For I am the Lord your God who takes hold of your right hand, who says to you, “Do not fear, I will help you.”  —Isaiah 41:13

 

When Bruce and I drove Roma three hours back to Fork Union on August 14, 2011, apprehension and hope battled in my mind. We were taking him two weeks before classes started to begin an intense football practice schedule. Football was a significant hook for Roma, and I was thankful for that lure.

It was a full day of registration, moving into his room, lunch in the cafeteria, and orientation in the chapel at the center of campus. Fork Union was transparent about their faith-based worldview. I had found confirmation on the website where it was clearly stated, “We offer high quality academics and athletics within a structure built around character development, self-discipline, responsibility, leadership development, and Christian values.”

The cost was initially a high barrier to overcome. We were of modest means. I had been a stay-at-home mom until I became a part-time substitute teacher in 2000, two years before Roma joined us. Bruce was a state employed biologist and administrator. We had put our two daughters through college with the help of their scholarships. Taylor, 22, was still waiting to be ready to go to college. Military academy costs for Roma had staggered me a bit. Could we pay $30,000 per year for a total of $60,000 for his two remaining years? Bruce agreed we had to do something drastic, so we were fully committed to Roma attending Fork Union. We would face one year at a time. And trust God for provisions.

Roma thrived in the structured environment. His teachers, all men who had been military officers, emailed me often with glowing reports of my popular and charming boy, a “diamond in the rough” one had called him. I was euphoric.  He, of course, made friends easily with his fellow cadets, campus staff, the librarian, the nurses in the infirmary. When I picked Roma up, or we visited, everyone seemed to know Roma, the boy who needed no last name.

 He loved football. His 5″10′, 150 pounds stature was small and wiry, but he was a hustler, and confident, with the stickiest fingers I have ever seen. He seemed to be able to catch impossible passes. We would watch a pass thrown too long by the quarterback, and Roma running, running, leaping forward, and falling, and holding his hand in the air clutching the football. The stands would go wild. I was delighted at his joy and success. He started in both directions, offense and defense, and caught many interceptions and long passes. His coach told us he had no choice but to start him on both teams, because he couldn’t keep him off the field. The small local Virginia newspaper wrote glowing articles about him, and he achieved “All League” recognition.  In order to watch most of his games, we traveled the three hours each way, sometimes more for away games. But a football highlight was watching him on T.V. when he played on ESPN in his opening game of his senior year, 2012. He caught the longest pass of the game, at 78 yards. Could life get any better than this? Roma was in a comfortable groove. I could relax and enjoy, because someone else was in charge of my high maintenance boy.

In the second semester of his first year, the winter of 2012, I felt it was time to publish my first book, chronicling the surprising “Call by God” to adopt this boy who was now my beloved seventeen-year-old Roma. The story had been practically finished for years. I had passed around the manuscript to friends willing to read it. I sometimes felt I had missed the opportunity to publish it because so much had happened since the “end” of my “book.” My friends and family had never stopped encouraging me to get it published. Now, suddenly there seemed an urgency to get it into print. It seemed ludicrous, because where would another $5K come from in a year we had spent so much money on the main character of the book? But I always corrected myself—Roma wasn’t the main character of my story. God was. Would Bruce be willing to let me dip deeper into our savings to spend money to self publish a book about my experiences with God? Who would read it? I was struggling about this sensed urgency. Why not wait another year? Or two, when Roma was finished with his expensive high school experience? But I couldn’t shake the need to act now. My mother had wanted my story in book form for years, and I wasn’t sure how long she could wait. Her health was a concern. Whatever the reason, I felt that now was the time.

If God leads you there, He will make a way. And He always seemed to make a way for the story of Roma. 

Here, this story gets a little complicated, but as people say, and I believe, God works in mysterious ways. In 1978, just before Bruce and I were married, his grandfather died. Bruce had not been close to his grandfather because Edward had divorced his wife, Bruce’s grandmother (our beloved “Gigi”), to marry Ruth in 1952. All this happened before Bruce was born. It was a scandal in the family resulting in a difficult relationship with his only two grandchildren. Gigi lived to be 104 and passed away in 2009. Edward’s second wife died the summer of 2012 at the age of 101. While I was balancing checkbooks with tuition expenses, and fretting over Roma’s book costs, a letter came for Bruce. I usually open all the mail, except envelopes that look like they contain greeting cards addressed to him. Ninety-nine percent is junk mail and goes directly into recycling. This letter was from a lawyer who represented the estate of Bruce’s late grandfather, who had been dead over three decades. The official letter specified there were two parcels of bank stock to be shared with Bruce’s sister. When Edward’s second wife died, the estate was closed out, and that bank stock had been reserved for his two grandchildren, relatives he hardly knew. One parcel had 128 shares, and the other had 1.076 shares. It seemed odd that there was the partial share, but I was so surprised to get this notice, that small detail barely registered in my mind. I grabbed the calculator. Bruce’s share of the inheritance from an estranged grandfather dead almost 35 years was worth just over $5,000. I was dumbfounded. For my book’s publication? Sweet Bruce said, of course I could use it for my book. I thanked God for this surprise gift. A week later, another letter came from the office of the same lawyer to correct a mistake on the first letter. The decimal in the partial stock should have been a comma. One thousand seventy-six shares. I grabbed my calculator again, and the amount floored me. Just over $40,000. The expenses for my book and Roma’s tuition for the next year had just arrived, Special Delivery from God. Why was I not living in a constant state of gratitude? I resolved to be better at recognizing these extravagant provisions of our loving and merciful God.

So, I immediately started the process of publishing the book. I was thankful to finally send the completed manuscript out. Everything was going smoothly with Roma. In the fall of his senior year, he was accepted at a small state university, and he was going to play football. All was going well in my little sheltered universe. I was overwhelmed with gratitude.

There were soon little tremors in my world. My aging in-laws had been living with us since 2007 in our lower-level apartment with minimum help from us. In the spring of 2013, they suddenly began to decline. The ramifications of their extensive needs scared me. Life was finally calm. I wasn’t willing to walk through trials right now. But one evening my mother-in-law came upstairs in such a confused state. At that moment, my mind began reeling from something outside the present circumstances. I don’t know what it was, but I had the gripping sense that something bad was coming. Worse than what was happening to my ailing in-laws. My senses were on high alert. Something darkened my soul and warned me suffering was coming. Suddenly warnings were everywhere. Even in sermons at church.  Bruce relieved my worry about his parents, and started looking into options for his declining parents. I surrendered that burden to him.

Two weeks later, as I was heading out to pick up Roma from school and continue to North Carolina to visit my family over Easter break, just Roma and me, I got a call from Roma’s TAC officer. TAC” stands for “Training, Advising and Counseling,” and these staff members oversee the instruction, development and evaluation of cadets. The cadets in Roma’s TAC officer’s care had fondly shortened his long last name to “Pav.” Roma and Pav instantly liked each other, which meant I instantly liked Pav, too, even though some of his calls home were to inform me about Roma’s demerits, usually for dipping tobacco. This nasty habit he picked up while away at military school, where it was strictly forbidden. But Pav always assured me Roma was going to be okay. He was always complimentary about Roma’s character and minimized his immaturity. “He’ll get there,” he would assure me.

Pav sounded more serious this morning. “We have Roma in isolation. He got caught dipping tobacco last week and couldn’t travel with his lacrosse team. He got caught again today, and he disrespected the officer of discovery.  He might be dismissed from school.”

I lowered myself into the nearest chair. “When will they make a decision?” I asked.

“They are meeting now. I’ll call you when I know more.”

I sat frozen in my chair with my phone in my hand for a long time. I “saw” the incident in my imagination. Roma had been caught again, so close to the last incident, and he was scared and felt backed into a corner, so he came out verbally swinging. When the phone rang again, I already knew it wasn’t going to be good news.

Pav confirmed that I would need to pick him up, and his stuff. He was being dismissed. Expelled. Six weeks before graduation, Roma was out of FUMA. Pav talked on for a minute, telling me Roma was going to be okay, that he was sorry, that he loved Roma. But words bounced off my numb, walled-off brain. I thanked Pav for always being Roma’s friend and advocate, for everything he had done for my son.

Would Roma have to get his GED? He just almost finished his fifth year of high school. Could he go back to his public school and finish? What about his college plans? I was sick in spirit for all that Roma had just lost. He loved his friends and teachers at FUMA. He was excelling in his class work, as well as athletics. He was so proud of himself. He thrived in that structured atmosphere. He was so handsome in his uniforms, and he stood tall and saluted everyone out of habit and the joy of doing it. I had begun to think the military might be in his future.

Now, my boy was at the other end of my three-hour journey, dismissed from a school and group of friends and teachers who had brought him so much success and joy. What must he be thinking? He had recently told me about the guys’ graduation plans, with much anticipation. Now he would not be participating. I could easily imagine his disappointment, for I too was brokenhearted for him and myself.  Was he beating himself up for the lost opportunities that he had brought on himself?  So many questions would have to wait, as I could only put one foot in front of the other to get to the garage and into my car for my final drive to Fork Union Military Academy.

On that solitary drive with the unrestrained voice of the enemy, the devil, I couldn’t help but feel humiliated. Maybe it was pride that made me cringe to remember the recent publication of my book a few months earlier came at the worst time imaginable. It should have remained a pile of typed, tattered pages in my worn manila folder, and never been published. Who would care about my Roma’s story now? Now that our story was so public, did any of it glorify God after this colossal failure? How would I tell the world?  Everyone was cheering Roma on, and always asked about him. They took joy in his successes at FUMA in a kind of “hometown boy makes good.” We could hardly slide back into the shadows of anonymity.

When I arrived at FUMA, his friend who was waiting with him in the office was crying. But not Roma. When he saw me, he tried to gage my emotions, but I was numb. I only said, “Roma, I love you, and we’re not giving up on you, buddy.” The officer with him confirmed that they weren’t giving up on him either. We didn’t linger. He shook hands with all the officers as he left, thanked them for everything they had done for him, hugged his crying buddy, and we walked away from FUMA forever. 

He got in the car and we drove away from Fork Union Military Academy for the last time. In true Roma fashion, he was determined to pretend it was no big deal. But he knew I would see through his farce into his deep disappointment. He had let his friends down, his teachers, Bruce and me, but mostly himself. Still, he was trying to ignore his pain. Realizing my broken heartedness for him and thinking he needed to reassure me, he said, “Mom, we’re going to get through this. We’re going to put this all behind us.”

“Yes, Roma,” I answered, “we will put this behind us, but first we’re going to mourn this loss.” We didn’t talk much. Roma didn’t want to be reminded. I knew he was disappointed too. He loved being a FUMA cadet. Frankly, I didn’t want to discuss it, or try to explain to him all that he had just lost. In my mind, he could not fully understand how his poor choices would impact his future.

As it turned out, Roma had enough credits to graduate without additional classes. Bruce and I put his plans for college on hold. We were not willing to trust that he was mature enough to go away yet. We told him he could work and save his money to pay his own tuition at the community college, and if he could be successful there for at least a year, we would then consider next steps. He didn’t argue or complain. He was almost contrite. He had that gift for turning a negative into a positive. He even seemed proud when he told his friends he was saving money for college. I refrained from having too high expectations. But to my joy, Roma worked that fall of 2013, paid his first semester tuition for the spring of 2014, attended classes a half hour from home, and came home and did his homework. It was hard not to be encouraged. Roma was so smart. So talented. He wanted to go away to college, maybe only to party, at which he would excel, but he was working toward a goal. He was making friends with his teachers, of course, and he proudly shared his graded papers and congratulatory highest-grade-in-the-class emails from his teachers. Nothing breeds success like success, I kept reminding my cautiously hopeful self.  But after a month, Roma stopped doing homework. He would drive the half hour to campus to see his friends but stopped attending classes.

The mothers’ intuition that bad news was coming that I first sensed before Roma was expelled from Fork Union continued to linger. Was God warning me that another round of difficulties with Roma was coming? I was always on my guard, always waiting for the next sign of trouble. Always celebrating his successes with a degree of caution. I was so eager to believe Roma would find a passion and he could use his considerable gifts. He had so much potential. But he was so unmotivated and immature. I worried about his addictive tendencies. He had to want to help himself. Bruce took him to men’s group at church, to sporting events, and on mission projects to help the needy. And Roma was an excellent participant in all of those activities. He needed to stay busy. Left on his own, he continued make decisions that eroded our trust. My pleas to God on Roma’s behalf were constant and desperate.

Continue to Chapter Four