“What you need is a chance to recoup some of that lost salary,” a student’s father suggested to me the last day of school that year, as I was bemoaning my financial situation to him in the school parking lot. Loading the back of his station wagon with his son’s school paraphernalia, he continued, “I could still use some help caring for Jack this summer...”
Several weeks before, Darren had asked me if I would be willing to provide respite care for his family by caring for his autistic son, Jack. Darren was going through his own difficult divorce and had custody of his five children; since Darren worked a graveyard shift at the local police station, I was aware Jack’s unruly behavior was creating a tremendous hardship for Darren’s older children at night.
“Gosh, you know how much I love your little guy…” I said hesitantly. Though Jack was elfin-adorable, and my favorite student in our schoolroom, I still had to weigh the pros and cons. Bringing an autistic child into my home several days and nights each week would prove a demanding undertaking—talk about bringing your work home with you! I knew it wouldn’t pay much money, “But I’m desperate for some income,” I thought to myself. I wanted to help Darren, but what he was asking of me was a daunting duty. Then the thought came to me, “I owe the Lord so much…” and before I knew it I heard myself saying, “Okay, sure…I’ll do it!”
“Wonderful!” Darren said. “You’re a sweetheart!” Though I knew it was the right thing to do, I could tell the extreme relief and excitement Darren felt was equal in degree to my feelings of trepidation!
Caring for Jack required that I adjust my lifestyle dramatically since the little guy was capable of destroying all semblance of order in any household. To accommodate his unruly behaviors, I stripped my walls and counter tops of everything he could throw or break. Taking down every picture from every wall and packing my table decorations and knick knack’s was a laborious task that took a couple of days. When I was finally finished I stood back to survey my efforts and realized, in dismay, that my home reflected the bleakness of the spirit I had struggled so hard to combat over the previous few years.
When Jack was with me I couldn’t visit my aging parents, or my friends, relax in front of my TV, grocery shop, or even take a shower – Jack required twenty-four hour vigilance! To deter him from slipping out of my home while I slept at night, I allowed Jack to fall asleep in my bed—which he demanded, anyway---choosing for myself the uncomfortable child’s mattress on the floor, bolting my bedroom door from within so he couldn’t escape. On the bright side, the discomfort of the floor was not as distressing as the jumping and giggling which could go on all night if he didn’t sleep…
Several weeks of limited rest and little relief from the strain of Jack’s behavior caused me tremendous fatigue and discomfort, but the money I earned paid the bills.
Lying on the skimpy mattress in exhaustion one night, staring at the ceiling--Jack’s heavy breathing drifting from my comfortable queen-sized bed--I found myself imagining the perfect life. I envisioned freedom to do whatever I wanted and money to buy everything I needed without rummaging through my purse for every last penny. I thought about how great it would be to enjoy endless stretches of time to develop my piano and writing skills and opportunity to travel to exotic, far away places. And then, for just a moment, I allowed myself a fleeting glimpse of the sweetest dream of all: being loved and supported by a husband that cherished me. Could such a gift ever be mine? From my vantage point on the floor, lying on the lumpy mattress while a little pixie slept in my own comfortable bed, it seemed impossible.
Suddenly, my reverie was broken by Jack’s frenzied shrieking—he was awake again! When he jumped off the bed, landing with a heavy thud on the floor, I opened my arms and allowed him to snuggle in close to me. Was nurturing others--when I felt I had nothing to give--to be my lot for the rest of my life? With that thought lying heavy on my mind, I slowly drifted off to sleep.
***
“BBRINNNGGGG”
I awoke suddenly. Squinting at the red digital numbers of my alarm clock, which sat next to the telephone across the room on top of my highboy dresser—high enough to be out of Jack’s reach--I read: 2:15a.m. Though groggy, I rose as quickly as I could, so Jack wouldn’t wake up.
“Hello?” I whispered, sleepily.
“Honey, it’s Dad; he’s gone—he died! They just called from the hospital…They checked on him a few minutes ago—and he was dead!” My mother’s voice choked and cracked as she spoke those words for the first time.
The crowning blow: my dear step-father—a retired Air Force pilot who had served his country for thirty years— had passed away. My beloved “Dad” was gone. Even though he’d been diagnosed with congestive heart failure several months before, the doctor’s had given no indication his death was eminent; he was up and around everyday--doing things he’d always done. He’d gone to the hospital with a case of pneumonia that day and they had decided to keep him overnight, but it never occurred to us he wouldn’t come home again. He’d left The Oregonian open on the kitchen counter and he and Mom were looking forward to a dinner engagement with friends scheduled for the following day…
I was in shock.
Though I had always felt very close to my mother and step-dad, during my first years as a single mother we had became even closer and--until I started caring for Jack—had spent time with my parents daily. Always supportive and defensive of me, the day I filed for divorce, I collapsed in agony on my parents kitchen counter. Mom laid over me, holding me close, as I wailed in unspeakable grief and misery, and Dad said tenderly, in a voice trembling with emotion:
“Don’t waste your time in tears, Babe… I want you to move forward and not look back.” He reminded me that God had a plan for everybody’s life, “…and the closer you stay to that plan, the happier your life will be. I want you to get past this bump in the road so I can see you happier than you’ve ever been, Babe!”
I believed Dad when he said God had a plan for everyone’s life – which, after he passed away, to me meant not only my life, but my mother’s life as well. Mom and I would miss Dad terribly; shedding no tears after his death had proven impossible.
Over the following weeks, my mom, normally full of vivacious energy, couldn’t stop crying and it became obvious she was dwindling in grief. She lost weight, secluded herself in her home, cut off contact with many of her friends, and discontinued teaching the community college genealogical classes she had taught for several years. It was during this time that she developed a pigment change on her face--a darkened area on her cheek that resembled a tear track, flowing from her left eye; permanent evidence of her sorrowful loss.
I wanted to do something to help my mother, but given my own dreary circumstances, I felt feeble in my attempts to comfort her. Both of us needed a miracle.
For the rest of the summer after Dad died, in my grief, I wiled away the hours driving Jack around the countryside because his behavior was more manageable when we were on the road. The little guy enjoyed the scenery and my favorite Frank Sinatra CD’s which I routinely played as we drove along.
One day, having forgotten to take his sneakers off when I buckled him into his car seat, Jack capitalized on my oversight by beaming me in the head with one of his tennis shoes while I drove. Pulling my car to the side of the road I shouted: “Jack!” Wrapping my arms around the steering wheel, I took a few deep breaths to compose myself, rubbing my head to ease the smart.
A moment later, my bumped head still stinging, I reached for his other foot and whisked off his remaining shoe. Jack sat looking at me with his little impish grin, kicking his bare feet and giggling happily.
“That hurt me, Jack!” I yelled in exasperation, but though he smiled, I knew he couldn’t understand. How could he? I had no words myself—I wasn’t so dismayed by the blow of Jack’s shoe as I was simply worn out, wearied and frightened by the vicissitudes of my life; tired—-so tired--of one challenge after another and nothing ever going right. Dejected and frustrated, I realized that every time I made some headway toward stability and happiness, it was elusively thrust away.
Fighting tears of desperation, I drove to my favorite parking spot on a quiet country hilltop and once there, I maneuvered into the shade of a weeping willow tree and parked my car. I thought about Dad as I sat looking out across the expansive view of the valley we had shared for thirty years. I believed he still existed in a realm somewhere, but one I couldn’t see. I spoke to him as though he were with me, knowing that God knew my situation and could use my dad to guide me.
“Help me, Dad,” I said that day, “I don’t want to live this life anymore…” I was exhausted and discouraged, all roads seemed closed and I had nowhere to turn. Longing for the calming assurance that things would get better, I was willing to sit and wait as long as it took to receive inspired impressions. While Jack slept in his car seat, I leaned my head back and closed my own eyes. Tears rolled from under my eyelids into my ears--the tickling sensation distracted me for a moment, but gradually a quiet serenity settled over my soul.
After resting awhile, I opened my eyes and, looking up through my sunroof into the cloudless sky, I noticed a jet flying above me in the air. As I watched, I thought about my dad’s military career; how he had flown aircraft on military missions all around the world--there had even been a fly-by of fighter jets over the cemetery during his funeral. Since that time, whenever Mom and I saw an Air Force plane, we claimed we felt Dad near and knew he was watching over us.
Gazing into the bright, clear-blue heavens that day, I realized the jet was flying straight up into the air and appeared to be gaining altitude at an alarming rate.
Sensing the revelatory import of the moment, my mind was filled with the notion that I should not be dismayed—my Dad wanted me to know I was deeply loved and--because God had a plan for me--I could count on everything in my life turning out well. I felt him telling me that my future, like the jet flying straight up, would exceed my fondest expectations.
Immediately, I felt light like a feather! Something inside me changed--I just knew there was happiness for me right around the corner. A few minutes later, driving home that afternoon, one of my favorite Frank Sinatra songs played on my car stereo. As Frank crooned, “Out of the tree of life I just picked me a plum…” I felt something stir deep inside me, remembering the “Tree of Life” promise I had held in my heart for so many years. It could have been my dad singing, “The best is yet to come, Babe; won’t it be fine…” as no one but my Dad had ever called me “Babe.”
***
The final weeks of summer caring for Jack flew by and by some miracle his behaviors improved, making him much easier to handle. I signed a contract with the school district for the upcoming year, though intuition told me I wouldn’t be working there; nothing specific had happened to cause me to think otherwise--I just kept remembering Dad had promised something special. Happily, and confidently, I waited for it to happen.
One day, not long after my spiritual encounter on the hillside, I received a phone call from a former student’s mother. Katherine and I had been good friends since the time I first volunteered to tend her wheelchair bound son, Benjamin, in my home. Benjamin had many medical conditions that required constant attention and special training, so the year he was in kindergarten--when I over heard Katherine telling my co-worker that their family hadn’t taken a vacation since Benjamin had been born--I couldn’t restrain myself and asked if she’d let me take him. Now he was in the sixth grade, so the arrangement of me performing regular respite care for their family had worked nicely for a long time. Though I only tended him once or twice a year, I had developed a lasting friendship with the young family. On the telephone, this particular day, Katherine sounded despondent…
“Ross and I have worked so hard to get into a bigger house. Benjamin’s chair is bigger now that he’s older and it’s getting harder and harder for him to maneuver around our small trailer house. We finally found a farm house that will work perfectly for our family, but we’re $600 short and if we don’t find the money in a week, we’ll lose our chance to buy it.” It wasn’t like Katherine to share the private details of her family’s financial situation; I knew she must be pretty worried. Since finances were my biggest challenge, too, I could completely understand her frustration and my heart went out to her.
“Katherine, I’d give you the money myself, if I had it…” I spoke from my heart. Having a larger home would make a huge difference in the quality of their life. “Isn’t there anyone in your family you can go to for financial help?”
“Everyone’s already given us as much money as they can afford,” she said. “My parents, my brother and his wife…”
“Well, don’t worry, Katherine,” I felt prompted to say, “The Lord won’t let you miss out on something so important for your family. Somethin’s bound to open up for you... somehow.”
After hanging up the phone that day, a nagging feeling kept troubling me. It didn’t seem right to tell Katherine that God would make everything magically work out. I’d heard someone say once that God does hear our prayers, but it’s usually through another person that He meets our needs. I had just paid my bills for the month so I decided to look at my bank statements to see how much money I had in my two checking accounts. To my surprise I had exactly $600! It seemed more than a coincidence that the amount I had was exactly what Katherine and her family needed.
But though my spirit was willing, my flesh was weak. I hesitated; giving money away was hard… there were so many things I could use those dollars for myself…. Debating what to do, I knelt by my bed.
“This is so scary for me, Father! On one hand I want to be an instrument for Thy purposes, but on the other hand…what about the new tires I need...or what if I have some unexpected expense?” I paused to listen. The house was quiet and my knees rubbed sore on the bedroom carpeting as I waited for His response--petitioning the Lord could be work sometimes! I wanted to be charitable, but I didn’t want to be foolish, either.
But as I humbly pondered, slowly the inspiration formed in my mind: everything I had really belonged to God, didn't it? And every time I had needed something, He had never ignored my plea. Remembering when I was newly divorced, neighbors and friends from church had given me money, furniture, and had helped me do many things I couldn’t do for myself. Once when my car died, someone had let me use their car for two whole months. Another time, someone had left over $300 in an enveloped on my porch under my mat. Contemplating all the times I had been taken care of by others, I couldn’t restrain my sense of gratitude and quickly wrote out a check to send to Katherine.
Six hundred dollars was a huge amount of money for me to give away, when I was barely making ends meet myself, but the compelling feeling that the Lord would make it up to me gave me the courage I needed to do it.
***
It wasn't long afterward that another dear friend--gorgeous and gregarious Ruth—dropped by to visit me one evening. Ruth was a lady I had admired for a long, long time. A year older than me, I had known Ruth for more than twenty years; and during most of that time she had been single, while raising four talented and beautiful children. Her kids were grown now, so Ruth usually spent her spare time volunteering in youth programs at church and taking Spanish classes.
The conversation, that night, turned to online dating and Ruth suggested that I subscribe. To me, getting online to meet men seemed outrageous, particularly when I’d never even ‘surfed’ the internet before.
“Why not? You could meet some great guys!” she argued. She had signed up and was having a terrific time; it was characteristic of Ruth to bravely explore the options that being single afforded, but I was appalled at the proposal.
“That’s the last thing you’ll see me do!” I balked. “It’s like advertising yourself in the classifieds, Ruth.” I stood up from the overstuffed chair I was in, as though to emphasis my point. “Besides, I don’t nurse the illusion a relationship will change my life for the better,” I lied.
Always coaching me to be more confident in my single marital state, Ruth persisted, “Look, you have nothing else going on: your daughter’s are in Utah, Brian’s at school, Garth and Michelle aren’t moving in until November, and Daniel is busy with work and friends. You’ll go crazy here all alone taking care of…this little guy!” She tilted her head in Jack’s direction. Then Ruth said something that struck like a bolt of lightning, “You know, if you keep doing what you’ve always done, Lady, you’ll keep gettin’ what you’ve always gotten.”
Something in her words rang true, so though the internet was a whole new concept for me--I decided to try it.