Silent Cry (9 page)
In the hospital, there was no chance for a drink, and he dried out completely for
the first time in his adult life. I could see the impact that God's love was making
on him. He was truly a changed man. He was growing warmer and friendlier by the day.
I knew he would never be the same again, and I actually looked forward to our visits.
I was hungry to be around him. I had never really known the love of a dad, and I
wanted to experience it. The doctors had nothing but good news to report. In fact,
his prognosis was so good that his release was planned for a few days later. I felt
relaxed when I drove back to school, anticipating that our lives were finally about
to change for the better.
It had been three days since my last visit to the hospital when my coach called to
ask if she could stop by. She had been extremely supportive throughout the crises
with my mother and stepfather, and I assumed she simply wanted to check on me. “Sure,”
I said easily, and I returned to my studies without any anxiety.
When she knocked, I opened the door with a big smile. But when I saw her, I instantly
knew something was wrong. She had not come alone. Once again, she had assembled a
group of
team members, and by the look on everyone's faces, I knew the news was not
good.
“Dorothy, honey, there is just no easy way to say this,” she said. “Your stepfather
is dead.”
“How can that be?” I stammered. “I just saw him. He's getting better. He's supposed
to go home today!” I shook my head in disbelief. “This can't be true,” I said firmly.
But it was true. My stepfather never got a chance to go home. He never had the opportunity
to live out a changed life. Just when I had allowed myself to hope for a happy home
for my mother, he was gone forever.
Life's challenges are not supposed to paralyze you; they're supposed to help you discover who you are.
Bernice Johnson Reagon
T
he night following the news of my stepfather's death, I lay in bed staring up at
the
ceiling.
Hot tears spilled from the corners of my eyes and washed down my cheeks, making my
pillow damp. I felt numb inside.
Why God?
I thought to myself.
Why didn't he get
the chance to go home and live a new life like he was supposed to?
Through a gentle whisper I felt the reassurance of the Holy Spirit. He told me that
my stepfather did go home â just not to his home here on earth. When I heard the
Holy Spirit speak to me so clearly, it changed my life. I realized God could use
everything in my life â the good and the bad â to help me grow and mature. Nothing
was wasted. Even the pain had purpose. I took great comfort in this.
In the days leading up to the memorial service, I made frequent calls to check in
on my mother. She seemed more fragile now, and I remained deeply concerned for her
health. I was sad to have lost my stepfather just when I was beginning to get to
know him, but knowing that my mother was truly safe â totally free from danger â
gave me great peace. I was relieved to know no one would ever abuse her again.
After my stepfather's home-going service, I spent some time with my family, but then
I went back to school determined to put all the distractions behind me and finish
my semester strong. But when I returned to school, there were distractions there
too.
Kenny, the love of my life, was engaged to another woman. Danny and Theresa, the
campus minister and his wife, had
accepted a new ministry position and would soon
move to Oklahoma. News of their leaving was a crushing blow. I had also finished
my last year with the volleyball team, and my friends were beginning to marry and
move off. It seemed as though everyone I had invested time in building a relationship
with was moving on to do what God had planned for them. I wondered what God had planned
for me.
When the spring semester ended, I went home for a short break before returning for
summer school. My mother was still spending time and energy trying to deal with the
death of my stepfather. Even though she wanted to put it behind her, the shooting
was still under investigation, and my mother was being constantly dragged back into
the ordeal. The stress was too much for her already failing health. She began to
have frequent seizures, each one requiring more time to recover from than the previous
one. I was powerless to change her situation, and as the time drew near for me to
return to school, I had to lovingly place her in God's hands.
When I returned to school for the summer semester, life on campus was not the same
as it had been. I was now the manager for the volleyball team, which was entirely
different from simply being a team member. The church was in the process of hiring
a new campus minister, so no one was leading the student ministry. Most of my friends
had graduated in the spring, and moved on. I was not going to graduate until December,
but I was just as eager to begin my postcollege life too. I was restless, lonely,
and tired. And then came more bad news from home.
One evening, my mother called to tell me that Mary, my twenty-three-year-old stepsister,
had been diagnosed with Hodgkin's disease and was in the hospital in Baton Rouge.
Friends in my church knew some people in Baton Rouge and arranged a place for me
to stay on weekends or whenever I
needed to be there to support Mary and my mother.
I dreaded a return to the hospital. I was accustomed to being around young, vibrant,
healthy people. I had come to hate hospitals. I felt nauseous and sometimes even
vomited just being there. Walking the corridors brought unpleasant memories to the
surface â memories of my stepfather's passing, fears of my mother's frailty, and
now the uncertainty of my sister's future. In a hospital, I felt powerless, helpless,
and frustrated. I desperately wanted to do more than offer up prayers and give words
of encouragement. But prayers and words of encouragement were all I had to offer,
so that's what I did.
Mary looked forward to my visits. She had developed a daily routine that included
studying her Bible and reading daily devotionals. On the weekends, she wanted me
to read aloud to her. Sometimes family members were present, and sometimes it was
just the two of us. These were special times for me, and I was delighted to bring
Mary some joy. Sharing God's Word with her created a deep bond between us.
Mary grew increasingly ill and showed no signs of improvement. It was so difficult
for all of us watching her health deteriorate at such an alarming pace. As her body
was failing, her relationship with God grew only stronger. Her primary concern was
not for herself but for her children. She didn't want them to grow up without their
mother. I looked into her eyes and felt such grief â she was so young.
Why God?
I
thought to myself.
Why?
Exactly two months and twenty-one days after my stepfather died, Mary joined him
in heaven.
Once again our family plummeted into sadness and grief. Mary was gone. Death was
now an overwhelming reality for me. It was my enemy. But even in the midst of loss,
I found a deep appreciation for the gift of life. I was determined once again to
make the very best of mine.
It's not the years in your life that count; it is the life in your years.
Adlai Stevenson
Y
ou're a
what
?” I asked.
“I've become a Jehovah's Witness, baby,” my mother answered calmly.
“Why? When?” I managed to say. This was incomprehensible. When we were younger,
she wouldn't even allow us to speak to a Jehovah's Witness for fear we would become
confused. She loved telling people about Jesus, and her favorite thing in the world
was to lead someone to Christ. I couldn't understand what had occurred to cause her
to make this shift. In fact, I later came to believe it was her zeal to witness and
evangelize that drew her to them.
Jehovah's Witnesses emphasize witnessing and still go door-to-door to proselytize.
Their emphasis on the equality of all races and clean moral living were very appealing
to my mother. This I could understand, but there were other things I most definitely
could not understand â rejecting the symbol of the cross, not believing in hell,
and refusing to believe that Jesus and the Holy Spirit are fully part of the Trinity.
Beyond the theological issues, Jehovah's Witnesses also abstained from celebrating
birthdays and traditional Christian holidays, which further complicated things for
me.
I loved my mother and respected her deeply, but I simply could not agree with her
new definition of faith and practice. The woman who had been my bedrock and given
me a strong foundation in the Bible â the woman who had led me to Jesus â now accepted
a version of salvation I could never
agree with. This too felt like a betrayal. Tensions
between us mounted, and I did not want to move back home.
Dallas. That was the place for me. I had my degree in sociology and business neatly
tucked under my jacket, and it was time to make my way in the world. My college roommate
Sheila and I had been to Dallas several times on volleyball trips, and with each
trip our desire to move there grew stronger. Dallas was a big city filled with excitement
and opportunity. In Dallas we could expand our horizons, test our wings, and find
our futures.
After graduation, Sheila went back home to find a job, gain some experience, and
earn money to prepare for the move. I remained in Lafayette, rented a room from a
delightful older woman named Ms. Rodgers, and found a job as an accountant at a wonderful
company, Wm. S. Nacol Jewelry. I was gaining life experience, and I felt sturdy in
my independence, but after a year I felt restless. I wasn't discontented, but I was
eager for something more.
For months, I had been preparing to finally make the move to Dallas, and now it was
time. New beginnings are exciting, but new beginnings require necessary endings â
and these can be painful. Leaving my church family, school friends, and natural family
was a difficult thing to do. I was a young, black woman leaving my support structure
to forge my way in an unknown world. I had no job, no place to stay, few friends,
and no real connections â just a dream, a spirit of adventure, and a belief that
I was obeying God. I knew everything would work out.
When the time came to leave, I packed my car and began the five-hundred-mile drive
to Dallas. After an overnight stay with friends in Houston, I finally arrived in
Dallas â my new home. I immediately met up with Sheila, and we had a joyful
reunion.
She had been living in Dallas for six months, and her lease would soon expire. We
had a ten-day window for me to find a job and for us to find a suitable apartment
to share. That night, I asked the Lord to bless me with a good job to begin my career.
Before going to bed, I checked the newspaper and mapped out several places to seek
work the next day.
At the first place I interviewed, I was asked to return later that day for a second
interview. That was a good sign. When I returned in the afternoon, the interview
went so well that I knew beyond a shadow of doubt I would be offered the job. I was
amazed at how quickly God had answered my prayer. Amazed, yes; surprised, no. I trusted
God.
They did offer me the job, and it paid well. I knew God was in this opportunity,
so I did not hesitate to accept the offer. I would be starting in two weeks. I couldn't
wait to tell Sheila the good news!
Sheila took off from work the next day so we could search for an apartment. It turned
out that Vanessa, another of our close college friends, was also living in Dallas.
Sheila and Vanessa, whom we affectionately called “Bug,” had been in contact because
Bug was also looking for a new place to stay. We decided to look for a place large
enough for the three of us to live together. That same day, we found a three-bedroom
apartment in Valley Ranch that was just four miles from my new job and less than
five miles from where my new roommates were already working. It was perfect! By that
weekend, we had moved in and decorated our beautiful new home.