Chapter 17

• “For God has not given us a spirit of fear and timidity, but of power, love, and self-discipline.” 

—2 Timothy 1:7

• As I continued to reel from the glorious and miraculous developments surrounding finding Roma’s birth family, Roma had an important appointment to attend. As I was urgently corresponding with our newly discovered family in the Republic of Georgia, Roma was sending me pictures from inside the Christian conference for young adults. Passion 2015, in Atlanta, Georgia. His ticket had been a gift from our beloved Nancy.

Roma was bathed in the Glory of God. His posts on social media were unashamed love offerings to this God he was witnessing. The blessings of Roma’s expanding faith were evident by his peace during the closing days of his holiday home with us, and his unbridled enthusiasm for attending a Christian conference of tens of thousands of young adults. We seemed to have rounded a corner with Roma. I was so grateful.

Roma called me on Sunday evening after the Passion weekend conference ended. He was floating on a divine cloud as he described the speakers and musicians with a new fervor. I listened to my inspired son as I praised God. I had never had such elevated hopes for Roma. I dared to hope his experience revealed a transformed heart.

He was waiting for Ella to pick him up to go back to her house near Atlanta and begin the after-Christmas work she had for him. I had learned from Roma’s time at home that Ella and her husband Charles had a camper in their driveway that they rented to Roma. He was learning life skills and responsibility, and someone other than Bruce and me were overseeing his daily needs. God was assuring his spiritual and emotional growth was being monitored as well. While in the loving care of this family in Atlanta, Roma had the illusion of being independent, which he wanted, yet he had a God-given family as mentors, which he needed even more.

My prayer time that evening was spent praising God for answered prayers of the past few remarkable weeks. Many of the blessings we were experiencing I hadn’t even known to ask for in prayer. God had been extravagant. Could life get any better than this?

The next morning Ella called me very distraught. She explained, apologetically, that Charles had kicked Roma out of their home the night before and driven him to a local hotel where he had to spend his last paycheck for his lodging.

How could a situation change so drastically so fast? I was almost sick to my stomach, but strangely prepared for another round of suffering.

One rule Charles made clear to Roma when he allowed him to live on his property and hang out in his home was that his children’s bedrooms were off limits to Roma. Roma had been so excited to share news of finding his sister, and his weekend at the Passion, he had mindlessly followed Henry into his room. Henri, 15, had been with Roma in Idaho, had known of his troubles, and would be eager to hear about his adventures over the holidays. Roma had also left evidence of tobacco and marijuana in the camper, which had been discovered over the Christmas break, before Roma’s transformative Christmas vacation. Charles had every right to be upset about the betrayal of his trust.

Ella was heartbroken to have to tell me the bad news. She felt compassion for Roma but understood her husband’s reaction. 

I certainly understood Charles’ protectiveness of his children. I told her not to worry about it, and I thanked her for her gentle care and for the opportunities she had given my boy.

“You would’ve been very proud of Roma,” she added. “He acted like a man. He didn’t get upset. He shook Charles’ hand and thanked him for everything he had done for him. You would have been so proud of him,” a heartsick Ella told me.

I was proud of him. I had seen glimpses of that mature and reasonable side of my man-child before. How far he had come. Getting caught dipping tobacco too many times and being disrespectful had caused his dismissal from Fork Union, a disappointment he told me was one of the worst of his life. He had learned a valuable lesson. Now, 20 months later, in the early days of 2015, he had gotten kicked out of his safe and love-filled shelter in Atlanta, and he behaved like a man of integrity. Yes, I was proud. But still so very disappointed.

“Roma can come home,” I told Ella. “Tell him I’ll pay for a bus ticket. I’ll call and talk to him.” As when Roma left Idaho, there was no option but for him to come home to Maryland.

Roma rode the bus all night, and I picked him up at the metro station the next morning. True to Roma’s style, he acted like this turn of events was no big deal, one more unpleasant and disappointing experience that he just wanted to put in the past. We talked instead about his days at Passion. He was still excited telling me about the speakers and the music.

“I’m going back next year. I can go back until I’m 25, then I can go back as an adult volunteer,” he said.

“Roma, it just occurred to me that you might one day go back as a speaker,” I mused.

“Oh, Mom.” He laid his head back against the seat, as though he understood my words could be a possibility. God had been building his testimony his whole life. God met Roma around every corner. Roma had the charm and the magnetism to hold a crowd’s attention. Roma would be an effective witness. And there were so many stories. I had written them down. Even if Roma hadn’t read them all, the stories were written down for safe keeping when he was ready. 

In January 2015, the year was new. Roma had a healing, transformative connection to his first family. Now he was home again, and he needed a job. We all needed patience as he returned home indefinitely. He hadn’t been home for an extended period for a while. And the last few times had not ended well. He expressed an interest in returning to school, joining the military, checking out Emergency Medical Technician training, the police force. The world was Roma’s oyster. His options were limitless. He threw out ideas hoping something would land on a hook. Roma was intelligent, and he had lived a lot in his 20 years. A lot had happened in the past year to transform him, but he was still searching for a direction. 

I had to be careful with any advice I offered, because my approval was sometimes the kiss of death to good ideas for my strong-willed boy. He had to decide for himself. My power over Roma lay only in my love and prayers for him. And I had learned that both were powerful. I prayed that Roma would allow himself to be directed by God, that all he had gone through in the past year, his God-stories, the answered prayers, were laying a firm foundation of faith in a God who is certainly not silent. 

I had to keep reminding myself that I needed to pray that same prayer for myself. Neither Roma nor I were in control. Roma had abundant gifts. I pleaded with God to lead him toward how to use those many talents.

He half-heartedly looked for a job and researched education opportunities. He found a local school that offered Emergency Medical Training. He was impatient to get started, as though he might lose interest if he didn’t begin immediately. Roma was always impulsive. When a new idea came to him, he wanted to run with it. We wanted him to stop dashing into situations and slow down to consider all the possibilities.

“Mom, I don’t want to finish college when I’m 25,” he grumbled.

“Roma, what’s your hurry? Yes, we know you’re smart, but if you aren’t ready to work hard, if you don’t know what you want to do, you’ll be wasting your time and money. You need to slow down and think,” I advised.

I was conflicted, too, because I wanted him to be busy and fulfilled. I almost wanted him to begin college or training right away, with us paying for everything, to prevent him from becoming bored. A bored Roma was a danger to all of us. But we had also learned that Roma didn’t value things or opportunities that came too easily or without effort and sacrifice on his part. Isn’t that true of all of us?

Once again, we offered Roma the chance to prove he was serious about EMT training by getting a job and saving money before he began any classes. If he could do that, if he could prove to us, and to himself, that he was ready to dedicate his time and energy to something, and stick to it for a class, and make good grades, we would be eager to help him achieve his goals.

All our “conditions” made Roma’s eyes glaze over. He wanted “easy.” And “now.” But we knew an easy or quick solution wouldn’t be a lasting solution for Roma in his journey to becoming an adult. And sweet Roma was far from an adult at 20. 

Our offers bored him. He didn’t have time to jump through all our hoops. He contacted an Army recruiter. He had a friend in the Army. But then, he also had a friend in the Marines. And the Navy. He checked them all out. 

I worried about Roma in the military, although I kept my opinions to myself. I knew the military was a great choice for many young people who were in the process of maturing. But I had a friend whose son attended college in the ROTC program, enlisting as an officer upon graduation. She said his biggest challenge was dealing with immature enlistees whose mothers thought the military would straighten out their sons. I didn’t want to burden young officers with the added responsibility of babysitting my baby. 

Roma was 20 years, six months old. He had to decide for himself. He didn’t ask my advice, and I tried not to offer it. Roma wouldn’t listen anyway. If it wasn’t Roma’s idea, he would dismiss a great idea, until he could turn it around to think it was his own idea. I prayed God would inspire him with some divine options and protect him from more impulsive decisions that could have long term consequences.

He found a job in a local grocery store, stocking shelves overnight, 11 p.m. to 7 a.m. He slept all morning and afternoon three or four days a week, got up in time to spend time with friends, then back to work. It was a confusing and exhausting schedule to me, but Roma independently managed his schedule without my nagging. I was encouraged.
          By April, however, he didn’t always come home, and when he did, he was often impaired by alcohol and pot. He didn’t think we could smell either, especially when he was suddenly in the habit of dousing himself with overpowering cologne. But looking at his sparkly green eyes that were all but obliterated by his dilated pupils, even I could tell.
          “Mom, chill out, it’s not like I’m doing hard drugs. Pot will be legal soon,” he informed me.
          As a person who has never experienced any curiosity about drugs, I had a difficult time chilling out. Most of the time, I could calmly reinforce our rule about no alcohol to children under the age of 21 or illegal drugs of any kind in our home. Sometimes I was not so calm. Roma stopped coming home at curfew, then he would come home the next day acting like everything was fine.

“Maaaahhhhm,” he would say, loudly dragging out that one syllable word for a few, exasperated seconds, “I’m almost 21 years old, and I just want to have fun. It’s what kids do.”
          Roma and his friend Lee gave me a nickname when they were little, “Deb-a-saurus.”  They couldn’t imagine that I was a kid once, too, who liked to have fun. When I was Roma’s age, did I have my feet planted firmly on the straight and narrow path leading to Heaven? Hardly. I had my feet planted in the garden of Self. My Self. I tended and cultivated my comfort with such intense self-absorption that I could hardly think of anyone but myself. I did that way past the age of 20 and continue to this day. I was not so different from fun-loving Roma. But as an introvert, I have always been averse to risky behavior. As an extreme extrovert, Roma wanted to leave no experience untried.
            An all too familiar dread sickened me. But as usual, I didn’t have any power to change the alarming direction Roma was heading, again. The only control I had was how I would respond. I was uneasy as I sensed the Prodigal Son was preparing to set off again. We would let him go. What choice did we have? We could hardly lock him in his room. We would watch for more God stories in his considerable wake, again. We would watch, again, for signs of his return when he hit another “bottom.”

We told Roma, again, he needed to start looking for an alternate living arrangement, if he was insistent on living outside our rules.

Tough love is tough. I resented its necessity.

Continue with Chapter 18