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Cynthia did cartwheels then reprimanded herself for wanting to see him hurt. Not every fight ended like this one, with Marvin on the floor. Cynthia tried to apply the biblical principles laid out at Wednesday afternoon women’s ministry meetings. Most recently the group was focused on 1 Peter 2. Cynthia was struggling with verse twenty-three especially. That verse was a jagged pill to swallow. “He was reviled and reviled not again.” Holding her tongue was something she struggled with daily.
    Physically, at five feet and three inches, she was no match for Marvin, but every now and then she could whip him with her words—another small victory. Sometimes her tongue lashings led to more bleeding and bruising.
    Cynthia crept out of the room to dress her wounds. She applied as much pressure as she could to stop the bleeding and used ice to bring the swelling down as she conversed with her Father to heal her heart.

Chapter 4
    â€œAre you telling me this is my fault?” Cynthia tightened her shoulders and pointed at the dark blue ring below her left eye. Her twisted mouth and aggravated tone expressed her frustration. After three weeks of attending spiritual counseling, her patience was wearing thin.
    â€œSister, calm down,” Pastor David said stretching his hand toward Cynthia. “You misinterpreted what I said. Nagging doesn’t help the situation. It only antagonizes him, frustrates him, and you know him. He’s the ‘hit first, take names later’ kind of guy. The Bible says it’s not with all your words that you will win your husband over, but with a meek and quiet spirit.”
    â€œA meek and quiet spirit? What does that mean, Pastor?” She rested her elbows on the oval-shaped conference table in the Upper Room, which served as the location for First Sunday fellowship dinners, the adults’ Sunday School class, and Pastor David’s counseling sessions.
    â€œYou already know what it means to be quiet, but meek means to be patient, to be humble and long-suffering just as Jesus was. It’s that kind of behavior that will help you get through this storm.” Pastor David leaned back into his chair and stroked his goatee. It seemed as though he was patiently awaiting the protest brewing in Cynthia’s dark brown almond-shaped eyes.
    â€œPastor David . . .” Cynthia paused and stared at a portrait of Jesus hanging on the cross surrounded by darkness. “I’m not Jesus. I can’t carry the cross and take the beatings. Isn’t that why He went through what He went through, so I wouldn’t have to?”
    â€œMust he bear the cross alone? Sister, may I speak freely?” he asked.
    â€œI thought you already were.”
    Pastor David sat upright in his seat and blurted out, “You made a judgment call. You chose the wrong man, and now you’re calling on God to clean it up like He’s some maintenance man. That’s not what it’s about, sister. If you want to see this thing turn around, then you must acknowledge your role in it and worship God in spirit and in truth.”
    He’s a man of the cloth. Watch what you say to him. “Pastor, you better put the kid gloves back on. Remember, I’m a baby Christian still struggling to climb up that mountain. I’ve only been saved since October and it’s, what, January now.” Cynthia paused to count the months on her fingers. “That’s just three months. I can’t take too much more of you reprimanding me.”
    â€œA man’s word is his own burden. If what I’ve said to you is wrong, God will deal with me, but you have to believe you are a child of God and trust that He will fight for you. The same rules that apply here apply at home. Your pride causes you to react to everything Marvin says.”
    Cynthia rolled her eyes and tried to imagine the clean-shaven, statuesque Pastor David as Marvin had described him—running around wielding