Surrendering the illusion of control

From November, 2014

When Roma returned home from his Divinely orchestrated trip to Idaho on July, 5 2014, he struggled to reorient himself into structured, peaceful family life. We have to have rules and boundaries. Sometimes rules and boundaries seem like a double-dare-ya to Roma. Roma, famous for his sweet heart and outgoing personality is not known to make wise choices. He wanted to be treated as an adult, as he would turn twenty in August. I constantly tell him we would love to treat him like an adult, when he starts acting like an adult.

Our older son Taylor was living at home. Five years Roma’s senior and decades more mature, Taylor was left with the responsibility of “babysitting” Roma if we went away for the weekend. My mother’s health was failing rapidly by July, and we were making frequent trips to North Carolina to be with her. Taylor would try to appeal to Roma’s sense of decency by asking him to help out by behaving himself for the sake of his dying grandmother, “Honey.”

One weekend we came home to the news that Roma had six guys over in our absence. He reasoned that they were just playing video games and watching TV, and he assumed we would rather them not leave if they were drinking. Faulty assumption. Taylor had to come up from his apartment in our lower level at 3 am because of the noise level, and tell everyone to vacate the premises.

“Roma!” I fussed when we returned home and heard Taylor’s report, “Why would you have a party when we are not home. Your friends are not allowed in our house when we’re not home. I’ve made that clear! Many times.”

“Mom, it wasn’t a party. It was only six people. Six guys! What kind of party is six guys?!”

(See what I have to contend with?)

He was undeterred by our rules.

When Bruce and I needed to go away, we stopped telling Roma, hoping it would be too late to plan by the time he figured it out. We wanted him to think we would be home at any minute, that we could be right around the corner. He usually came in late, right before his curfew, and we reasoned that if he came home after our bedtime, he might assume we were in bed. Unless he looked in the garage. By the time he figured it out, the weekend would be almost over, we hoped. 

Once I texted Taylor to tell him we were going away for the weekend, and reminded him not to tell Roma.  Then I got a text right back that said, “Haha, this is Roma.” (I ought not to be allowed to operate electronic devices.)  At least I could explain to Roma that this is how he taught us to treat him, as someone who was not worthy of our trust.

He had a short memory. Finally, after breaking so many house rules and not coming home at all a few nights, I told him he would have to find another place to live. He was out of control. And we could not be a safety net for him when, not if, he failed.

He was working at a car dealership a half hour from home as a lot attendant, washing cars, driving cars up for clients to test drive, etc. I got a text from him saying he had decided to move in with a coworker. It was his decision, he reminded me. He resisted any idea that we would have to ask him to leave. Decisions like this always had to be Roma’s idea. Roma’s pride was fierce.

I took comfort in remembering that Taylor had moved out, against our wishes, when he was 18. Taylor’s rebelliousness had come as a total surprise to me. Taylor  wasn’t ready for college right after high school graduation, but he wanted that “going away” experience. So he moved three and a half hours away to Pittsburgh and in with his sister, Kellie, and her family. For several weeks, he enjoyed the safety of “family” before he found his own apartment. He wanted to be on his own, yet still wanted his sister, five years his senior, to be close, just in case. Then he moved to Oklahoma with a friend for a while. But by the time he was twenty two, he was back living at home, and had started the process of realizing we were not the enemy. I prayed Roma would reach the same outcome and conclusion. 

Maybe this “going away” from the family would serve Roma by easing him into adulthood and help him accept some responsibility. But Roma wasn’t emotionally almost twenty. Not even close.  That wasn’t evident to Roma who wanted to live his life, his way. I was actively trying to preserve our relationship. Our struggle over who got to be the boss at our house was taking its toll on our patience with one another.

So, on good terms, and Roma thinking it was his idea, he went to live with his coworker. We stayed in close contact by texting regularly.  A peace settled over our house for a season, when we were freed from the enforcement of rules for Roma. Ignorance was bliss.

Then he texted me one day saying he lost his job, for texting. He logically explained that he and his girlfriend had broken up and he needed to talk to her. He thought that was a valid reason to be texting on the job and his boss should be understanding. My assessment that his boss had the right to expect his attention when he was being paid was foolishness to my heartbroken boy. 

He didn’t ask to come home. I didn’t suggest it. I don’t know how he paid his bills or how his roommate dealt with him during the few weeks he stuck it out, unemployed, sleeping on his couch. I knew his living arrangement couldn’t last long. But I was not offering an alternative. I braced myself for the reverberation when he hit bottom. I had no control to prevent it.

Almost on cue, Roma called me to tell me that Nancy from Atlanta, had called him with a possibility of a new adventure. I welcomed any plan Nancy endorsed. Nancy loved Roma like a mother, and Heaven knows he can’t have too many mothers! She recognized God’s activity in Roma’s life. She had her eyes and ears open to God’s prompting on his behalf. Nancy was thoroughly bonded with Roma, and me by virtue of sharing those God Stories from their five weeks together earlier in the summer, 2014.

Nancy had learned from her church of a group of Christian men she thought would benefit Roma. It was a six month treatment center and group home of Russian and Ukrainian young men committed to God, who lived communally and cooperatively, without addictions of any kind, including tobacco. They had daily Bible studies and held each other accountable.  

She was enthusiastic about the opportunity for Roma, if he could get in. She gave me contact info for the leader, Edward, who I called to learn more. Roma was excited about it too. Was he excited because he was in need of a place to stay and someone, other than his parents, to take care of him? I feared that was the case. I had to be careful about my enthusiasm, or Roma would shut down the suggestion. It had to be his idea to apply. I offered to meet him for breakfast, my treat, so he could tell me his plan. Edward told Nancy that Roma had to be ready for this program, or it was doomed to failure, and would be a waste of everyone’s time and money.

When I met Roma for breakfast, my heart sank when he didn’t seem any different than when he left for Florida, six months earlier, with a spirit of haughtiness and pride. I feared he was not ready for this program. Nancy confided that she didn’t think so either, judging from her discussions with him. Roma wasn’t trying to fool anyone. He sincerely thought he was mature and responsible. Edward required Roma to talk to him on the phone every night for a week, so he could determine if the program and Roma would mutually benefit each other. At the end of the week, to our surprise, Edward accepted Roma into the group home.

Nancy, always Roma’s earth-angel, lined everything up, as I prepared to leave a day after Roma, as I got word that my mother was dying. For the first weeks of October, I was involved with my mother’s last days in Hospice and then her funeral. 

Roma, set up in his new group home in Atlanta, had restricted phone privileges at first but was allowed to call me because of the death in the family. He said he really loved his grandmother, and was sorry he couldn’t join us for her service. Did I imagine that he sounded more mature already, after only a couple weeks?

When I finally returned to Maryland, ominous warnings came from Nancy and Edward. Roma wasn’t engaging in the program. He would put his head down and didn’t seem interested at Bible study. He knew before he agreed to go, that the program was Christ centered and deep study was expected. It had been his idea to go, I made sure of that, but I had tried to make sure he knew what was expected of him. 

My fear was that when life got tough when he lost his job and faced losing his friend’s couch, Roma saw this as a chance to retreat into himself while someone else took care of his needs, someone other than me, because I was resolved to back away and remove the safety net.

I got the dreaded, but not so surprising, call on the night of November 1, four weeks after his arrival. Nancy’s discouraged voice greeted my anxious “Hello.”

“Debbie, I hate to tell you this, but Roma got kicked out of the group home. I just got a call from Edward.” 

After my moan, she continued, “Roma got caught using tobacco. Then he became hostile and threatening, wanting to know who ratted him out. Edward took him to Walmart to let him pick up some needed items, then he was going to take him to the bus station to go home. But Roma blew up in Walmart and started cussing, so Edward just left him there.” My heart plummeted. It was a Saturday night, about 9 pm.

I thanked Nancy for all she’d done for my self-sabotaging boy.  Nancy ended with, “Debbie, I love you, and I love Roma, and I know you will understand, but I can’t help Roma if he reaches out to me. Edward suggested we let Roma hit bottom.”

Of course I understood. God had confirmed the same to me. The image of the Prodigal Son that had been an echo for me for months revealed that I had to let him have his way, even though it would end in failure. I could not help Roma. Any attempts to help him only delay the inevitable crash.

As I was trying to remember to breathe, Roma began texting me his side of the story. “I didn’t do anything to deserve getting kicked out. This guy just left me at Walmart.” I just texted back. “You’ll have to work it out. There’s nothing I can do.”

God had been nudging me to pull out the safety net. It seemed a little easier with him six hundred miles away. I could hardly help him if I wanted to. But I didn’t want to.

I went to sleep wondering if the Walmart in Atlanta was open all night. If not, where would he go? Roma was about to hit the proverbial “Rock Bottom.” God had been foreshadowing some kind of suffering. Was this finally it? 

God had been foreshadowing suffering to me for a year a half. Right after I first had that ominous feeling of suffering, I got a call one morning in April 2013, six weeks before his high school graduation from Fork Union Military Academy in Virginia, where Roma had achieved much success for almost two years. Academic, social, and athletic success. He had gotten dismissed from school for blatant disregard of rules with his sixth offense of dipping tobacco. He would have been okay had he not panicked because his fifth offense had been only days earlier, as his lacrosse team was preparing to leave for a game. Roma was left behind as punishment. He knew this latest offense was the nail in his sports’ coffin, and he came back verbally swinging with offensive insubordination and foul language to the officer of discovery. 

I thanked God for that premonition of suffering because I was not completely caught off guard when his TAC officer called with the sad news. “Thank you Lord, for this warning,” I prayed during the three hour drive to pick Roma up for the final time at FUMA. As bad as this seemed, it could have been so much worse. I hoped that this was what God was mercifully warning me about, because it wasn’t too horrible.

After his expulsion, Roma’s downward spiral went into hyper drive. Every challenge we encountered, I would repeat the conversation with God. “Thank you Lord for the warning. I hope this is it, because this trial isn’t too horrible. It could be so much worse.” 

That feeling of impending doom continued to linger. So now, left at a Walmart in Atlanta on a Saturday night in November, Roma was about to face his biggest challenge yet. He was going to be homeless with no safety net. 

Was this the beginning of the real trouble God had warned me about? Where would Roma turn? Roma cannot save himself. 

If God has been warning me, none of this can be a surprise to Him. Right? I put my faith in God. If I surrendered all to Him, I couldn’t worry. All I could do was pray for my sweet, lost boy. And as I prayed, I discovered a deeper faith and a closer God. 

Continue with A Glimpse of Grace