Shannon: He was a big man, and he liked to eat.

He had given up smoking and drinking and LSD and cocaine, and food was his new drug. He liked spaghetti with Italian sausage, sweet and sour chicken, empanadas, jumbalaya, super-supreme pizza (by the pizza, not the slice), filet mignon, jumbo shrimp, a whole sack of Krystal hamburgers, Twinkies and Ho-Ho's and chocolate chip cookies. He liked them all in the same day, if possible. He liked Chinese food because he believed it was low fat, but he cleaned plate after plate from the buffet. He was a big man, and he liked to eat.

But it wasn't just his gut that was big. He had a big voice, and a big aura, big visions, and a big following. When he stood behind the pulpit, he seemed to fill the entire room with his body and his shouting and his gestures.

So, too, at home, he seemed to fill the whole house. There was little room for me, so I became a smaller package. I shrank as he grew. I quieted as he boomed. I condensed myself until my ribs showed, and the ribs of my little nursing baby. She cried for me, because I no longer had a voice.

The 30-acre farm was too small for him, so he moved us to a remote farm atop a mountain. He bought a bigger car and a bigger truck. He hired a bigger staff. He hired a cook when I wouldn't cook anymore, because I didn't like hearing all the complaining. My sauce was too thin and my steak was too tough. My jumbalaya was too greasy and my sweet and sour chicken was too sweet or too sour. That's why he needed to hire a cook. He was a big man and he liked to eat.

He grew larger, larger, larger than life. To look on him was shocking. He seemed ready to explode. And he did. Sometimes out the mouth and sometimes out the other end. His life was defined by consuming and exploding. He tried fad diets, and he worked out, but still he grew larger, larger, larger than life. He was a big man and he liked to eat.

One day another minister pulled me aside and said, "You're such a thin, trim young woman." He gestured at my husband. "Surely, you could help him lose some weight? Maybe your cooking is too good.... Maybe you could make him go on a low-fat diet?"

I smiled demurely and said nothing. If I had a voice, I would have said, "Can't you see? He's already on a low-fat diet. He's eating me."