Chapter 23

“Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.”

Joshua 1:9

One evening as I began to read my Bible, I opened to Ezekiel 24. It is not my habit to open and read randomly, but before I could resume my reading plan, my eyes fell on verse 15.

“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.” I closed the book. Fresh dread filled my spirit. “Stop it,” I chided myself. Fear is of the enemy. Stop it, now.

The passage stirred a primal fear in my soul. I had to push it away. I had to stop my overactive imagination. One thing my runaway thoughts accomplished was giving Roma my undivided attention and patience. Our car rides became filled with intense conversations.

“I dreamed about a huge whirlpool last night,” Roma shared one morning on the drive to meet his boss, Bobby. His boss now had a name. I stole quick glances at Roma’s serious face as I drove.  I could tell he was still seeing the swirling water as he recounted it. “I stepped out the front door, and,” he swung his arms out in front of him in wide circular motions, “the water was high and rushing in circles.”  After he told me he felt “something big” was coming a week earlier, I listened intently as he shared his thoughts, whether they be in his awake moments, or his sleeping dreams. 

His dream suddenly reminded me of my own recent dream: I was floating down a rapid river, observing crashed boats and trapped debris against the shoreline on both sides. That was all. Just a scene of devastation.  

About two decades earlier, before adoption was yet on my radar, I had gone through a season when I had a series of vivid dreams, often just still pictures, like a photo. Then, shockingly, I would see the exact scene the following day. It was as simple as a doll with a broken finger. I did an online search at the time, for something like “dreaming something before it happens.” Apparently, I wasn’t the only one with these experiences. “Precognition” sounds weird and makes me hesitant to confess my experiences. And, no, there is no scientific explanation for those who believe science can explain everything. These strange dreams ultimately resulted in my heightened consciousness of Something More out there, Something infinitely greater than myself. Although I had been a life-long “believer,” these moments of awareness put me on a quest to know better this God who was revealing himself. My search was superficial at the start, for I was ignorant of the potential depth to which I would be required to plunge.

I never saw my shoreline destruction dream while awake, but I did do a search about Roma’s vivid dream of the whirlpool. If I put any faith in dream interpretations, this is what I would be facing: “Whirlpool is representation of a dangerous period, which will begin in your life very soon. Events will change very fast, and there will be no chance to correct the mistakes. If you don’t pay attention, you risk being seriously injured.” (Globe-Views.com)

My daily conversations with Roma had me on my toes, not wanting to miss anything. And my warnings for him to be careful were sprinkled throughout our conversations.

As we neared the end of November, in the sixth week of Roma’s return home, I marveled at this approaching Thanksgiving. It represented even more reasons for gratitude, as my blessings magnified. All four of my children were adults, and even my youngest was suddenly acting like one. And they would all be home for the holiday.

I could hardly grasp the abundance of the miracles. For example, Roma talked about his eagerness to find a home church. He possessed a new hunger for God, this God who was never far away, who had relentlessly pursued him with an outrageous love that had worn my boy down. Suddenly Roma’s eyes were wide open.

One morning on the way to work, he surprised me with an intimate confession. “Mom,” he paused too long, probably wondering if he would regret sharing, in case he later lost this new conviction and feared I would be reminding him of it daily. But he continued, “I want to start over and save myself for marriage.” 

Riding in a car, with our eyes ahead and rarely making eye contact, made a safe place for honest talk. Sex had never been a taboo topic between Roma and me. But we were always on opposite sides of the debate. Roma considered my views archaic, that sex was not a casual matter and should be saved for marriage. Even if that proverbial bridge had been crossed in the past, he could now see the wisdom in repenting, backtracking, and waiting to cross again. 

What was happening in this boy’s heart? It appeared he was visibly being transformed, and I had the sacred blessing of witnessing it—up close and personally. He could need repentance again soon, as I surely would in other matters. Roma was just a kid. Even Saint Augustine had confessed at Roma’s age, that although his lips were saying, “Lord make me chaste,” his heart was adding, “but please don’t do it just yet!”

I had and would continue to struggle with my own surrenders. But Roma’s current attempts were a joy to behold.

Thanksgiving brought the whole family home to Maryland for the first time in almost a year. I had decorated for Christmas early, since not all family members would be back for Christmas. 

Heather’s family of four arrived from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, four hours away. Kellie’s family of seven drove half a day from Wisconsin. Taylor shared his apartment downstairs with the grandchildren’s play times. Dolls and accessories were drug out from storage and buckets of Legos strewn across the floor made walking hazardous in Taylor’s apartment. Keeping the toys downstairs, made the upstairs floors traversable for seven children under the age of nine and eight adults. I was thankful our older children could see how Roma had matured. They had seen reasons to worry for the past few years.

Roma spent more time than usual with us over the holidays, playing cards and other games, and generally enjoying being a loved member of the family.  I was overjoyed to have the whole family, 15 family members sleeping under the same roof for almost a week, because I knew they would not all be back for Christmas. Kellie’s family would spend Christmas with her in-laws in Wisconsin.

My birthday fell during that Thanksgiving weekend. Roma wanted to buy me flowers. He asked where to buy them, still in need of his mother’s help, even for her gift.

“Roma, please don’t buy me flowers. I appreciate the sweet thought, but I do NOT want you to buy me anything. Really, just behaving yourself is present enough for me!” I teased. 

“Ha ha, Mom. Very funny.”

I didn’t want him to spend his limited funds on flowers for me. I love pink roses, but I even told Bruce years ago not to buy them for me. Live flowers die too quickly for their expense.  Roma could spend his money on football and his entertainment and throw a few cents into his car fund every now and then. That would be a generous gift for me.

As everyone was packing up to leave after a week, Roma escorted everyone out to their cars, in his socks, and hugged everyone individually, saying a personal goodbye, moving to every car window to wave and smile at strapped-in children, giving his sisters and brothers-in-law a final hug. I was touched how genuinely Roma loved us all.

The next week, Bruce and I were leaving Roma home with only Taylor as his supervisor.  We had not risked leaving Roma unattended since he arrived home on October 19th.  After almost seven weeks, we had to make a trip to West Virginia to check on our lake house and visit Bruce’s mother in the nursing home.

We appealed to Roma’s sense of honor as we told him we were trusting him to make good decisions while we were away.  We learned his first football game was on Saturday afternoon, December 5th. I was disappointed to miss it.  We rarely missed any of Roma’s games since he started playing at age 12. We had the pleasure of finishing out his high school career, driving five hours to watch him play in the Virginia State Championship game at Liberty University in December 2013.  

“Mom, it’s just a charity game,” he assured me.  “You can come next time.” That would have to do, because we had never gone seven weeks without checking on Bruce’s mom and the lake house.

He had his football game, and because of rain in the middle of the week, he was going to have to work on Sunday to finally finish a job that had run much longer than expected. He usually came home tired after work. He would be occupied for at least two of the three days we would be away from home. It left him little time to revisit risky behaviors. We were going to have to trust that he would be okay.

Continue with Chapter 24