Rain Dance (10 page)

She released her grip on Dave and flew into my arms. “I’m sorry,” she whispered in my ear.

I’d let hurt simmer into anger and was treacherously close to bitterness. When her arms went around me, its sharp talons released the death grip they had on my heart.

“Forgiven,” I whispered back. “And I’m sorry for my anger.”

This simple apology set me partially free. We talked and ate cherry cobbler still warm from the oven. We were on the mend.

There was still Della, however.

Later, at our house, Jeremy played games with Ben on the computer while Kevin and I rocked.

Kevin took my face in both his hands. “Why don’t you got kids?”

Ben missed a turn at the game and Jeremy won. The little boy’s question hung in the air as he continued searching my eyes.

I sighed. “Well, we asked God for them and He said no.”

“Why don’t you buy one?”

“Uncle Ben and I will talk about it later. How would you boys like to play a game of cards?”

Little feet scrambled to the kitchen table with Ben right behind them. After we let each boy beat us at Go Fish, I read them a bedtime story, tucked the covers around them, knelt at their beds to pray for them, and kissed warm cheeks.

In his arms later, I asked Ben, “Why don’t we adopt?”

After a brief silence, Ben said, “I’ve thought about it, Joni. The truth is I don’t have a strong desire to adopt.”

Silence surrounded me as I waited for him to say more. At last I heard his soft snuffling snores.

How could he fall asleep in the middle of an important discussion?
The truth settled into my heart before I could rouse him.
As far as he is concerned, there is nothing to talk about—he’s decided.

This submission thing is so not for me Lord!
I grumbled in the darkness.

In the morning I watched cartoons with the boys while Ben walked. I fixed them all breakfast and let the kid noise fill up the quiet spaces between my husband and me. As soon as Ben’s car backed out of the garage, I got the boys started on a coloring project and called my mom.

She listened, then said, “Honey, give it time. The Lord will either give Ben a desire to adopt or lessen yours.”

We hung up and soon Natalie came to get her sons. After hugs all around, they left.

I went to my office and pounded my computer keyboard, journaling my guts out on the page. While the pages printed, I paced.

Sitting down with a cup of coffee, I grabbed my orange highlighter. If Ben could “see” my anguish, it might make a difference. I underlined key portions to speed up his word intake. But as I read my words the wind went out of my sails.

Sure, I detailed my desire to experience hearing a child of my own call me Mom. However, something else stood out. Over and over again my orange lines highlighted the same phrase: “And what will people think?”

The evidence of my pride hit hard. Tears marred the typed pages, and I dialed Mom’s number again.

“Worrying about what other people think is the wrong motive for adoption,” she told me. “What do God and Ben want?”

“Ben wants us to love the kids we already have in our lives. I’m not sure about God.”

“God gave you a good and wise man. Neither of them would intentionally lead you the wrong direction.”

“But what about me? I want to be a wife, mom, and writer. I long to give you grandbabies and to feel that others approve of us. I want us to be a normal family.”

“Do you feel confident God is leading you to adopt?”

I hesitated. “No . . . but isn’t it the right thing to do?”

“I’m not convinced it’s right for everyone.”

“I’m so confused,” I admitted.

“Does the chaos you’re experiencing come from God?”

Her question sliced right to the truth. “No.”

“Honey, we love you and Ben just the way you are. Whatever is right for the two of you as a family is right for your dad and me too.”

After we hung up, I slid to my knees.
I love You and Ben so much. Please remove this confusion and replace it with Your peace. Give us both clarity and unity about adoption. And please don’t let others misunderstand. Help them to see this as Your
will and accept us as we are—a family of two.

The distress, anger, and rebellion lessened as I opened myself more fully to God. When I started to let go of what I assumed were other people’s expectations, relief took a couple steps into my soul.

Stacie

I avoided everyone from my past. Jonica and I took our morning coffee breaks together via the telephone.

We kept our discussions on surface stuff and rarely shared any deep thoughts. We held opposing political views and chose not to talk about them. But when a local woman drowned her infant son, I wondered what my new friend thought. So I asked her. Here was her opportunity to label me and this woman as baby killers.

She said, “I would love to have a little boy. And it makes me angry she got one, and then took his life. I will confess to you sometimes my faith isn’t all I hope it will be. I looked at the photo of her little boy and raged at her out loud for a while. Then I asked God why. But none of that matters now—her little one is gone. I cannot understand her, but I will pray for her.”

“What do you pray for?”

“For her to find peace with God and for justice.”

Her answer shocked me. Not the justice part—even I felt the law demanded a stiff penalty. To pray at all boggled my mind, but to pray for a murderer was beyond my comprehension.

“You tell me, counselor,” she demanded. “If you were the prosecutor, how would you handle this case?”

The other line clicking in rescued me from having to give her an honest answer. I was relieved. My legal opinion on this one strayed far from my liberal training. I was thinking death penalty.

“It’s Mike. I gotta go.”

“Talk to you tomorrow.”

I switched over to Mike, excitement bubbling up inside me. He had contacted me a month earlier to ask me to join him for counseling. Though we didn’t agree on everything, we were making steady progress. We went out on dates, held hands, and savored sweet good night kisses. Although we had talked about when he might move home, so far he hadn’t made any commitments.

“Hi.” Did he hear the shiver that ran up my spine and spilled out into my voice?

“Hey, are you busy for lunch?”

“I’m free.”

“Can we meet at the condo? I’ll bring a pizza.”

“Sure. What time?”

“Will twelve fifteen work?”

“Sure.”
Why can’t I think of anything else to say?

“I have to go. I’ll see you then.”

Panic surged through my body and my heart raced.
Does he want to move more stuff out?

My intercom rang and I was asked to report to my boss’s office. Walking down the hall, my steps were slow and deliberate. I felt like the one time in grade school when I was sent to the principal’s office for kicking a boy on the playground.

The assistant told me to go right in. Chandler Daniels was not one for small talk, and he got down to business before I settled into the chair he motioned to.

“I’m concerned about how you’re doing. I see you’ve missed a lot of work in the last month.”

“I haven’t been feeling well. And Mike and I are separated.”

“Do you need a good lawyer?”

Looking into his eyes I saw he wasn’t joking. He was ready to step in if invited.

“No, we’re getting counseling and hope to reunite.”
Please let it be so.

“Is your counselor a good one?”

“We’re seeing Donna Jacobson.”

“I know Donna and recommend her to many struggling couples. Will your health continue to disrupt your work?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.”

From somewhere deep inside me, courage rose and I told him about the abortion and my depression—even the dreams.

“I know you hired me as a favor to my mother,” I concluded. “I appreciate it, and I know I’ve let you down.”

He smiled and rose, coming around the desk to the chair beside me. “I know your mother and like her, although our politics are different. I also respect your dad. He told me you were full of potential, and I believed him. We’re always looking for the best and the brightest, and I’d read in the paper about your graduating with honors. After I reviewed your resume and references, I hired you because of your own accomplishments. Always remember that your merits earned you this job—not your family connections.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat and returned his smile with a tentative one. He folded his arms across his chest and studied me for a moment.

“I have some very firm beliefs about work. One of them is that you need to do the work you were made to do. Are you doing what you love?”

“No,” I admitted.

“What do you want to do more than anything, Stacie?”

“To help kids and battered women. I want to be the voice of the voiceless.”

“Then what are you waiting for?”

“Cases. A partnership.”

He frowned. “A partnership here will not bring you any closer to your dream. As much as I hate to admit it, we don’t handle family law cases unless one of our current clients needs us to handle a will, pre-nuptial agreement, or divorce. We do it as a convenience and charge astronomical prices for our services. Corporate cases bring in the big bucks, and that’s what we’ve always been about. We don’t handle the kind of litigation you long to pursue.”

“What do you advise?”

“Open your own practice. You’re educated, possess leadership skills, and are gifted at communicating. You have the passion to make a difference.”

“I don’t know where to begin,” I protested.

“Your dad and I will help, if you’re serious. I’m at the end of my career and so many of my dreams have expired. The time for making them come true is gone. I wanted to help people too . . . but I took the path to wealth instead. Don’t let the lack of money stop you.”

I heard myself say, “I’ll do it!”

“We’ve already farmed out your work to others. So what are you waiting for?”

“Are you firing me?”

“That wasn’t the plan. I had a sense you needed some time off and was going to offer you a medical leave.”

“I don’t know if I can afford to do this.”

“You get one life to do what you were designed to do. Can you afford not to?”

“You mean, I’m not fired but I can leave today?”

Smiling, he replied, “Yes. You write me a letter of resignation, I’ll have bookkeeping cut you a severance check. You did a lot of extra work around here before this happened. It’s money you’ve earned.

“By the way, I own some downtown real estate and will have a two-room office space available next month or so,” he added. “It needs someone to pick out paint and carpet. Are you interested?”

“How much is the rent?”

“I’ll make you a deal you can’t refuse. Now go make your dreams come true!”

I looked at him and saw it. He had the same light in his eyes Jonica did.

“You’re one of them aren’t you?”

“One of whom?” he asked.

“A Christian.”

“How did you know?”

“I have another friend like you. It shows.”

“Here’s my business card.” On the back he wrote the address of the building and a cell phone number. “I’ll call you in a few weeks. If you like the space, we’ll get together and sign a rental agreement. You can go by the office anytime and check it out. The dentist’s office has an extra key. I’ll let them know you’ll be stopping by in the next few days. E-mail or call anytime.”

“Thanks. I will,” I promised, smiling.

Back in my cubicle I wrote my resignation letter and packed my personal stuff into two boxes I found in the supply room. After sending off the needed correspondence, I asked another researcher to help me get my stuff to my car. Driving home, I couldn’t believe how good almost getting fired felt.

After parking, I carried the boxes inside. I was shoving the second one into the living room when the doorbell rang. I ran to the door.

“Hi,” I said, staring at Mike’s hands.

In one he held a pizza box and in the other his suitcase. I wondered if it was empty—if he needed more of his stuff.

“May I come in?”

“Please!” I stepped out of his way, my eyes still on the bag, and reached for our lunch.

“Moving out?” He nodded at the boxes.

Looking into Mike’s eyes I saw a shadow of what clung to me—fear.

“No. Moving in.”

I almost choked. During counseling we had promised not to make any major decisions without consulting each other.

“Mike, I’m so sorry!” Hastily I told him about my conversation with Chandler Daniels and my new plans.

My tongue went tingly from the sheer speed I used to get the words out and from not taking any breaths. I reminded myself of the commercials where the voice reads the fine print at warp speed.

To my surprise, he said, “I’m sorry too. At my session with Donna, she asked what next step I wanted to take. I told her I just wanted to go home. She said she’d asked you the same question, and you said you hoped I’d just show up on the doorstep one day.”

We stared at each other for a moment. Then he said the magic words, “Here I am, if you’ll have me.”

He reached for the pizza just as it started to slip from my hand. He set it on the credenza, and then reached for me.

Stepping into his arms, I released my anger and confusion, and gladness flooded the place they vacated. For the first time since the abortion, no one else’s expectations mattered. I set my love for him free.

No more holding back. From now on I was going to give him one hundred percent of me.

Relief tried to sneak into my heart. I let it.

Chapter
9

Jonica

“What did you do for Mother’s Day?” Stacie asked.

I don’t remember all I said, but I let things fly I never intended. A lot of it was anger and the leftover residue of pain held on to for far too long. I even told her about Della and Bernice.