Silent Cry (6 page)

Sports continued to be my passion. When I was competing, I felt powerful and in control.
I was confident. I was safe. I was strong. Volleyball, basketball, softball, track
— if there was a team, I was on it. I studied as hard as I practiced sports, and
I got good grades. I ran for student council and won. I was involved in the school's
drama department and loved acting in plays. Though our school did not have an official
debate team, there were many opportunities for public speaking and recitations. I
eagerly looked forward to participating in these and enjoyed traveling to competitions.
One of my favorites was called “Girls State,” where we traveled to the state capitol
to give speeches, competing for political positions. You had to know politics, have
a platform, and be able to give a new speech for each level of advancement. I made
it all the way to secretary of state. It was such fun!

I began to think about college and dream of bigger and brighter things. I didn't
really have any role models, because not many of the women in my family had graduated
from high school, much less even considered going to college. There were times I
felt lost and on my own, but I was determined nevertheless.

During my senior year, one of my teammates and I qualified for state finals in track.
I was so excited! This meant a trip to Baton Rouge and a chance to compete in front
of college scouts who might offer a scholarship. I trained hard. Two teachers were
driving us to the competition. As we started out, the weather suddenly turned very
bad. It was raining cats and dogs, and it was hard to see the road ahead. One of
the teachers leaned over the seat and asked, “Do you girls really want to go to this
meet?” I just stared at her and didn't know what to say.
Of course I want to go to
the meet!
I thought. I had been training and preparing and planning for it for weeks.
My teammate laughed and said, “Not really, why?” Just like that, they headed for
Bourbon Street in New Orleans — the competition in Baton Rouge was no longer on the
agenda. They pulled the car into Pat O'Brien's and shut down the engine. I sat there
in disbelief.
I wanted to say something, but nothing came out of my mouth. I followed
them inside, but my feet felt like lead.

The two teachers had a cocktail, and another, and then they ordered one for my friend.
I was miserable and wanted to leave. I couldn't help but think of Miss Garlington
— and all those old feelings of betrayal began to surface.
Why do people act this
way?
I decided I was going to talk to the principal when we returned. I scripted
the whole conversation in my mind as I sat there listening to them laugh. But I never
followed through on it. The teachers told the school administrator that the weather
was too bad to make it to Baton Rouge and had forced us to turn back. Of course,
no mention was ever made of the detour and the drinking. Once again, my trust was
broken.

Graduation! I was the first in my family — first daughter, first granddaughter, and
first niece to ever graduate from high school, and my family celebrated in grand
style. They were so supportive and we had a giant celebration. I really did feel
special.

I had no sense of what college to attend, but when I was offered a partial academic
scholarship to the University of Southwestern Louisiana (which later became the University
of Louisiana at Lafayette), it made the decision an easy one. That scholarship, combined
with a Pell Grant, meant I could go to college. Once again, my hopes soared! I could
hardly wait for fall to come.

The college prepared a list of items that incoming freshmen needed. It included everything
from bedding and an iron to toiletries and shower shoes. My mother guarded that list
like it was a priceless historical document. Little by little, one by one, we purchased
every single item on the list. She was determined I would have everything I needed
to get an education.

“You're going to get a good education, Dorothy,” she would say. “Now, don't you be
distracted by them boys. What they want won't help you open up your own business
anyhow.” I can still hear her voice rambling off thoughts and advice as she washed
dishes or hulled peas. “You're a strong leader, Dorothy Johnson. You've got a good
head on your shoulders. You make sure you find a good church and stay in it! You're
gonna be somebody. Oooooh, I'm so proud of you!”

That summer flew by. I could hardly wait to start my first semester in college. My
life, I felt sure, was finally about to begin.

PART 2

College and Young Adulthood

CHAPTER 6

College

College is a catalyst for change, but change only comes to those willing to embrace it.

J. Rowan Samson

I
pinched myself.
Is this real? Am I actually here — in my very own dorm room, away
from
home,
a college girl
?

It was real. I felt myself smiling, and I looked around, surveying my new room with
satisfaction.

Before my enrollment, my mother made sure we visited several nearby churches that
I could attend regularly. At each one, she fired off a list of questions to the minister:

• “Does your church have a program for college students?”

• “Do you provide transportation for them?”

• “How often can you pick up my daughter so she can be involved in your church?”

• “Do you have a weekday service?”

• “What kinds of activities are scheduled for students?”

And on and on she went. She totally overwhelmed one poor little minister. He couldn't
answer one question before my mother asked him two more. He just shook or nodded
his head a lot and then showed us the door as fast as he could! One minister, however,
had answers for every single one of my mother's questions, and I could tell she was
pleased. Whether I liked the place or not, I knew this was the church I would attend.
Once Keeby set her mind on something, there was little point in arguing.

I settled easily into the dormitory but was a little nervous about having a roommate
I didn't know. I was used to living in
close quarters but had always been with family
— lots of family. Suddenly, they seemed very far away, and I was afraid. I felt responsible
for them, and I was worried about not being there to help with chores and earning
money. So much was at stake. My whole family was counting on me to be a success,
and I did not want to let them down.

As I was enrolling in classes, I discovered the school had a volleyball team. That
was it! I would try out for the team. I didn't even hesitate. I knew sports. I was
alive on a court, and there was no place that felt more like home to me. My talent
soon caught the coach's eye. She was a good coach, and under her leadership I grew
stronger as an athlete. She told me that if I did well that season, there was a strong
possibility of a scholarship for next year. That was all I needed to hear. I worked
harder than ever and was disciplined in my practice regimen, diet, and studies. I
knew this was an answer to prayer.

The campus minister my mother had interviewed also watched me with interest. The
church wanted to launch a college ministry, but they needed a student who lived
on campus to lead it. I was their girl. The minister and his wife approached me cautiously,
testing the waters to see if I was open to accepting the responsibility. There it
was again — responsibility. People always relied on me to get the job done, to sacrifice,
to never let them down. I had just completed the first week of my first semester,
and all I wanted was to concentrate on my studies and on volleyball. I wasn't sure
I wanted the added duties of running a campus ministry. I didn't feel qualified.
Plus, I had long-term goals and was focused on those. I was concerned that leading
a ministry might negatively impact my grades and my commitment to the volleyball
team.

I'm not sure how it happened, but before long, I was meeting with a group in the
student center a few times a week. I never
formally agreed to anything, but the meetings
began to fill my calendar. New people showed up at almost every gathering. Some were
just trying to connect and make friends, but many had special needs and looked to
me to help them solve their problems. It was a dilemma for me. I wanted to make friends
too, and there was a level of fulfillment in helping others, but my classes were
demanding, and I had volleyball practice twice a day, six days a week. I was tired
and overwhelmed. I could feel the weight of my family's expectations, my coach's
expectations, and my own expectations to excel in my classes — and now there was
the added pressure to meet the needs of a growing campus ministry. It was too much.

Just three short weeks into the semester, I was questioning everything.
Am I trying
to please God or people? Why am I here? Is this the right college? What's my purpose?
How am I going to do all this? Did they ask me to lead because I'm capable, or just
available? Is this really my calling?
Joy left me. Now it was duty, not desire, that
drove me out of bed each day. I felt like a robot. I was going through the motions
and meeting expectations, but nothing inside felt alive.

It was Wednesday night, and I had just finished the second volleyball practice for
the day. I had been in classes all day, and I hadn't eaten. I was irritable and slipped
into complaining. I did that more and more. Even when I didn't complain out loud,
I complained in my head. I felt sorry for myself, and I was frustrated with people
around me who didn't work as hard as I did. They seemed lazy to me. The church van
was on its way to pick me up, but I was too exhausted and miserable to care. I looked
at my watch — yikes! I let out a loud huff, then quickly showered and somehow managed
to catch the van. I'm glad I did.

That night began like most others, students socializing with each other. There was
the familiar buzz of conversation that
rose and fell with laughter and stories. I
was just beginning to relax enough to engage with people when an authoritative voice
cut through the chatter.

“Young men and women,” the voice said, “I'm telling you to seek first his kingdom
and his righteousness, then all the other things you need will be given to you.”

It was the minister speaking the words, but it was God who planted them in my heart.
Something stirred down deep in my soul. I felt warm inside, and I smiled. Was that
joy I felt returning? “Seek God
first
,” the minister said, “and then all these things
shall be given unto you.” Simple. From that moment on, I sought to put God first,
and the pressure of obligations and expectations seemed to vanish. I was as busy
as ever, but now I felt alive. The robot was gone for good. I had a purpose, and
every day was new and amazing.

When Thanksgiving came, I went home feeling so grownup. It had only been a few months,
but it seemed like a year had passed since I left Buras. I was different on the inside.
My perspective had changed, and going home was hard. But I was happy to see everyone,
and you haven't had Thanksgiving dinner until you've had one Louisiana style! It
was the best food I had ever eaten — how I had missed this!

My aunts couldn't hear enough about my dormitory and my roommate. They wanted to
know all about my classes and playing for the team, and my mother was
so
pleased
that I had become deeply involved with the church's campus ministry. I felt important.
Everyone seemed genuinely interested in all the details of my college life, and I
was overwhelmed by their attention. The weekend seemed like a brief moment, and all
too soon it was time to return to school.

My stepfather drove for the three-hour ride back to campus. It was a little awkward.
We began the trip in silence and kept to
random, superficial topics for at least
half the journey. Finally, without taking his eyes from the road, he said, “I don't
mean to hurt her.” I felt a catch in my throat. “I want to be a better person,” he
continued. “I don't know why I can't stop drinking and gambling. I just can't help
it.” He grew quiet again, and I wasn't sure what to say.