Grace
Copyright 2002, All rights reserved
Duperrier didn't speak a word in protest; he retired to the bedroom to pray. "Lord," he said, "you have accorded me the highest honor that a man can hope for on this earth, save martyrdom. Thank you Lord, but I am a married man, and I share everything with my wife, from the bread of the trials you see fit to send me to the honey of your blessings. Only in this way can a devout couple hope to follow the path of righteousness that you have laid forth. My wife, as it happens, cannot bear the sight or even the thought of my halo, certainly not because it's a gift from heaven, but simply because it's a halo. You know how women are. If an unusual event doesn't move them on a visceral level, it upsets the orderly little ideas they've set up in their little heads. There's no helping it. My poor wife could live a hundred years more and there would never ever be the slightest place in her universe for my halo. Lord, you who know my heart, you know how little I care about my quiet life and my slippers in the evening. For the joy of wearing the sign of your benevolence, I would serenely endure the most violent domestic quarrels. Unfortunately, this is not about my tranquility. My wife is losing her zest for living. Far worse, I can see the day coming when her hatred of my halo will lead her to curse the name of the One who gave it to me. Shall I do nothing for her? Must I let the companion You have chosen for me die and damn herself? Today I find myself at the crossroads, and the most righteous path does not seem to be the most merciful. Therefore, let the spirit of your infinite justice speak through my conscience. In this hour of perplexity, this is my humble prayer which I lay at your feet, O my Lord."
No sooner had he finished than his conscience came down in favor of the path of sin, making it his duty of Christian charity. He returned to the dining room where his wife was waiting, grinding her teeth.
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