Sister Freaks (23 page)
One year after her mom’s death, Joy was living in San Paulo, Brazil, on a mission trip with two other American girls. She thought distance would help her to leave the past behind. An outreach in a new and different country set the perfect stage where she could rewrite the script of her painful life. But was three thousand miles far enough from her mother’s grave? How far did her chains reach?
Joy spent the next six months as a missionary working with homeless children, eating lots of rice, riding buses . . . and enjoying a tropical romance with a quiet man named Daniel. He was dark and beautiful, and one of the best drummers in the city. It was a shallow relationship, but those were Joy’s favorite kind. Her mother had taught her well. All the young girl needed in a man was someone to reach out for in the dark when she felt alone. When Joy left Brazil, she and Daniel parted with a hug and a smile, and no plans of ever looking back.
But back in the U.S., two words changed her life forever. “You’re pregnant,” the doctor said during a routine exam. Joy was going to have a son. She named him Seth.
As it turns out, three thousand miles wasn’t nearly far enough. Joy was still buried up to the neck in the results of her mother’s bad choices, and now she had her own. Joy was nauseated—yes, from morning sickness, but really from the fact that she was repeating her mom’s life. She decided that ruining her life was one thing, but ruining her son’s was another. Adoption became a serious option.
With the help of a caring Christian adoption agency, Joy evaluated hundreds of families who might take her son. After she read about Darin and Shantel, she searched no more. They were a perfect fit. But for Joy, what lay ahead took far more courage than anything she’d ever encountered. One sleepless night she wrote in her journal:
PREGNANT. It’s such a bulky, awkward word. Seven months into my pregnancy, I am feeling the same way. It’s disturbing to watch life approach a corner knowing that whatever lies on the other side will change me forever.
And although it could, should, and will destroy me, a part of me wonders if it won’t perhaps save me as well—from myself, from the person I seemed destined to become.
When I stop and try to turn in the other direction, life unmercifully pushes me forward. Tiny feet kick against my ribs, unrelenting. One day the restless life inside will be gone. So I close my eyes and brace myself for the storms of grief, separation, and heartbreak.
But inside, I clutch the warm memory of a tiny hand pushing against my tummy, of a heart beating in time with mine, and of nine glorious months of companionship and sorrow. My body will never forget and my mind will always remember. And so, gripping these memories, one foot in front of the other, I walk on, preparing to give away a part of my soul.
Joy was not prepared for the way she would love her first child—or for the pain of giving up that child. In no hurry, Seth showed up two weeks late and landed in the doctor’s hands with a vengeance. At ten pounds, two ounces, he was huge, beautiful, and absolutely perfect.
Ten minutes after he was born, Joy put him in the arms of his new mom. They both cried because Joy couldn’t be his mom, and they both cried because Shantel could. Joy stayed with Seth in the hospital for three days, her only time as his mother outside the womb—the three most precious days of Joy’s life.
That was almost three years ago. Some nights Joy wakes up and feels as if she’s just come home from the hospital. Mostly the memories come to her in flashes at random, unguarded times. A glimpse of his hand curled around hers hits when she’s at work. Love and heartbreak are sewn together inside her now, wrapped around her few memories as a mother. She can never have one without the other.
The hardest moments come when Joy thinks not of what was, but of what could have been. Her mind jumps forward, and suddenly it’s her holding Seth’s hand as they walk through the park, her watching Seth run, her swinging him around and picking him up in the way only a mother can. The vision that tortures her most is their walking together and his calling her “Mom,” looking at her with his big, happy brown eyes.
Not every woman’s situation is right for adoption. Despite her pain, Joy insists hers was. “Adoption is never about feeling good,” she says. “It’s about choosing something that nearly kills you for the betterment of someone else’s life. The day I let Seth go, something inside of me died. But with that death, the chain was broken, and I realized I had done the one thing my mother never could do. In my sacrifice, I had chosen for my son a better life.”
Joy understands now what it cost God to stand back and watch the end of His Son’s sinless life while He cried for his Father. She understands the price Jesus paid that she might become His daughter. She understands what it cost God to love Joy enough to let her walk away from Him. But most of all, she knows what it cost Him to swing her around and pick her up (as only a Father can) when she came running back to Him, dragging her broken chains, calling Him “Dad,” and looking up at Him with her big, happy brown eyes.
I will not sacrifice to the
LORD
my God burnt offerings that cost me nothing.
(2 Samuel
24:24
)
rebecca
Promise of Peace
A
slender young woman walked through the door and plopped down on the couch. Cara had been anxiously waiting for her to arrive. Sitting across from her visitor, Cara ran her finger over the spirals of the notebook next to her. She felt nervous about how to begin. The visitor, however, seemed confident and enveloped with a startling sense of peace.
The hum of the fan filled the room. The two women had met for a special purpose. The visitor, Rebecca, had a story to tell—one she claimed the hand of the Master Author Himself had written. “Where would you like me to begin?” she asked.
Cara pulled her legs up on the couch, using them as a writing surface for her notebook. “However you feel led is fine,” she said.
“Well . . . I grew up in an awesome family. We kissed, hugged, and laughed all the time.” Her face softened. “Every Sunday, when I was little, Mom helped me dress and fix my hair. Then all five of us would scramble into the car for church. Christianity for Mom and Dad was more of a family tradition than a meaningful relationship with God. The only day the Christian life impacted them was Sunday. Then when I grew older, life got busy and we just stopped going altogether.
“In high school I met some really neat friends. They invited me to Fellowship of Christian Athletes. A few months later I volunteered to help organize an outreach event. On the day of the event, I sat in the audience listening to students give their testimonies. It was then that I realized I didn’t have one.
Could God give me my own personal story to share?
I wondered. I knew Bible stories and that God loved me, but I was empty.
“That night I gave my life to God. Immediately, I started praying for Mom and Dad and felt compelled to sit down and explain the gospel to them. I was surprised when they were in agreement with everything I shared.”
Rebecca stopped to let Cara catch up. Cara glanced over her notes and turned to a fresh page, then nodded for Rebecca to continue. The testament of God’s love in Rebecca’s life had just begun. The next chapter of her story began to unfold in the mountains of Montana.
Rebecca plunged her nose into the scented pillow. She snuggled down in the twin bed under a heavy quilt. The smell of the cabin filled her senses. She breathed in, letting memories of giggling carry her toward sleep. She had always loved the mountain cabin where her family vacationed and was glad to be back even if Kristen, her oldest sister, hadn’t been able to come. Her mom, dad, and sister Kate were there and in the morning they would all go skiing. They would come back tired, cold, and very happy. Fresh powder makes for the best skiing, and that year there was lots of it. Rebecca rolled over and saw that Kate was already asleep. Soon she would drift off too.
She woke startled. Her father stood at the foot of the bed, shaking her feet.
Oh no, I overslept and missed the chance to make first tracks!
But then her father’s frantic voice filled her ears. “Get up, get up! You need to get out of the cabin right now! Get up, Rebecca! There’s a fire! Get up!” She watched him as he ran across the room to open the bedroom window. His voice was strong. “Come on, girls, through the window, right now!” He eased Rebecca, then Kate out the window into the snow. They were safe. Shaken but relieved, Rebecca gulped in the freezing air.
Did the dogs make it out?
Panic gripped Rebecca’s mind. Barefooted, she ran through the snow calling out into the cold night. “MacKenzie! Hunter!” Kate joined in, “Hunter! MacKenzie!” The girls’ cries floated into the air.
Rebecca turned as flames leapt from the cabin, lighting the blackness. No sign of the dogs and . . . no sign of her parents. Her feet burned with cold and her eyes stung from the heavy smoke. “Where are they?” she screamed to Kate. “Where are Mom and Dad?”
She didn’t remember hearing her father’s feet hit the ground below the window. His voice had not called out for the dogs. He must have turned back for their mother. On feet they could no longer feel, Rebecca and Kate ran to the front of the cabin. Physical shock had taken over and Rebecca plunged her hands, unfeeling, into the snow for rocks. Kate smashed them through window after window. “Mom! Dad!” The only response was the roar of flames.
Rebecca shifted her weight on the couch, glancing at the floor while she drew a deep breath. Her eyes met Cara’s. Cara’s pen shook slightly.
“I prayed the entire time,” Rebecca finally said. “I prayed over and over again, ‘Lord, let them find a way out!’ I don’t know the passage of time, but eventually I found myself saying instead, ‘I know they are with You. Thank You.’
“The days that followed were incredibly hard—beyond description, really. But I clung to God’s Word. I read His promises over and over. Somehow, in the midst of all the tragedy, deep in my spirit I knew He would redeem all the pain and make it good for His kingdom. Somehow I knew even then that He would give me peace and lasting purpose.”
As the snow melted into warm spring days, Rebecca said, the riverbeds filled with rushing waters. Summer emerged and the river cleared and ran like glass in the mountain streams of Montana. One day, Rebecca settled down on the bank of the Stillwater River and considered the passing seasons of her own life—how winter had blown in tragedy and the spring thaw had made grief swell within her like bulging riverbanks raging with runoff from the melted snow. But now the summer sun warmed her back, and she poured out her thanks to God: “Father, You have been my refuge and my strength. Even in troubled waters, You have comforted me.”
As she prayed, the peace of God embraced her and for the first time in many seasons, she felt her joy return. She knew well the words of the psalmist and made them her own: “God, you are my ‘refuge and strength, / [my] ever-present help in trouble’. . . . You, Lord Almighty, are with me” [Ps. 46:1,11]. This is
my
story, Lord. Truly You have sustained me in peace. I trust You will show me when to share it.”
Less than a year after the fire, God gave Rebecca an opportunity to share the story she had not chosen but had received with a promise. Twenty people were saved that day. Rebecca continues to write and share her story with those who need to hear.
Cara closed her notebook. The purr of the fan filled the air, and the two women sat together in silence for another moment. Cara had intended only to write Rebecca’s story, but as Rebecca left the room, she left the gift of peace with yet one more who needed to hear.
Therefore we will not fear,
though the earth give way
and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea,
though its waters roar and foam
and the mountains quake with their surging.
(Psalm
46:2-3
)
bonnie witherall
Ordinary Girl, Extraordinary God
B
onnie Penner was a normal teenager who sometimes argued with her mother when it was time to get ready for school and loved to play with the family dog, Lady. Yet Bonnie had a desire to help those in need and a passion for sharing the love of Jesus that would take her to three continents and eventually to heaven.
“She was an ordinary girl with a desire to share the gospel,” remembers her mother, Ann. When Bonnie was fourteen, she left her hometown of Vancouver, Washington, to go on her first short-term mission project. A few short weeks in Florida at a Teen Missions boot camp solidified Bonnie’s passion for ministry. Throughout her high-school years, Bonnie participated in outreach projects for the homeless in Portland, Oregon, went to England and Mexico for summer mission trips, and led her fellow McDonald’s employees in prayer before their shifts.
After high school, Bonnie attended Bible school in Germany. God continued to draw her to people with physical needs, and after she returned to Washington, Bonnie enrolled in nursing school. It quickly became clear that her concerns were more spiritual than physical, so when she was twenty-two years old, Bonnie transferred to Moody Bible Institute in Chicago, where she majored in missions. She continued to travel the world on short-term missions, including a six-week trip to the Philippines.
Bonnie’s passion for Christ shone in every area of her life. The father of children she babysat while she was at Moody wrote to her parents:
When Bonnie returned from the Philippines, she told us about her experiences and the work she had done there. From the perspective of our comfortable life, it was clear that she had lived without all the conveniences we are accustomed to here. Hearing her stories, I wondered if she had been frustrated by any of the challenges she faced. Bonnie replied quickly and simply, almost in a matter-of-fact way, “No, because He wanted me to be there.” In that moment and simple phrase, I saw pure faith in God and love for Him and His people shine brilliantly in your daughter.
