Be still, my heart

November, 2015

Continued from Foreboding.

After the first few weeks of our cautious hope, Roma and our family settled into a copacetic rhythm. Roma worked. His innate sweetness returned. So had his respectfulness he always exhibited to others when he again respected himself. His texts were kind and grateful when asking me to change our routine for his daily transportation needs. If he had to wait, even an hour, he waited patiently. Something had surely transformed our son.

He tried out for and made the semi-pro football team he had been practicing with,  earning the quarterback position. Roma had to look the part, ordering more new, expensive equipment and practice clothing. His car fund dwindled, but he was so happy, I saved my financial advice for another time when he might be interested. And the consequence of no car was that I got to continue spending travel time with him.

 I yearned for wholeness for this beautiful young man. He possessed a sweet, child-like innocence that was hardly compatible with real life. I remember an observation of  our adoption agency’s social worker who was also an adoptive mom of older Russian boys. She shared that her bio children had received eighteen years of in-home family care. They had started at birth. The adopted ones might need the same amount of time, even if they were 25 or older when they could leave the nest. I was finally ready to accept that possibility, even embracing having Roma close so I could delight in his progress.

Roma was so dear, and, when not determined to be the boss, he was a delight. That’s it. Roma delighted me. That in itself was a new mercy and miracle. God had brought him home and reminded me what a treasure he was. A “diamond in the rough,” a teacher once called him. Yes, Roma’s unique light shone more brightly than most, even if he wasn’t yet fully polished. If he needed so stay home several more years, that would be okay, if he didn’t descend into the darkness again. And I’ve resolved not to worry about that.

The vision in my War Room, or at least the panic it caused me, whatever it was, haunted me for a few days. But I was determined not to allow fear in my heart. I pushed aside the sense of impending suffering that began just before Roma was kicked out of Fork Union in March, 2013, for his blatant disregard for rules: his sixth offense of dipping tobacco. Likely it was that memory that fueled my overactive imagination and reignited an ember of dread, that led to a rogue thought in my prayer closet. I resolved to push out the darkness that infiltrated my current joy. Fear is always the enemy, trying to steal my peace each day, when I currently overflowed with gratitude.

Roma began attending a new church with his friend, Tom, and told me about a young adult Bible study they were joining . He is hungry for Truth.

“Mom, I feel like something big is coming,” he told me one morning in the car on the forth week he was home. These trips to meet his boss were evolving into deep spiritual conversations about God and the future. He shared his nighttime dreams, searching for meaning in them.

“What do you think is coming, Roma?” I asked because his thoughts fascinated more than scared me, now that I had resolved not to fear. Even though he was like a kid, he always seemed to be on a rare finely-tuned frequency with God. I had witnessed his astounding spirituality on numerous occasions, and I had become expectant about seeing God work mightily in his life. One would have to be blind to miss God’s activity. Even though he ran from God time after time, his Close Encounters spawned miracles on a regular basis for which I marveled from a front row seat. Roma was certainly amassing an impressive testimony.

He was unsure about the “something”  he felt was coming.  But I learned to listen to “Roma’s wisdom,” as a friend called it. Roma had wisdom? Who knew? Certainly not I. I was always trying to impart some wisdom of my own into Roma’s hard head that I hardly was quiet and listened to his. I always recognized that something was special about Roma, but my focus was suddenly being skillfully honed by the Master.

So was this “something” Roma “felt” was “coming” the same “thing” I had felt for  three years? (Read Prodigal, Everyone where I first shared in 2014 about that premonition of looming suffering.) Our minds were in sync in bizarre and astounding and hair-raising ways sometimes, a fine thread of telepathy connecting us. And Roma with God. And occasionally me with God, though I am praying to have my thread with God strengthened.

On November 13, Roma texted me, “I think it’s started. France just got bombed. And I believe it’s not the end of the attacks.” So whatever Roma thought was the “something big” coming, he thought was global. I had similar vague feelings that the world was about to change.

That night he posted on Facebook, sounding like an Old Testament prophet: “Oh we should be scared for what’s coming to this country and what God is capable of. Look out for the signs.”

There are many parts of my story I am reluctant to share. Only because they sound too bizarre. But I have resolved to share all of it as truthfully as I can.  So, speaking of Old Testament prophets, one evening as I was reading the Bible, not intending to open randomly and read, which is not my habit, I opened at Ezekiel and felt drawn to a passage. Ezekiel 24. My eyes fell on the break at verse 15. And a fresh dread filled my spirit. 

”The word of the LORD came to me: ‘Son of man, behold, I am about to take the delight of your eyes away from you at a stroke. . .”

The passage stirred a primal fear in my soul. I had to push it away. The verses had the power to send me into panic mode. But as I fearfully yet quickly read more, I learned the verse was about Ezekiel’s wife. Had my fear been directed in the wrong direction?

Continue with Dreams