Rich in Love: When God Rescues Messy People (11 page)

chapter 10

the dark years

Doreen was completely broken by Joseph’s death. Not only did she realize his death was final and there was nothing she could do about it, but I believed it also scared her. She had thought she was invincible; now she knew she wasn’t.

After the funeral I asked her if she was ready to give her life to God. Through her tears she said yes. As we prayed, she asked God to forgive her of her sins. It was like a blanket of all her sins came down from heaven; she kept confessing one sin after another. She was washed clean, as white as snow.

From that day forward, Doreen did pretty well, considering who she had been before. She got involved in the youth group, made friends, and managed not to get into trouble. She would come into my room and talk to me for hours. We had many tender moments. She was a sweet girl, really. She told me she loved me, and she worried about me when the older kids started to run away.

She lived with us another ten years—until she was about twenty-one. Then she started drinking and taking drugs. She threw parties in our home when we were gone. When she got caught, instead of admitting she was wrong, she told people horrible lies about us. Once, she came to me privately to apologize. But it seemed she could never forgive herself, and she disappeared from our lives. I know she loved us. She just got caught in an ugly web of drugs and drinking. And then she went to jail.

You know the saying “It ain’t over till the fat lady sings”? It’s a weird analogy, but I believe there’s still hope for her. God is teaching me that I have to keep praying and leave the rest up to him. When I think about Doreen, I choose to think good thoughts and replay sweet memories. I pray she will know I have forgiven her. I know there are still many unanswered prayers, and Doreen is one of them.

Vivian

About a year after Joseph’s funeral, the social worker called with another plea. Would we take in Marie, Felix, and Doreen’s sixteen-year-old sister, Vivian?

We felt this was what God wanted from us, and we didn’t want to say no to God, even though there were times I certainly felt like it. But God wants our all, and he was asking us to give up our comforts. We had a choice, but we wanted to take the path that led toward a deeper walk with God, not one that led away from him.

Vivian wanted to be with her sister Marie. For about five years she’d lived with a wonderful, staunch Catholic woman who took her in, helped her, and taught her good morals. Then Vivian started to rebel, and the woman could no longer care for her. For some reason, Vivian did well with us. She was really easy compared to many of the others. She was small and had rosy cheeks. A darling girl, sweet and compliant.

One day I got mad at her—which was unusual—and she cried at the dinner table for a long time. I felt really bad, but I didn’t think my words should have affected her that way. I had only corrected her. Later I discovered she was in turmoil and beginning to make poor choices that were pulling on her.

One of the popular Christian boys from our church was crazy about her, and she liked him, too. Then she got a job at a restaurant, met a cook in the kitchen, and liked him even more. We didn’t know about him, nor about the lies she told in order to sneak around with him. Sadly, she continued to lead the Christian boy on while involved with the cook.

One day she went to visit her birth family and didn’t come back. We drove up the coast to retrieve her from the police department. She told us she would rather go to juvenile hall than come home with us. It felt like a cold wind had come in and slapped both Domingo and me. We were shocked. How could her heart change so quickly? Why did she hate us? It took us both a long time to recover. We loved this girl. She had lived with us for almost two years, and most of that time was a joy, so the end was agonizing. We had to learn the hard way that these kids wouldn’t always be thankful for what we did for them.

Four years after Joseph’s death, at the end of 1993, Domingo decided I needed a break. He knew I was crumbling on the inside and needed some relaxation and refreshment with my mentor; so he arranged to send me to Hawaii for two weeks at the beginning of 1994 to visit with Mary Barshaw, who had moved there with her husband.

Hawaii held more than just beauty. Something in the air wrapped around me and brought peace, calm, and a sense of love. Mary and I looked forward to nice, lazy, quiet times on the beach and many deep conversations. But my dreams for a sweet vacation didn’t last long. The day after I got there, on January 17, 1994, the Northridge earthquake hit California. Our house was damaged enough that the family had to move into our motor home for a week. Since flights were delayed or canceled, I couldn’t get home, so Domingo had to take care of everything by himself. The kids were constantly crying, the aftershocks sending them back into fear. He couldn’t buy gas, and the markets were running out of food. There was no power, which made things even more difficult.

Domingo had set up our motor home as the neighborhood command center where everyone could cook and watch the news. Neighbors helped by siphoning gas to put into the motor home.

In the past, we had never taken out earthquake insurance on our homes. For some reason, the day before I left for Hawaii, I asked our agent to add earthquake insurance to our policy. I believe God put it on my heart to take care of us.

During my week in Hawaii, Mary encouraged me as she always had, helping me get back on track spiritually. I told her I felt embarrassed by all the trials in my life, and she reminded me that being a Christian isn’t easy. She had me read 1 Peter 4:12–16, which says in part, “Dear friends, don’t be surprised at the fiery trials you are going through, as if something strange were happening to you. Instead, be very glad—for these trials make you partners with Christ in his suffering.… It is no shame to suffer for being a Christian.”

Trials, she reminded me, were to perfect me so I could be a partner with Christ. As I talked it through with her, I began to rejoice in my trials. I had thought God was ashamed of me and that’s why all these difficult things were happening.

Not long after I returned home, while the house was being repaired, Domingo’s mother began doing odd things and clearly needed more help. When she was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, we moved her in with us so she could be cared for by family rather than go to a convalescent home.

It was a great heartache for us all. I loved my mother-in-law very much and admired her strength and inner beauty. She had endured so much pain and suffering in her life. But as the disease took over, she became another person. At first confused and sad, then mad and angry—a common occurrence in Alzheimer’s patients. It was hard for her to understand that we were not her enemy, and it was hard for our family to see this good woman do things that were not a part of her normal character. But we knew it was right to care for her, and Domingo wanted to honor his mother in this way. I must say, it was incredibly difficult to try to care for her as well as all these kids who had behavioral issues and needed constant attention. I was driven to my knees again and again, relying completely on God for help.

My mother-in-law eventually became bedridden, and we watched her wither away until the day she took her last breath. I will never forget Domingo carrying his frail mother in his arms down the stairs, with tears rolling down his cheeks, then placing her body on a gurney.

Difficult things escalated at home. Sin is an ugly thing; it is like cancer—it keeps spreading. Marie ran away and went back to her birth family. Her returning to her destructive, drug-addicted family felt like a knife in my heart. After all we had done, how could she turn her back on us and not want to come home? How could God let this happen? “Lord, where are you?” I cried. “Please bring her back.” And she did come back—addicted to meth. She left again. And again. Until we finally had to tell her not to come back.

Doreen was drinking and taking drugs. Then Esther started making really bad choices.

Alfred struggled. He tried to find his
real
parents, thinking they’d be delighted to see him. Only when he did find out about them, he discovered the horrific ugliness of his family.

During those ten dark years we dealt with Joseph’s death, a woman who had Alzheimer’s, daughters who had been molested, pregnancies, drugs, children running away, children stealing, sexual promiscuity, rebellion, lying, and drinking. I had given everything I had to my family, never holding back. I loved them all so much and wanted the best for them. But with all this, I felt like I was a failure as a mom. I was ashamed and still felt as though I had disappointed God.

I must confess, when I first chose to be a foster parent of children with difficult emotional pasts, I really believed that if I loved them, they would love me back. They would be thankful to us for taking them in, everything would work out nicely, and we would all have happy endings. Our kids would have grand transformations, follow God, and be forever thankful to us for caring for them through their difficult years.

Boy, was I wrong. And what selfish thinking on my part! Better yet, what prideful thinking.

I know at times I was the one who made a mess out of things, but I did the best I could. I can’t tell you the number of tears I shed throughout those years. I now have bad knees, and I believe it’s because I was on them so much, pleading with God to help me get through the trials.

People didn’t understand. They said, “These aren’t your kids; let them go.” It broke my heart. When God adopted me, it was permanent. No matter how much I rebelled, God never let me go. In the same way, when we adopted our children, it was permanent. God never says, “Because you sinned, I am no longer your Father.” When Domingo and I adopt our children, they know they will always be loved and always be ours. Even though some are still caught in the consequences of their choices, they are still our kids. They always will be.

I collapsed under the weight of it all. I told Domingo I wanted to leave him. I wanted out. I was done. I told people to never foster; the heartache was too great. I yelled at God to leave me alone. I’d had enough from him.

That was the lowest point of my life.

It didn’t take long before I was begging God to forgive me for what I’d said and thought. I was so ashamed. When I shared my despair and exhaustion with a friend, she reminded me that I’d been praying to be poured out until there was nothing left. How could I be angry? My God was answering my prayers. He hadn’t forsaken me. He was right next to me.

I must confess, I am a little more careful what I pray for now.

Esther grows up

Esther became a teenager during the dark years. And even though she brought lots of joy to our family, we also faced many heartaches and disappointments. The hardest were her teen years, when she wanted to be like all the other girls. She did so many dumb and childish things that girls her age didn’t want to be around her. I could understand their reluctance. She wanted so badly to be a part of a group of girls her age that she made up things so the girls would accept her, not realizing they all knew she wasn’t telling the truth. They could also be cruel without realizing it.

We wanted to protect her from the unintentional cruelty of the girls her age, but we couldn’t. As a result, she started to gravitate toward kids who accepted her—kids who were making poor choices.

These things hurt Domingo and me so much, but we knew the only thing we could do was help her get through those years.

Near the end of the dark years, I decided to pursue my first love—teaching. I loved dissecting God’s Word and teaching young women how to be godly in all areas of their lives. I wanted to teach them how to love their future husbands. I wanted to write Bible study material. So I began to teach and mentor college girls. It was so exciting to see the understanding in their faces when they really
got it
.

However, I noticed that most of them surprisingly didn’t know the first thing about cooking, cleaning, or entertaining. Since Esther was little, she had worked in the kitchen with me—and loved it. She was always there setting the table, cleaning up. She developed her own delicious recipes. She helped keep the house clean, and again, she liked doing it. Once she was old enough to drive, she’d go to the store to buy groceries for me. However, I knew that, due to her disabilities, she wouldn’t be able to go to college and get a great job. I wondered what she’d do for a career when she could only help run a household.

And then it hit me. Here I’d been teaching young women about a woman’s role, yet I’d missed this truth for Esther. Nowhere in the Bible does it say, “Older women teach the young girls to go to college and become academic and intellectual.” No, it says, “Older women likewise are to be reverent in their behavior, not malicious gossips nor enslaved to much wine, teaching what is good, so that they may encourage the young women to love their husbands, to love their children, to be sensible, pure, workers at home, kind, being subject to their own husbands, so that the word of God will not be dishonored” (Titus 2:3–5
NASB
).