“For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil. Some people, eager for money, have wandered from the faith and pierced themselves with many griefs. But you, man of God, flee from all this, and pursue righteousness, godliness, faith, love, endurance and gentleness.” I Timothy 6:10-11
Everything wasn’t dark and depressing. Although there was always a shadow lurking just off stage, there were some good years; some very good years in which God blessed in spite of everything.
By the fall of 1985, I had graduated from law school, passed the bar exam, obtained employment with a local real estate attorney, purchased a small house and a new car, and met the woman I would marry.
Our first date was on January 3, 1986, and, from there on, it was a whirlwind. I truly felt that since I had met my life’s companion, the addiction with which I had struggled for over thirteen years would finally be broken.
After dating for just over six months, on July 12, 1986, Sally and I were married at our church in Memphis, and so began the five or six good years.
We bought a dog—the cutest little Keeshond puppy we had ever seen. When she started to get harassed by the neighborhood children, we bought her a guardian—a big black lab who, as it turned out, wasn’t much of a guardian.
With our two incomes, attorney and teacher, we began acquiring things; new cars, furniture, china, investments, and finally a lot in one of the premier subdivisions in the area. We were thrilled. The debt load would be huge, but the house would be designed by us, built for us and would be our forever home. So what did a little (or a lot) of debt matter? The old saying is “if you spread it out for enough years, you can afford anything.”
So we jumped in with both feet, and in the fall of 1989, we moved from our little twelve hundred square foot cottage into the forty-four hundred square foot mansion. Our “cottage full” of furniture looked pretty pathetic in the new place. We moved ourselves and were able to fit just about everything we owned into a friend’s horse trailer for the move across town. I still smile about that move today with Sally riding in the back of the pickup, in the rain, holding the glass top to the breakfast table. What a scene! I’m sure the neighbors figured the Clampetts had moved in.
For some time my boss and I had been talking about opening a branch office in another part of town. In early 1990, he turned me loose to secure office space and the furniture and equipment necessary to establish our presence in the new area. Partnership had also been in the works for a while and this new venture was to be my contribution to the enterprise. As the new office grew and as the years passed, my share of the business would increase. Sounded good to me!
Spring of 1990 marked the opening of the second office. I was thrilled, but working hard. Trying to break into a new area and helping with the work load at the main office kept me busy. The new office grew slowly through the spring and early summer without, strangely enough, assistance or support from my boss/partner. Looking back over things, I probably should have seen the writing on the wall, but I was too caught up in the excitement and stress to notice his withdrawal of support. I would notice soon enough!
Fathers Day came around, and Sally and I bought the obligatory cards for our respective fathers. The surprise—shock—came when I got one which was Sally’s way of telling me we were pregnant. It was that “nervous/excited/I’m going to throw up my lunch” kind of feeling that I figure is common to all men who find themselves in that position. Sally and I had had four good years as a couple, and it was time to start our family, but I couldn’t help looking around at the huge house—with the huge mortgage—and wonder how we were going to manage on my income.
And, by the way, stay tuned—this isn’t the last Father’s Day that will dramatically change my life.
