. Alma is lefthanded, as am I. I know she's a psychologist, am surprised how she lowers her voice as she offers us our assignments.

I'm the typical American, whose greatest fear is public speaking. And if there's a group I would like to not address, it's our church group. We've been going for twenty years, sit in the back, and only show on Sundays. And this is your normal, stuffy, Presbyterian congregation, filled with accountants, scientists, and engineers.

My new peer has a project with the young family group, and there are topics she needs to unload. I'm not happy about it, but take one on sibling rivalry, scheduled for mid-February. I'm recovering from a heart attack and have a dread of public speaking. At least she has the grace to mention it and give me first choice.

I drive to work directly; it takes an hour. I'm impressed that she's lefthanded and drops her voice when she makes a request. I'll turn it over to the Holy Spirit, will need to sit. I'm glad to feel like part of the group. To an ex-Mennonite, these guys seem casual. I've read the Bible through, seen hundreds of clients, and pray for them daily.

February, we meet at Alma's house. Her preacher husband is out of town. Ann is a late arrival, her driver's door rigged. I'm not sure how we get there, but I tell my first-time marijuana story.

Before I take my first toke, my spirit leaves my body, and goes to the ceiling. Where it remains before I panic, and scram back in!

Alma, the Doctor of Psychology, leans into me quietly and murmurs depersonalization, as though it's a lock. Heck, I didn't feel depersonalized! I feel my heart sink; she's from that school.

Still, we have a good time. Alma volunteers the year and month of her birth. I ask for the day and look up the formation as soon as I get home—as an amateur astronomer. Every planet of hers is in tight aspect, good or bad, with one of mine. This relationship is loaded, is what that says, confirming what I sense.

Working on my presentation, I'm nervous, staking out the room beforehand. Alma sets me up with a table and chair. I open with famous Bible siblings—Joseph and his brothers—with birth order.

Alma remains, and Mark joins later. We slide into love languages. She's Acts of Service, he's Words and Touch. He retrieves Chapman's book from his office. I'm cracking bad to the group, making jokes, on a roll. Mark's dad is there and adds a bit.

We walk out together, I tell them one of the group had my oldest in school, and told us he was her most gifted and talented. There were twenty plus attendees, love languages prevailing as the theme. I walked out feeling gratified.

Alma takes over the last fifteen minutes, needing to talk about her older brother. She wanders on and on. Close in age on the islands, they took the same test, and she says she got the higher grade.

This brother is now an Army Captain, with a Ph.D. But Alma is so tall and graceful, I don't protest. This is her group. Mark's dad closes with a plug for family prayer.

What am I taking to work these first months? I have quiet time before, recite verses going out. Put on the armor of God, and pray.

A tv preacher recommends speaking verses outloud—Jerry Saville and daughter Terri. I watch the 700 club, pray for healing with my problematic right foot. I'm in recovery mode, and that year, my chest is sensitive—to atmospheric or social stress. It gets tight, I'm still alive, get used to it.

I'm in the wound center with Dr. Amir, Cristine, Evelyn, Priscilla, Shay—every other week.

I have a client in White Marsh whose brother comes in, says he's an atheist. My client is a new believer, talking end times and rapture. He's pre-trib, and extols the virtues of his teacher.

I got into it years ago, thought the common view couldn't be correct, and kept digging.

We start giving somewhere in here. Heidi reports to a vice president, and she's leading in sales; we're tithing off her check. She doesn't accept it until she sees the results.

I'm watching a lot of Christian tv—featuring healing, giving, end times, and Israel. I watch Irvin Baxter and read Joel Richardson. He believes the Antichrist will be a Muslim, the rapture near the end of tribulation. Heidi isn't sure what to make of it!

We have arguments regarding giving, but the change is immediate. My caseload is full. I'm working as some Christian counselors do, as therapist and preacher, both.

Having trouble finding a great lady? Join a men's group! Money tight? Are you giving enough? And if you're weak, stumbling, and blind, you're in perfect position to command! It's a backward faith, and makes no sense, which is why I'm pretty sure it's true!

In March, we meet Shane and Midge, at the Outback, turns out they're pregnant with their first—due in November. They're planning a May wedding. I remember propping my new shoes on the table, showing them off. I tell Heidi driving out, that they must be pregnant. It's great news!

They get married at an old family farm, end of May. My dad's there, rambles on about our son, neighbors, my family, hers, in his address. We have a major celebration in a big old barn. Jeremy, our younger son, is there, to play guitar and sing.

I start using my new, special, shoes, attack our lower forty, to clean it up, and plant some new stuff.

Our next meeting is at the nurse's townhouse. We relax, talk sports, the revelations of Tiger Woods' divers women. I find out Mark's father is a brilliant scientist. And Alma's kids are getting all A's—general knowledge at church.

Once again, she steers me away as we sit. We present cases. Alma has one, and Ann too. She and Martha take extensive notes.

The April meeting is at our place; Heidi helps me. It's the most gorgeous time; end of the month, the Iris are in full bloom, the Helleborus are out, and the grass is bright green.

The nurse has to leave early. I tease Alma about her cold feet, as she complains, but wears tennis socks and sneakers. She talks about Hawaii and the mango trees.

We share cases for a couple hours, they head out; it's an easy group. Ann checks out our flower garden; I can't remember the name of one. Alma asks how long we've lived here. Later I remember—Irises—text Ann.

We'll be grandparents in a few months. Heidi and I are unequally yoked. We have feisty theological arguments, as Jeremy chimes in. We go to church together, where he's confirmed and baptized. Heidi is unchurched. But how many times have I told her she's a better natural Christian than I am?

In May we're back at Tom and Ann's; they've moved to another townhouse. I'm part of the group, present a case.

It's one of my bravest clients, a female whose birth father got out of jail when she was sixteen and moved down the street. They barely knew each other; he initiated sexual relations. She has no self-esteem, drinks too much, and gets frequent migraines. Her marriage isn't especially great either.

I'm poking Alma, who again insists that I not sit across from her. Today she's closer. I jab her in the ribs a few times, she doesn't react. I don't push it, sure she's not pleased. Who do I think I am?

I notice a few times, I mention beach, she responds viscerally. And when I mention Shane's first marriage, she's so startled, she can't hide it. Later I learn that divorce is not legal in her province.

Years ago, I walked behind her and her kids, into church, realized she has her hands full. With three youngsters, as a psychologist and minister's wife, how does she do it? Before long, she takes on the music ministry! She also has a part-time job