Chapter Eight

Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows. —James 1:17

After Roma’s God-ordained pilgrimage to Idaho, we had no options but to make his return flight to Maryland on July 5th. We had not seen him since March. His return was strained. The first week he struggled with our house rules, which had not changed since he left in March. After being on his own for all those months, he felt he had earned “adult” status. Had it been less than four months? Roma and I had both changed spiritually. Social Roma was constantly with friends. I tried to gently warn him not to get back into old habits. He didn’t have a job, but I suggested he wait until we made a return trip to Atlanta for his disorderly conduct trial to look for one.

On Sunday, July 13, Roma and I headed south for our 600-mile trip, first stopping for two nights in North Carolina to visit friends and family. On Tuesday, we continued to Atlanta for a court appearance on Wednesday to answer for his arrest for “disorderly conduct.” Fortunately, he had broken a city ordinance, and the arrest did not create a criminal record. He did, however, owe me $350 for the fine that Nancy’s husband had paid to gain his release from jail. I had reimbursed Nancy for this and his other considerable expenses and transferred his debt to me.

The highlight of this 12-hour drive to Atlanta (and 12 hours home again) was the opportunity to finally meet in person, Nancy, my dear new sister. Nancy and her family were on vacation that week, but she and her husband returned for the day to support us at our young jailbird’s trial. We all hugged and cried and took pictures together. No one would understand our joy of meeting in the courthouse parking lot where our Roma was to have his very brief court date. Afterward, we all hugged again, and they returned to enjoy their family vacation two hours away. Roma and I headed over to meet Beth who was kind enough to invite us over for afternoon refreshments. Beth was the other sister who had been bound to us through adoption and through Mark from Idaho. Roma conversed freely with Beth and her family members. Her son who had gone to Idaho with Roma was working. Beth was glad to finally meet Roma after praying for him. Her comment after finally meeting Roma was that “he has gifts.” Such a joyful day in meeting those two godly women whom God had clearly placed in Roma’s path.

We stayed the extra night in Atlanta, so Roma could attend the Wednesday night service for young adults at Passion City Church. He wanted to reconnect with friends there.  And I wanted to see for myself where Roma had attended church earlier that summer. The Passion City campus is an impressive, sprawling megachurch. Outside the auditorium is the “Oval,” a large reception area. On one large wall, light bulbs spell the words “Jesus is Life,” though not all of the bulbs are screwed in and lit.

 On the last night Roma attended the Wednesday night service for young adults, before he left for Idaho, he screwed in one of those light bulbs after an emotional confession of his faith. Louie Giglio, pastor of Passion City, heard about the emotional Wednesday evening service from his youth pastor, and the impact it had on those in attendance. He also heard about this boy named Roma who had lit that light bulb as a sign of his connection to God during that service. Louis mentioned those lights during his Sunday morning sermon when Roma was in Idaho and called Roma by name. Roma left an impression on the leaders and attendees of the church he attended for several weeks in the summer of 2014. Nancy sent me the link to hear the sermon myself, and as Nancy had done while in attendance that Sunday, I cried while listening later.

Even though Roma was now home and restless, struggling to adjust to family life again, he knew God was close. I was confident that his time away had revealed a God who loves him more than I do. But I was often impatient for that transformation to manifest itself in tangible ways. It was hard to wait for the supernatural work of the Holy Spirit to alter Roma’s life. I had no control over Roma and his choices. Those previous months had been so exciting. But life is not always exciting, not always a mountaintop experience of which we had just had a tantalizing glimpse. Sometimes we dwell in the valleys. Sometimes in the pit. I have learned that God is no less present in the pits.

Right after we returned from Atlanta, Roma was invited to go on a week-long work camp mission trip to Pittsburgh, Pa., with his former church youth group. I feared he would not behave himself. But an encouraging word from a friend and current youth counselor calmed my spirit. I was thankful to have a respite from him again. So off he went for the week. I knew he needed to get a job and not expect the high level of activity he had experienced during most of 2014, but repairing homes for the disadvantaged, learning about roofing, working alongside Christian mentors, and through these efforts, building his character, his humility, his gratitude, his faith, and his testimony took precedence over finding a job for the moment.

When Roma returned from his week at work camp, everyone who went reported how much they enjoyed Roma joining them and how hard he worked. Roma’s warmth and charisma was genuine. He charmed his coworkers and the grateful recipients of his toil. His heart was pure gold. And he was all light and smiles and charm. I was still writing some episodes of Roma’s story on my blog, reluctant to move on from the miraculous events of the past few months. I did not want there to be a lull in the magnificence of God’s presence, and at the same time, I was hoping there would be a lull in the exasperation of Roma’s drama. I kept writing because I couldn’t stop. As a way to make sense of it and as a way to record how God intervenes all along the way, throughout the drama, the never-ending stream of “what next?!?” moments we were living.  

That August Roma turned 20. Roma had lived a very busy, action packed 20 years. His younger years were spent in turmoil, taken from his family at five, spending two years in a Russian orphanage, transitioning as a seven-year-old to a new family, a new language and culture, the amazing ways God had come after him in the past several months—these experiences must have made him believe he was a mature adult. We had to have rules and boundaries, even with 20-year-old Roma. But rules and boundaries sometimes seemed like a double dare to Roma. Although Roma was famous for his sweet heart and outgoing personality, he had often demonstrated his impulsivity. He wanted to be treated as an adult. We would have loved to treat him like an adult, if only he would act like one.

Our older son Taylor was living back at home. Five years Roma’s senior and decades more mature, Taylor was sometimes left with the responsibility of “babysitting” Roma that fall if Bruce and I went away for the weekend. My mother’s health was failing rapidly, and we were making frequent trips to North Carolina to be with her. Taylor would appeal to Roma’s sense of decency by asking him to help, to behave for the sake of his dying grandmother, “Honey.” Roma had the use of his other grandmother’s car, as long as he was working and needed it.

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 spend the night if they were drinking. His assumption was faulty. Taylor had to come up from his apartment in our lower level at 3 a.m. because of the noise 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 welcome anytime, but not when we’re not home. We have made that very clear!”

He responded with incredulity, “Mom, it wasn’t a party. It was only six people. Six guys! What kind of party is six guys?!” To our 20-year-old, this was perfectly reasonable. He was undeterred by our rules.

When Bruce and I needed to go away, we stopped telling Roma, hoping it would be too late for him to plan mischief by the time he figured out we wouldn’t be home for a while. 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 to check for the car. By the time he figured it out, the weekend would be almost over, we hoped. We were becoming masters of deception.

But I was lousy at it. Once I texted Taylor to tell him we were going away for the weekend, not realizing that Roma was also on the thread. I texted back and forth with my sons, telling Taylor not to tell Roma of our plans to be away. Then I got a text right back that said, “Ha ha, this is Roma.” All I could say in explanation was that this is how he had taught us to treat him, as someone who was not worthy of our trust.

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, again. And we could not be a safety net for him when, not if, he crashed. As much as it broke our hearts, we had to be prepared to for another round of “tough love.” It sickened me at the prospect.

His new job 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 kick him out. 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, PA, and lived with his sister, Kellie, and her young 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 25, he was back, living at home temporarily, and had started the process of realizing that we were not the enemy. I prayed Roma would reach the same outcome and conclusion, but sooner rather than later.

I hoped this “going away” from the family would serve Roma by easing him into adulthood and help him accept some responsibility. But Roma wasn’t 20 emotionally. Not even close. That wasn’t evident to Roma; he just 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 each another.

So, on good terms, and with Roma being allowed to insist 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 once more from the enforcement of rules for Roma. Ignorance was bliss. I couldn’t worry about him. God had proven He was worthy of my trust.

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

I knew it was a matter of time before his living arrangement ended. He didn’t ask to come home. We didn’t suggest it. I knew Roma couldn’t pay his share of the bills with his roommate. I don’t know how his roommate dealt with him during the few weeks before he too asked Roma to leave. But we offered no alternative safety net.  

I braced myself for the reverberation when he hit bottom. I had no control to prevent it. Once again, I had to trust God with His Roma.

Continue with Chapter Nine