Be Still, My Heart

Continued from Foreboding

After the first couple rocky weeks, Roma and our family settled into a copasetic rhythm. Roma worked. He was sweet and respectful. His texts were kind and grateful when asking me to change our routine for his transportation needs.

He made the semi-pro football team he tried out for, earning the quarterback position. Roma had to look the part, ordering more new equipment and practice clothing. His car fund dwindled, but he was so happy, I saved my financial advice for another time. And the consequence of no car was that I got to continue spending travel time with him.

Mother's Day, 2015

I yearned for wholeness for this beautiful young man who, in his never-humble opinion, believed he had already arrived at that destination.  I saw his vast potential and his abundant gifts. But he possessed a child-like innocence that was hardly compatible with real life. I remember an observation of  our adoption agency's social worker who was also an adoptive mom. She shared that her bio children had received eighteen years of in-family care. The adopted ones might need the same amount of time, even if they were 25 when they could leave the nest. I was finally ready to accept that possibility.

Roma was so dear, and, when not determined to be the boss, he was a delight. That's it. Roma delighted me. That in itself was a new mercy and miracle. God had brought him home and reminded me what a treasure he was. A "diamond in the rough," a teacher once called him. Yes, Roma's light shone more brightly than most, even if he wasn't yet fully polished. If he needed so stay home several more years, that would be okay.

The vision, in my War Room, if it were indeed that, haunted me, but I was determined not to allow fear in my heart. I pushed aside the sense of impending suffering that began just before Roma was released from Fork Union in March, 2013, for his blatant disregard for rules: his sixth offense of dipping tobacco. Likely it was that memory that fueled my overactive imagination and reignited an ember of dread, that led to a rogue thought in myprayer closet. I resolved to push out the darkness that infiltrated my current joy. Fear is always the enemy, trying to steal my peace each day, when I currently overflowed with gratitude.

Roma was going to a new church with his friend Tom. He talked about going to a young adult Bible study. He was hungry for Truth. He even agreed to visited the teen Bible study where I serve as a Kitchen lady, preparing the meals for the teens. But at twenty-one, Roma felt he was too old to continue with the group after his initial visit. He left a lasting impression on all in attendance with his relaxed demeanor and warm humor,  especially with the teenage girls. But he promised me he and Tom would find a Bible study for their age group.

"Mom, I feel like something big is coming," he told me one morning in the car on the forth week he was home. These trips to meet his boss were evolving into deep conversations about faith and the future. He would tell me about his dreams, searching for meaning in them.

"What do you think is coming, Roma?" I asked because his thoughts fascinated me. Even though he was like a kid, he always seemed to be on a rare frequency with God. I had witnessed his astounding spirituality on numerous occasions, and I had become expectant about seeing God work mightily in his life. One would have to be blind to miss God's activity. Even though he ran from God time after time, his Close Encounters spawned miracles on a regular basis for which I marveled from a front row seat.

He was vague about the something  he felt was coming.  But I leaned in to listen to "Roma's wisdom," as a friend called it. Roma had wisdom? Who knew? Certainly not I. I was always trying to impart some wisdom into Roma that I hardly was quiet and listened to him. I always recognized that something special about Roma, but my focus was being finely tuned.

So was this "something" Roma "felt" was "coming" the same "thing" I had felt for  three years? (Read Prodigal, Everyone where I first shared about that premonition of looming suffering.) Our minds were in sync in bizarre and astounding and hair-raising ways sometimes, a fine thread of telepathy connecting us. And Roma with God. And occasionally me with God, though I am praying to have my thread with God strengthened.

On November 13, Roma texted me, "I think it's started. France just got bombed. And I believe it's not the end of the attacks." So whatever Roma thought was the "something big" coming, he thought it was the starting to happen.
That night he posted on Facebook, "Oh we should be scared for what's coming to this country and what God is capable of. Look out for the signs." He was beginning to sound like an Old Testament prophet.
There are many parts of my story I am reluctant to share. But I have resolved to share all of it as truthfully as I can.  So, speaking of Old Testament prophets, one evening as I was reading the Bible, not intending to open randomly and read which is not my habit, I opened at Ezekiel and felt drawn to a passage. Ezekiel 24. My eyes fell on verse 15. And a new dread filled my spirit. 

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; yet you shall not mourn or weep, no shall your tears run down. Sigh, but not aloud; make no mourning for the dead. Bind on your turban and put your shoes on your feet; do not cover your lips, nor eat the bread of men." So I spoke to the people in the morning, and at evening my wife died. And on the next morning I did as I was commanded.

The passage stirred something deep and primal in my gut. Again, I had to push it away. The verses had the power to send me into panic mode. But the verses were about Ezekiel's wife. Had my fear been directed in the wrong direction? Was God warning me about something or someone other than my son? 

Continue with Dreams