Roamin' Roma

Continued from Roma's lonely journey 

The plan, according to the experts, was for Roma to move to a halfway house after his thirty days of treatment, where he would live for four to six months. He would get a job and pay his own rent. Roma had given his permission for his therapist to share all information with me. Drugs in his system when he entered detox were alcohol, marijuana, and this time he had added meth.  

Fortunately his use of meth had immediately scared him into urgently seeking help and checking himself into rehab. His counselor said he was a model patient, truly eager to get clean.  She felt he had a great chance of succeeding.  

He confessed to me that the meth had been a bad mistake, "I don't know why I tried meth, mom."

"Roma, did you NOT watch the films in health class? Meth rots your teeth!" I tried to appeal to his considerable vanity.

Even though I had resolved to let Roma have his way (as if I had a choice) and not interject my will into his prodigal experience, I intervened when Fred recommended a Christian-run halfway house after Roma's thirty day treatment. Even though I have never met Fred, I trusted him completely, as I had trusted Nancy long before I met her. There could be no doubt that God had brought both of them into our story for a reason. 

Fred was totally bonded with Roma after God connected him twice by astounding "chance meetings” on a sidewalk in Delray Beach and at a Celebrate Recovery meeting a year later. Roma asked him to be his sponsor in CR. Fred told me that these God experiences with Roma had changed his life. I understood, because God had transformed my own life by this precious, yet frustrating boy. Fred wasn't the first, or last, person to acknowledge that they had seen God work powerfully in Roma's life.  Fred took his God-given ministry of Roma's spiritual protection very seriously, inviting him for dinner with his family, spending time with him,  and in the process, falling under Roma's spell.

Fred was fascinated by this young man who God had Called him to love. He would call me occasionally to update me on progress. "I just love this kid," he would tell me, surprised by the development.  "He's so interesting and smart. He can talk about anything. He seems very educated. Did he go to college?" When I didn't answer right away, he asked, "Is he well educated?"

"Well. . . he did spend five years in high school," I couldn't resist. 

Roma's extra year of high school had nothing to do with him being a slow learner. He emphatically was not. It was a strategy to give him more time to get ready for life, whether college was the next step, or training for a job. It was a holding tank to keep him busy and safe, and not foster boredom. Early trauma in children's lives can stunt their emotional growth. And Roma didn't have the maturity of most kids his age. Three years of public high school revealed that a fourth would not be sufficient for him.  Two more years at a military academy with the structure, the camaraderie of the boys and men, and the sports program Fork Union offered was a perfect fit for Roma. He thrived there and enjoyed his experience immensely. One of his teachers, a retired Army officer, as most teachers were, sent me a note saying, "Roma is a diamond in the rough." I was thankful he was getting the polishing done where his value was appreciated. 

The same way Roma had ingratiated himself into life at Fork Union, and life at our house and community, for that matter, he embraced all the halfway house had to offer. He befriended and endeared himself to all members of his new (group) home, from the directors and counselors to the other residents.

In fact, Roma's ability to endear himself to people was in his hard-wiring. I couldn't miss it at first sight when I picked him up in a church basement for our hosting experience in Novermber of 2001, when he was seven. That personality was an enviable asset.  He always put himself out there, with everyone he met, whether he was inviting his new elementary teachers to his little league baseball games, to knocking on his new neighbors' doors, just to say hi, to inviting a neighborhood bully to be his friend. He was always cultivating relationships. He held nothing back. I had two nicknames for him when he was little, Roamin' Roma, and, when he was playing sports, the Rushin' Russian. (Wasn't I clever?)  

I am far more reserved than Mr. Personality. I don't want to bother people. I often thought over the years that Roma shouldn't bother people either, and that he didn't read social cues, that he might not recognize when to pull back, and give a needed respite from that intense personality.  

"Don't always be in your friend's house, or they will hate you," I would only half tease, paraphrasing Proverb 25:17. I tried to give him gentle warnings.

Roamin' Roma, off to embrace the world

"Oh, mom, they love me," was always his perspective and answer. I wasn't so sure. I have come to discover in the past fifteen weeks that he was mostly right. Roma was Roma, unapologetically. He often got a pass that other kids were denied. One of his early principals wrote during this hard time of grief, "Roma was so special, we didn't mind any of his mischief." There was no denying, the boy had "gifts"!

That open, inviting personality continued to be an asset for him in his halfway house. He had made friends, and everyone was working with him to find a job, to maybe go to college when they recognized his intellectual abilities. His counselor called be about helping him apply for financial aid. He wanted to be an EMT, that week, and they had training in the area he was where he was living. I told him to start saving his money to make it happen. We would help him, if he first helped himself. I was still trying to not be a safety net for him, and to allow him to make good decisions so his success could breed more success. To let it be his decision. Or at least let him to think it was his decision.

The middle of August, 2015, just days after he announced on Facebook that he "never thought he would be sober on his twenty-first birthday," he texted me to tell me he was leaving Florida and coming back to Maryland. He wasn't planning to come home, he had plans, and told me not to worry.

Then the director of the halfway house called me to explain that Roma's leaving wasn't their wish, he was doing exceptionally well with their program, and they loved him. He said Roma was discouraged because his job wasn't working out. He was a telemarketer for reducing interest rates on student loans, and they had a quota to fill. The job was not a good match for Roma's outgoing and connecting personality. He wasn't used to annoyed people's reaction to him.

I called Roma back and tried to talk to him, against my determination to let him fail.  He said determinedly that he had a plan that was all worked out. When I tried to learn more, Roma shut me down when he said, "Don't worry about it."

I sent Fred a text to see if he knew about Roma's impulsive plan. He called immediately, sickened by the unexpected news. I felt like the rug had been yanked out from under me. 

As usual, I had no power to change Roma's stubborn recklessness. 

Continue with Return of the Prodigal

Roma's Lonely Journey

Continued A Reucurring Theme of Surrender.

I am humbled by God's activity in my life. I am also humbled and thankful for every reader who has joined the story by way of these disorganized posts. It reads very disjointed right now, but please be patient, as I continue to lay out this story that, in spite of the seemingly heartbreaking end, is not over. One day these post might read as congruent chapters, pointing to a loving God whose ways are not our ways, but are, I trust, much higher.

Do I believe what I say I believe? I'm walking this difficult, unavoidable journey to figure it out. Or more accurately put, I'm being carried on this present journey.

It's interesting that I chose for my blog title almost four years ago "Consider it all Joy" from the first chapter of James. "Consider it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces endurance. And let endurance have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking nothing." I'm certainly not perfect, and I am lacking more than ever. My faith has indeed been tested, but my story isn't over. It's a lifelong journey. . .

 Continued from The Recurring Theme of Surrender.

After  Roma hugged me and disappeared into a tunnel at the metro station on that evening in late April, 2015, he seemed lost to me. He was evasive about his plan. When friends would ask about him, I told them I had turned him over to God, and would not worry about him, because he was in capable hands. Did I really trust God? Did I  believe what I claimed to believe?

 One friend asked me why I didn't just make him come home and go to the community college. I would have gladly handed the reins to her, if I thought she could have made it happen. One didn't just make twenty-year-old Roma do things. I could preserve my sanity only by allowing him his opportunity to succeed or fail. I didn't want to see him fail, but I could not prevent it.

What happened on this trip to Georgia, as opposed to the one a year earlier, as documented in The Hound of Heaven Winks,  was hidden from me. Other than scattered texts and phone calls, I had no idea what he was doing.  He wanted to do this, whatever this was, on his own, as though he had something to prove to himself. I felt God was telling me to pull out the safety net we, his family, had provided, and let him go. Like the father in the story of the ProdigalSon, we were powerless to save Roma from his poor choices. The only way he would learn anything was to endure consequences of his actions. "Consequences" that might ruin Roma's life scared the daylights out of me, and I wanted to protect him from himself. But just like the father in the story Jesus told in Luke 15, I would let him go, and eagerly watch the horizon for his repentant return. 

This time I didn't have a friend like Nancy to provide updates, to take Roma to church,  include him in their family events, to fill in the "mother" role in Roma's life. Nancy is the friend God brought to Roma and me in 2014 who is introduced into our story in the scenes of the Hound of Heaven Winks series. Nancy and I were still very much in communication. Although we had only met once in real life, at Roma's disorderly conduct county ordinance case in July, 2014, we were thoroughly bonded from our hundreds of private messages, texts, phone calls, etc., as we marveled at God's activity in Roma's life. She confirmed  the decision to let Roma go by her own conviction to do the same. She had also been a safety net for Roma in Atlanta the previous year. She shared that God had also moved her to remove any protection she had provided for our sweet and clueless boy. Roma had no malice. The malady he most suffered was an immature blindness that he knew what was best for him, and we were holding him back. He was now on a dark and lonely road.

One day Roma called to tell me he had run into Mark again. Mark had taken Roma to Idaho the previous year, after meeting him less than a week earlier by Divine intervention. Those were such exciting days. Read about Mark's entry into our story at Angel and Demon's part one.

Later I got a call from Mark. He wanted to mentor Roma. He had worked in Russia and God had called him to work with Russian kids. His story was similar to mine, as he too questioned God with a "God, you've got to be kidding" reaction to his Call. He shared his opinion that only one in ten Russian adopted kids he had encountered in his "mission work" would be a functioning members of society. And only one in twenty would have a successful, fulfilling life. He thought Roma was in the enviable "one in twenty" category. Mark was going to soon be returning to Idaho, and said, if Roma could pass a drug test, he would be happy to take him back to Idaho on his next trip.

Roma's drug of choice? Pot. "Mom," he would defend himself. "Pot will be legal soon." It continues to make me sick that he was right.Roma was excited to go with Mark on another adventure, and I was even more excited at the prospect of wise Mark mentoring Roma. When I asked him if he could pass the drug test, he feigned shock and hurt that I would even ask the question. But I never heard any more about the trip with Mark to Idaho, so I suspect Roma knew he wouldn't pass the test or took it and failed. I didn't ask many questions, because I was trying to distance myself and let him suffer the blows that real life on his terms would cost him. Not being able to place Roma under Mark's care was a blow for me.  It was hard to let him fail. I reminded myself daily, moment by moment, that I had no power to fix Roma. He didn't want my help. He wouldn't accept my help. He only dug his heels in deeper if I made suggestions. Turn him over, God kept reminding me.

Roma would occasionally send me a text or call when I wasn't readily available. I do not have my phone in hand constantly like kids today do. I even turn mine off it I'm at a meeting or when I think it would be rude to answer.  If much time passed for an unanswered call or text from Roma, he would send me a sad-face emoji, as if he was sad I wasn't interested in his message,  like I was neglecting him. Such a little boy in need of his mother,  pretending to be a man.

Then he started sending us frantic texts that indicated that he needed help. By the time we got back to him for more details, he was not answering his phone. Or returning our calls. Then we got a call from the addiction treatment center he had attended in Florida the year before. The caller said he had checked himself back into treatment. By the third day I could talk to him.

 I had heard of "treatment addiction."  Where kids get addicted to treatment and go back when life gets challenging. Over and over. I asked his counselor about her thoughts on this. I was honest and shared my sincere opinion that  when Roma hits a proverbial wall, he wants someone else to take care of him. Then he could appear as if he is taking charge, making a good decision. If he couldn't count on his family to take care of him, even if it was his choice to refuse our help, he would take charge of the situation, and find someone who would take care of him. I never got many answers from him on why he went back. He expressed disdain for his roommate. Had he gotten kicked out? Was he afraid of legal trouble? Was he eager to run away from mounting trouble?

I will never know. He resisted my questions. I didn't press him for answers, or force him into a corner where he would lie to me.  He had signed permission to allow his counselor to be share his information with me. All she ever told me was he was a model client whose updates indicated that he sailed through his thirty day treatment, was eager to share in group sessions, was a "delight" and "charming."  And "very sweet."  Yes,  yes, I had noticed.

 Suddenly one Saturday morning in early June, I had a peek into Roma's hidden-from-me world. I got a text from Fred, a man I have only known in cyberspace when he had contacted me thirteen months earlier, when Roma had approached him on a sidewalk in Delray Beach asking for money. That encounter awakened me to many other God Stories I would share in the following weeks and months. Don't miss that story, The Hound of Heaven Winks from May of 2014, and then The Gift of Desperation when Fred contacted me again to tell me that God had surprisingly connected him to Roma in another God Story. God was so close. God is still so close.  

   Please stay tuned. 

Continued with Roamin' Roma

A Glimpse of Grace

Read Surrendering the Illusion of Control first. 

The next morning I was distracted at church, wondering where Roma had spent the night. Although he was now twenty years old, he did not demonstrate the maturity of the average twenty year old. Had he eaten? Had he slept? Was he afraid? Was he safe? I had no power to change his circumstances.

As I was leaving church, I checked my phone. One text from Roma, "I saw your friend Beth this morning at church."

What? Church? Beth was a Facebook friend through adoption who I had the pleasure to meet in person in July, despite the unpleasant reason for being in Atlanta-- Roma's disorderly conduct trial.

"Roma, where are you?" I tapped out quickly.

"I'm with a family. The mother wants to talk to you. When will you be home?" I was utterly confused. I called Roma when I got home. I was eager to hear his latest story. He knew I was disappointed that he had not persevered in the treatment center. "Mom, I just couldn't stay in that group home. They all spoke Russian. They had to get a translator for me." 

"Roma, that was very nice for them to make those provisions for you. They were trying hard to help you."

"Mom, you don't know what it felt like to hear everyone speaking Russian again." 

When the weight of that revelation hit, it was like a kick in the gut. The last time Roma heard everyone speaking Russian, he was seven years old and living in a Russian orphanage. 

When he realized that Edward had really left him, he reached out to Nancy first for help, but she, like me, clearly felt she wasn't to help him. He texted and called everyone he knew in the Atlanta area. Apparently someone answered his SOS.

Before this new mother figure in Roma's life called me, I got a message from Beth. She was intrigued to see Roma again, with friends of hers, and at her church. She added that they were Godly people. I was astounded by the interconnected-ness of Roma's friends and adventures. God is always whispering to me, "Do NOT miss My involvement!" Frankly, it would be difficult not to see it!

Ella called later that afternoon to introduced herself. Her son Henry had gotten a text from Roma because they had both gone to Idaho together. At first I thought her son might be adopted too, but Ella explained that Henry had gone on the trip in July as a family friend, as "mission work." 

As I was processing Roma's latest bounce along that "Rock Bottom,"  I remembered my strong conviction to allow Roma to land without my safety net, which was confirmed by Nancy. The entry of this new family into our story was not what I was expecting.

I thanked Ella for her kind heart, but added, "Unless you feel called by God to take him in, take him to a homeless shelter."

Ella paused for only a moment and then said, almost surprised herself, "Actually, I think I do feel Called by God to take him in for now. It's what Christians are called to do."

Well. . . Okay then. How could I argue with that.

Ella explained that she did not blame me for my son's circumstances or my resistance to help him. He had explained to them, at least his side of the story, about getting kicked out of the treatment center and being left alone at Walmart. That detail really seemed to tug at her heart.

Ella said she could actually offer Roma a temporary employment as she was in need of some help for the holidays. Decorating for Christmas was her job. Ella said her husband was very structured and strict. He had already had Roma remove his earring. She said my strong-willed boy had offered no resistance.  I remembered Roma's positive experience with structure at Fork Union Military Academy (except for dipping tobacco.)

So it sounded like God had Roma right where He wanted him. Again. God met Roma around every corner.  Roma's Facebook status that night revealed that he, too, saw God's involvement in the recent turn of events:

"Truly I say my eyes have been opened to the one and only Jesus! He has blessed me and I thank God for my situation I am in to see what his love will provide. No other way I wanted it to be done. I am his humble servant. What a good end of the night. May God bless you." (Roma's Facebook post from November 1, 2014 is still posted, and his 2373 friends can see it.)

Ella occasionally emailed updates about his progress, his interactions with their family, his behavior, and willingness to help. Surprisingly, it was usually good news. 

For Thanksgiving they attended a family reunion in Key Largo, with Roma in tow. They camped out. Ella was pleased to report that Roma was very helpful putting up tents and playing with the younger kids. I saw photos of him parasailing and carrying small children on his shoulders. I even got a Christmas card from Ella, a photo of the whole family, including Roma, sitting in the group like he belonged there. His name was even included among the mother and father, two brothers, and a little sister.

Nancy, encouraged by his new attitude, took him to a David Crowder concert one evening with her family. And she also surprised him with a ticket for Passion 2015, a Christian Conference. Twenty thousand 18-25 year olds would be converging on downtown Atlanta for the three day event scheduled for January 2-4. 

Roma, so lovable, insinuated himself seamlessly into other people's families.

He came home for Christmas on a bus on December 20. He seemed peaceful and content. He was returning to Atlanta for the Passion conference and after that, he was going back to Ella's family to help her with her Christmas-decorating business, this time to reverse the process. She said she could keep him busy for about a month. I was living one day at a time, and couldn't think what might come after that.

Life for Roma seemed to be on track. I praised God for His unending mercies. It was a joy to have all our children and grandchildren home for Christmas. And the joy expanded, when right after Christmas, on December 29, we found his sister Liana. As much as he didn't like me to make a big deal about the discovery, it was evident he was profoundly moved by the discovery. Finding Liana, and then an aunt, Lia and other family members gave Roma a truer sense of "Identity," and answered questions that would no longer torment him. 

The year 2014 had been a roller coaster. Roma's many adventures had achieved a sacred mission. Roma had seen God, up close and personal, many times. We all had. Roma's mind was "all in" for God. On a intellectual level, Roma "got it." His heart, however, like all our hearts, was deceitful above all things, couldn't always be trusted. 

I remember reading about Saint Augustine who was quite the playboy in his youth--I bet Roma and young Augustine would have been friends. Augustine said he had two conversions. The first came at age nineteen. A more complete transformation happened at age thirty. About his first conversion, Augustine confessed that while his lips were praying "Lord made me chaste," his heart was adding, "But please don't do it just yet." 

Yep, that was Roma. That would also describe many of us.

I am confident Roma knew God more intimately at that time than some people many times his age. He never denied God. He freely discussed God's Love for him.

It boggles my mind how people can deny the existence of this redemptive and personal God who we have come to know. They might as well say to me, "I've never met this Roma you speak of, so I am sure he is a figment of your imagination."

Faith is not blind. But one does need to open their eyes to see! 

Continue with Loved with a Passion

Surrendering the illusion of control

Continued from Emerging from the Fog

I'm circling back to share some stories from the end of 2014, after Roma's odyssey in Atlanta told in the Hound of Heaven Winks series, and before we discovered his family in the Family Connection series. Perhaps because of my mother's failing health and passing, and frustration with the seeming lack of spiritual growth and maturity, I haven't told these stories yet. If these posts one day become parts of chapters of another book, it will read with more continuity. In the meantime, enjoy our story. Even in the middle of my pain, I see that I have been part of something Sacred. 

Roma returned home from his Divinely orchestrated trip to Idaho on July, 5 2014. Having not been home since March 1, he struggled to reorient himself into structured, peaceful family life. We had to have rules. Roma, famous for his sweet heart and outgoing personality was not known to make wise choices. He wanted to be treated as an adult, as he would turn twenty in August. I constantly told him we would love to treat him like an adult, when he started acting like an adult!

Our older son Taylor was living at home. Five years Roma's senior and ten years more mature, Taylor was left with the responsibility of "babysitting" Roma if we went away for the weekend. My mother's health was failing rapidly by July, and we were making frequent trips to North Carolina to be with her. Taylor would try to appeal to Roma's sense of chivalry, by asking him to help out by behaving for the sake of his grandmother, "Honey."

One weekend we came home to the news that Roma had six guys over in our absence. He reasoned that they were just playing video games and watching TV, and we would rather them not leave if they were drinking. Faulty assumption. Taylor had to come up from his apartment in our lower level at 3 am because of the noise level, and tell everyone vacate the premises.

"Roma!" I fussed when we returned home and got the report, "Why would you have a party when we are not home. No one is allowed in our house when we are not here. We've made that clear!"

"Mom, it wasn't a party. It was only six people. Six guys! That is not a party."

(See what I had to contend with?)

He was undeterred by our rules.

When Bruce and I needed to go away, we stopped telling Roma, hoping it would be too late to plan by the time he figured it out. We wanted him to think we would be home at any minute, that we could be right around the corner. He usually came in late, right before his curfew, and we reasoned that if he came home after bedtime, he might assume we were in bed. Unless he looked in the garage. By the time he figured it out, the weekend would be almost over, we hoped. 

Once I texted Taylor to tell him we were going away for the weekend, and reminded him not to tell Roma.  Then I got a text right back that said, "Haha, this is Roma." (I ought not to be allowed to operate electronic devices.)  At least I could explain to Roma that this is how he taught us to treat him, as someone who was not worthy of our trust.

He had a short memory. Finally, after breaking so many house rules and not coming home at all a few nights, I told him he would have to find another place to live. He was out of control.

He was working at a car dealership a half hour from home as a lot attendant, washing cars, driving cars up for clients to test drive, etc. I got a text from him saying he had decided to move in with a coworker. It was his decision, he reminded me. He resisted any idea that we would have to ask him to leave. Decisions like this always had to be Roma's idea.

I took comfort in remembering that Taylor had moved out, against our wishes, when he was 18. Taylor's rebelliousness had come as a total surprise to me. Taylor  wasn't ready for college right after high school graduation, but he wanted that "going away" experience. So he moved three and a half hours away to Pittsburgh and in with his sister, Kellie, and her family. For several weeks, he enjoyed the safety of "family" before he found his own apartment. He wanted to be on his own, yet still wanted his sister, five years his senior, to be close, just in case. Then he moved to Oklahoma with a friend for a while. But by the time he was twenty two, he was back living at home, and had started the process of realizing we were not the enemy. I prayed Roma would reach the same outcome and conclusion. 

Maybe this "going away" from the family would serve Roma by easing him into adulthood and help him accept some responsibility. But Roma wasn't emotionally almost twenty. That didn't matter to Roma who wanted to live his life, his way. I was actively trying to preserve our relationship. Our struggle over who got to be the boss at our house was taking its toll on our patience with one another.

So, on good terms, and Roma thinking it was his idea, he went to live with his coworker. We stayed in close contact by texting regularly.  A peace settled over our house for a season, when we were freed from the enforcement of rules for Roma.

Then he texted me one day saying he had lost his job, for texting. He explained that he and his girlfriend had broken up and he needed to talk to her. He thought that was a valid reason to be texting on the job and his boss should be understanding. My assessment that his boss had the right to expect his attention to his job when he was being paid was foolishness to my heartbroken boy.

He didn't ask to come home. I didn't suggest it. I don't know how he paid his bills or how his roommate dealt with him during the few weeks he stuck it out, unemployed, sleeping on his couch. I knew his living arrangement couldn't last long.

Almost on cue, Roma called me to tell me that Nancy from Atlanta, had called him with a possibility of a new adventure. I welcomed any plan Nancy endorsed. Nancy loved Roma. She recognized God's activity in Roma's life. She had her eyes and ears open to God's prompting on his behalf. Nancy was thoroughly bonded with Roma, and me by virtue of being his mom, from their shared awe-inspiring God-experiences from their five weeks together earlier in the summer.

Nancy had learned from her church of a group of Christian men she thought would benefit Roma. It was a six month treatment center and group home of Russian and Ukrainian young men committed to God, who lived cooperatively, without addictions of any kind, including tobacco. They held daily Bible studies and held each other accountable.  

She was enthusiastic about the opportunity for Roma, if he could get in. She gave me contact info for the leader, Edward, who I called to learn more. Roma was excited about it too. Was he excited because he was in need of a place to stay and someone to take care of him? I feared that was the case. I had to be careful about my enthusiasm, or Roma would shut down the suggestion. It had to be his idea to apply. I told him I would take him to breakfast and he could tell me about it. Edward had told Nancy that Roma had to be ready for this program, or it was doomed to failure, and would be a waste of everyone's time and money.

When I met Roma for breakfast, my heart sank when he didn't seem any different than when he left for Florida, six months earlier, with a spirit of haughtiness and pride. I feared he was not ready for this program. Nancy confided that she didn't think so either, judging from her discussions with him. Roma wasn't trying to fool anyone. He sincerely thought he was mature and responsible. Edward required Roma to talk to him on the phone every night for a week, so he could determine if the program and Roma would mutually benefit each other. At the end of the week, to my surprise, Edward accepted Roma into the group home.

Nancy, always the angel, lined everything up, as I prepared to leave a day after Roma, as I got word that my mother was dying. For the first weeks of October, I was involved with my mother's last days in Hospice and then her funeral. 

Roma, who had restricted phone privileges at first was allowed to call me because of the death in the family. He said he really loved his grandmother, and was sorry he couldn't join us for her service. Did I imagine that he sounded more mature already, after only a couple weeks?

When I finally returned to Maryland, cautious warnings came from Nancy and Edward. Roma wasn't engaging in the program. He would put his head down and didn't seem interested at Bible study. He knew before he agreed to go, that the program was Christ centered and deep study was expected. It had been his idea to go, I made sure of that, but I had tried to be clear about what was expected of him. 

My fear was that when life got tough when he lost his job and faced losing his friend's couch, Roma saw this as a chance to retreat into himself while someone else took care of him, someone other than me, because I was resolved to back away and remove the safety net.

I got the dreaded, but not so surprising, call on the night of November 1, four weeks after his arrival. Nancy's discouraged voice greeted my anxious "Hello."

"Debbie, I hate to tell you this, but Roma got kicked out of the group home. I just got a call from Edward." 

After my moan, she continued, "Roma got caught using tobacco. Then he became hostile and threatening, wanting to know who ratted him out. Edward took him to Wal-Mart to let him pick up some needed items, then he was taking him to the bus station to come home. But Roma blew up and started cussing, so Edward just left him there." My heart plummeted. It was a Saturday night, about 9 pm.

I thanked Nancy for all she'd done for my self-sabotaging boy.  Nancy ended with, "Debbie, I love you, and I love Roma, and I know you will understand, but I can't help Roma if he reaches out to me. Edward suggested we let Roma hit bottom."

Of course I understood. I felt the same way. The image of the Prodigal Son that had been an echo for me for a while revealed that I had to let him fail. I could not help Roma. My attempts to help him only continued the downward spiral.

As I was trying to remember to breathe, Roma began texting me his side of the story. "I didn't do anything to deserve getting kicked out. This guy just left me at Walmart." I just texted back. "You'll have to work it out. There's nothing I can do."

God had been nudging me to pull out the safety net. It seemed a little easier with him six hundred miles away. I could hardly help him if I wanted to. But I didn't want to.

I went to sleep wondering if the Walmart in Atlanta was open all night. If not, where would he go? Roma was about to hit the proverbial "Rock Bottom." God had been foreshadowing some kind of suffering. Was this finally it? 

God had had been foreshadowing suffering to me for a year a half. Right after I first had that ominous feeling of suffering, I got a call one morning in April 2013, six weeks before graduation,  from Fork Union Military Academy where Roma had achieved much success for almost two years. Academic, social, and athletic success. He had gotten dismissed from school for blatant disregard of rules with his sixth offense of dipping tobacco. He would have been okay had he not panicked because his fifth offense had been only days earlier, as his lacrosse team was preparing to leave for a game. Roma was left behind as punishment. He knew this latest offense was the nail in his sports' coffin, he come back verbally swinging with offensive insubordination and foul language to the officer of discovery. 

I thanked God for that premonition of suffering because I was not completely caught of guard. "Thank you Lord, for this warning," I prayed during the three hour drive to pick Roma up for the final time at FUMA. As bad as this seemed, it could have been so much worse. I hope that this was what God was warning me about, because it wasn't too horrible.

After his expulsion, a downward spiral for Roma began in earnest. Every challenge we encountered, I would repeat the conversation with God. "Thank you Lord for the warning. I hope this is it, because this trial isn't too horrible. It could be so much worse. 

That feeling of impending doom continued to linger. So now, left at a Walmart in Atlanta on a Saturday night in November,  Roma was about to face his biggest challenge yet. He was going to be homeless with no safety net. 

Was this the beginning of the real trouble God had warned me about? Where would Roma turn? He couldn't save himself. 

If God had been warning me, none of this could be a surprise to Him. Right? I would put my faith in God. If I surrendered all to Him, I couldn't worry. All I could do was pray for my sweet, lost boy. And as I prayed, I discovered a deeper faith and a closer God. 

Continue with A Glimpse of Grace 

Emerging from the fog

Continued from Another Vision of Heaven.

Sometimes my life seems more like a movie than real life. A beautiful, Divinely-directed Movie. The twists and turns in the plots have had me on the edge of my seat, especially for the past sixteen years. Once I reluctantly surrendered a tiny bit of myself to God, what an adventure He has led me on during  my unexpected journey of adoption. With His help, I've navigated landmines of fear.  I've soared to the mountaintop of joy, and descended to the deepest abyss of agony. I will not visit the graveyard of hopeless despair. Even in the throes of this present grief, I still recognize the Grand Journey orchestrated by God. I still count my blessings.

In the early months of 2000, God first whispered "adoption" to my selfish, stubborn, and profoundly deaf heart. Very gradually, though, in my resigned and puny surrender, God led me, sometimes kicking and screaming, into the scariest and yet most transformative experience of my life, resulting in intimate knowledge of God. And He rewarded my meager obedience with the most precious child to mother. Roma. I am still humbled by that honor granted me. Read But the Greatest of These is Love to learn about those exciting scenes of my life's Movie. In the years since that still small Voice grew increasingly louder and more persistent to where I could not avoid taking tiny and terrified steps toward obedience, God has achieved the miraculous, and my faith has become unshakable.

Roma in Idaho, July 2014

I would need that keen awareness of a powerful God when, on December 7, 2015, we lost that kind heart and joyful personality that defined our beautiful Roma. Where do I go from here? Nothing make sense without God.

 I'm left with thousands of puzzle pieces. Some are assembled and frozen into isolated still shots of my Movie. I'm trying to fit them all together.  I know there is a connection with all these pieces.

Grief writers and counselors talk about the "fog" or "bubble" where mourners  feel an initial isolation from the real world. It is true. My reaction would not have been so different those first few days following Roma's death, had someone announced that they were bringing over dinner or that aliens from outer space had landed on my front lawn.

The first couple of days, I wouldn't have been surprised if Roma, with his quick, energetic movements, had burst through the front door, his contagious laughter dispelling our heartbroken confusion.

I kept asking myself, "did ___ really happen, or was that my imagination?" "Did I have that conversation with ____, or did I dream it? " Some days it seems that the past sixteen years have been my imagination. Did Roma really come? Is Roma really dead? (I can still hardly type that word) What is real?

I keep starting new blog posts. I'll write about a treasured experience with Roma, some insight from a recent conversation with him, then switch to another. They are all interconnected, but I can't stay focused on one. Maybe the fog will clear soon. I know there is a story here to be mined, maybe a new book, but I sit among thousands of puzzle pieces sifting through the avalanche. I know where some pieces belong. Others seem like misfits at this point in the movie. And I keep discovering new puzzle pieces--were they there all along?

I hope readers will be patient while the fog clears, or until the puzzle pieces fit in a more congruent manner, revealing images that make sense. 

Making sense of the seemingly senseless. Can it be done? I don't see how. But then, when that terrible call came that dreadful afternoon, I knew instantly it would be bad news about my youngest. I knew it would be the worst news possible. How did I know?

There were clues. God had warned me that suffering was coming. I knew. So when the call came from a neighbor when we were three hours from home, that there was a police car in my driveway, an officer on my porch, I knew before more words were spoken, that Roma was gone.

I invite readers into my story. But the story is hard to tell. Not only because the loss is excruciating, but I don't know where to start these scenes, how to organize these puzzle pieces that reveal the still shots from the movie of my life.

Lovely Liana

Many people have suggested that there was enough material for another book even before this scene of sorrow. When the story of finding Roma's first family began to unfold a year ago, I couldn't write fast enough. How joyful I was to share about finding Roma's loving sister, Liana. Then other family members of integrity introduced themselves and became part of the rich and widening story. 

Igor and Lia

Puzzle pieces connected themselves into vignettes so warm and beautiful, they took my breath away. Readers confirmed the beauty of those scenes.  Read the Family Connection series from last year, when I praised God for His Goodness. I cried tears of joy, and then tears of sadness as I participated in the grief my new family members  suffered years earlier.

I've managed to piece together partial images of this huge puzzle, these scattered vignettes. In order to solve the mysteries of the puzzle, I must watch for clues. Life is a mystery.  We are all mysteries.

Saint Augustine wrote, "Men go abroad to admire the heights of mountains, the mighty waves of the sea, the broad tides of rivers, the compass of the ocean, and the circuits of the stars, yet pass over the mystery of themselves without a thought."

Our mysteries are worth exploring too.

"Why must God be so mysterious?" a friend asked me recently. "Why doesn't He just make Himself known?" That is the six-million-dollar question.

The Grand Mystery. It is a mystery too big for my ant-brain. I am presently overwhelmed with the puzzle pieces of my own life.  But I do not have to assemble them alone. I must wait on God for help. I can't move ahead in my impatience. If I could do it by myself, I'd become prideful. More prideful. I know this about myself. God knows it too.

I have a hunger that I sense my readers, my friends, share with me. Some readers have told me that they can't get enough of my ongoing story, that they "want more." Maybe this is a reflection of humanity's hunger for God. We want more God. We crave more sacred moments of God's supernatural presence. Somehow we know it is possible.

God has given us all stories to share. Consider your own.

God told me in a dream to write my stories down. So I will. I trust that He will use even my tentative words and disoriented state for His Glory.

The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away. Blessed be the name of the Lord! (Job 1:21)

Next, Surrendering the Illusion of Control. 

Another Vision of Heaven

Continued from Goodbye Kid

Another vision, in Heather's words (a Christian friend, not my daughter) . . .

If you would have asked me the morning of December 6, 2015 why I felt so out of sorts all day long, I would have not been able to explain it at the time. However by 11 pm I could tell you with a broken heart that I saw heaven come to earth that evening. As I listened to Rev. Angela Flanagan’s sermon that December morning on Luke 2: 34-36 (Prophet Simeon speaking to Mary saying)  “This child (Jesus) is destined to cause the falling and rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be spoken against, so that the thoughts of many hearts will be revealed. And a sword will pierce your own soul too”. I kept thinking about Mary and that prophecy not only for her son’s life but her own life too. There is pain in that prophecy, extreme pain in fact. I thought of all the mothers that have had their souls pierced in one way or another. My own mother lost her son 6 years ago to suicide for mental illness and addiction. I had even texted another one of my best friends that afternoon saying I was praying for her, trusting that because of what Mary went through we must hold onto God’s promises and know that He hears our prayers when we have a child in pain. 

Being a prayer minister at Calvary UMC I received a call that Roma had taken a bad fall and had been sent to Shock Trauma. I was requested to begin praying, it was about 7pm. I felt sick to my stomach. I had only known Roma for about the past 3 years but this young man just lit up the room. I spent some time getting to know him from a ministry at church for young adults and he was so open with his emotions and full of “light”, God’s light. I doubt Roma understood that Jesus was shining through him but everyone who knew him could see it. 

The evening I got the call I began to pray, I was back to that “please Father do not let Debbie be another mother whose soul will be pierced this day”. Yes God, I understand Shock Trauma and the severity of what that means but I also know YOU are a God of miracles and I am praying for a miracle right now. So on my knees I am  pleading for a miracle. 

As hours pass in tears and exhaustion I go to bed. I always read before I bed. I get out my Jesus Calling, I read the devotional and then pull out another book. All of sudden I hear the Lord's still small voice saying “ If this was your son in Shock Trauma do you think Debbie would quit praying to begin reading at this pressing time?”  

I felt this stabbing in my heart. Clearly God had something to share with me or He had some further healing for Roma. I’m worn out but I have no choice but to listen. By this time it’s close to 10:45pm (and I mention this in case anyone else got a revelation around the same time) and I get back to my knees to pray. After some amount of time, I begin to see white and purple lights.  These brilliant lights swirling like how I would imagine the Northern lights to look. Then I see God on His throne in all His majesty. He is large in stature but beautiful (so much light surrounding HIM) sitting there with the kindest, most gentle look on his face with His arms wide open. 

All of a sudden like a little bullet, comes running this little boy like a lightening bolt straight to God. It’s Roma, little Roma about 7 years old and he runs straight under Gods white robe and underneath Him to the other side and then Roma stops, and turns to look back at God. Roma turns his little face with this ornery little grin almost the way kids want to play hide-n-seek. I am outside of this vision, and I am trying to figure out what is going on. God is still sitting there with His arms open just waiting for Roma and it appears Roma is figuring out what he is to do. Then all of all sudden Roma runs straight back to God and jumps into His arms and God wraps Roma up into the most loving fatherly hug. At this time it’s no longer 7 year old Roma, it’s 21year old Roma, the Roma I knew. The love that God pours all over Roma is indescribable. The peace that came upon me after the vision ended was amazing. 

Debbie always said that Roma was God’s son, I truly saw that Roma really was God’s beloved son and he went home to heaven that night. 


This vision gave me complete comfort and peace in knowing when God calls all of us who love Him home to Heaven, we go joyfully, excitedly running into the arms our Father God. This vision also re-iterates what God’s word tells us just how individual we are to God that He even knows the number of hairs on our heads.  I never knew little Roma, but God surely did and He never forgot how he looked at that young age. Debbie has a picture of Roma turning his head with the same charming smile that I saw in the vision, the picture is so exact from what I saw that it took my breath away. 

Roma, during our hosting, November 2001

In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven. Matthew 5:16. 

Saying good-bye to Roma was painful but I trust he was placed in all our hearts to teach us all to let our lights shine, that’s what Roma did best! Shine on Roma, we are looking up and looking forward to seeing you again sweet friend! 

Heather Fox Fowble


Footnote:
Explaining visions are difficult.  I have been studying God-given visions and dreams since our healing prayer team saw John Paul Jackson 3 years ago. Most nights before I go to bed I ask the Lord to send me dreams and visions from Him and ask that He keep any dreams from the enemy away. I never saw the younger picture of Roma until after I emailed Debbie with my condolences and told her the vision from the Lord. I will also note that John Paul Jackson says that white color in dreams is the Spirit of the Lord/ holy power and purple color is royalty and authority. I typically don’t see colors in my visions, which is what makes this interesting. 


Thank you Heather, for sharing your vision of Heaven! It comforts me. 

Continue here with Emerging from the Fog

Goodbye Kid, Taylor's words

Continued from Visions, One

When Roma burst on to the scene at our week-long hosting in November, 2001, Taylor, twelve at the time, was caught off guard. We all were. We were accustomed to gentle children who read books and drew intricate pictures and built complicated castles with Lego blocks, children who played quietly in calm, imaginary realms. 

Taylor and Roma 2002

Roma was no such kid. He was loud– his voice was loud, his expressive sound effects for play (usually exploding noises) were louder, his laughter was loudest. He was very active. He was bossy assertive and cocky confident! He didn't sit still long, and if a sport didn't involve a lot of people and a ball of some size or shape, he quickly lost interest. Roma immediately joined clubs at school, before he could speak (or understand) English well, because they might be having fun without him. He didn't want to miss anything! 

As his new family, we were trying to keep up with his high level of maintenance and demand for action and attention. He was not the little brother Taylor had imagined he would be. Taylor had enjoyed the coveted baby-of-the-family role for twelve years. Suddenly his secure realm had been usurped by an independent, confident, and precious little dictator. 

In the past year, and weeks, when Roma thought we were unreasonable about house rules, he would storm to Taylor's apartment in our lower level, threatening us with, "I'm going to talk to Taylor." Taylor would take him for a walk around the block and Roma would come home a little more reflective. Taylor had a calming affect on a 21-year-old who thought he was too old for rules.

Taylor bravely stood at Roma's service on December 14, to honestly share his reflections. Not a sensitive eye remained dry in the church. Many people in attendance have asked him for a copy of his tribute to his brother. So, with his permission, these are Taylor's words . . . 

                         

I’ve been wracking my brain for a good moment from my brother’s life to talk about. He affected so many people in his short life, but I don’t have that one good moment. The truth is I didn’t know him that well.  Most of you knew him better than I did.  I’ve spent this last week trying to get to know him.  And, as awful as this week has been, it’s also been enlightening, getting to know this kid that through fate became my brother.  

We were very different, Roma and I.  He was loud, and he needed people.  I always felt like I thrived in the quiet and solitude.  And he could be frustrating.  I was a very angry young man, and when I made the choice to come down from that, I did so largely by distancing myself from a lot of the things that triggered that aggression.  To a large extent, it worked, but one of the casualties of that decision was Roma.  I didn’t have that sibling relationship I did with my sisters with him.  I remarked recently, before his death, that he only ever called me when he needed something, ignoring the fact that I never once called him.  I didn’t think I needed anything from him. 

Anyways, the moment I landed on to talk about today, may not seem like such a great moment.  Last year, I’d gotten a used snow blower from some friends.  It only needed a belt replaced, but I was proud of myself for fixing it up, and I was looking forward to using it.  We got that one big snowfall last year, and I go out, ready to fire up my snow blower, and I find that the gas can in the garage was empty.  I’d filled it up earlier in preparation for this, and I knew immediately what had happened.  Roma had filled up his car with it.  And it made me angry.  Like, really angry.  And I let him have it. 

And as I thought about what had really upset me, I mean, this was par for the course for Roma, and I’d robbed the gas can before, in high school. I realized that I was angry because I cared.  When I lit into him, it wasn’t for the gas, but what I felt he was doing with his life.  So much potential I thought he was wasting.  I was mad at him because I cared about him, and I was even angrier that I cared. I didn’t want to care about him.  It was much easier when he was just the kid my parent’s adopted, that I wasn’t emotionally invested in.  

But somehow, despite all my efforts and the walls and barriers I erected, he’d slipped in.  He always did, in everyone he met.  And he let everyone in, too.  
This week, as I’ve been amazed by the outpouring of caring that this community has shown in the wake of his death, I’m fully realizing something that I’ve been suspecting for awhile.  Roma had it right.  He was by no means perfect, but he lived every day experiencing everything that came his way.  You can’t cut out the pieces of life that are inconvenient.

For all those years that I never called him just to talk, I’d love one last chance to just call him up, see how he’s doing, and just tell him that he was doing something right, and I’m going to try to live a little more like him.  And that I love him.
Goodbye kid.

Continue with Another Visions of Heaven, the night Roma died.