A Grace Refined

Continued  from TheReturn of the Prodigal

Just like that, on October 19, 2015, Roma moved home. And in typical Roma fashion, he was ready to put another challenging episode of life behind all of us, never to speak of it again. Now I wish I had asked more questions. I wish I knew more of the details of his six months away. I thought there would be more time for him to eventually tell his secrets, as he usually did.

His first morning home, I had to drive him to meet his boss at a convenience store about a half hour from home. Even as I type this, I can almost hear Roma correcting me with , "twenty-five minutes." Whatever. It is so like Roma to want to argue about even a small issue. It seemed like a long drive for me, there and back home, twice a day for a total of almost two hours.

In July, before an August return to Maryland was yet on Roma's radar, we sold the car we allowed him to use since getting his license when he was eighteen and three quarters.  It had been sitting in our driveway, with matching dented front fenders, courtesy of Roma and ice (so I was told) since he left in April.  I didn't want to continue to insure the 2000 Chevy Impala. The car ran, and had low mileage, as Bruce's mother was the original owner, but it would require more to repair it than it was worth.

While Bruce and I debated the wisdom of saving it for Roma's eventual use, a man rang my doorbell one afternoon and said he was just driving in our small-town neighborhood, and noticed that the car parked in our driveway needed body repair, and he just happened to be a auto body repairman. I confessed that we were on the verge of donating the vehicle. Even if Roma returned home, he would not be able to afford to insure it on a separate policy, which we would require, to protect us. At twenty-one, his insurance would be high, even though, surprisingly, Roma had no moving violations. He was pulled over once, for speeding. He smiled through his tears, and candidly shared with the officer about a painful break up with his girlfriend earlier in the evening (true story), so he got a warning from the compassionate cop. Of course he would. Roma's counselor once told me he had an amazing ability to turn a negative into a positive.  

Anyway . . . The repairman returned to my door a couple of days later and offered me $350 for the wrecked car, $100 more than the junk yard would offer me. The gentle man, missing some front teeth, looked as if he could benefit from a bargain on a car he could easily repair, so I shook his hand and it was a deal.

(Sorry for the rabbit trail. But as I remember and type this, I suddenly think the stranger buying our car is a part of the story.)

So the consequence of this deal was that I had to drive Roma to meet his boss at a convenience store twenty-five minutes away. Sometimes Bruce would pick him up in the evening, but it was out of the way from anywhere we usually traveled.  Roma hadn't had the job long, and general handyman work, cleaning gutters, trimming bushes, etc. didn't seem to adequately use his people skills. Roma wasn't a handy man. I suggested, now that he was home, he look for something closer to home.

He agreed he would look.  He had interviews on rainy days, when they had to postpone outdoor work for the day.  Nothing seemed to suit him. That first week, I thought it was a temporary that I would be driving him. But the days grew into weeks. And there were other destinations to drive him to on some days.

 

Sometimes  my older son, Taylor,  would drive him, if he had to work at a similar time. But the bulk of the driving fell on me. And I was not happy about it. I was still subbing at the high school some. But I couldn't accept jobs on days he had no other transportation, unless I wanted to drop him off two and a half hours early.

Roma's transition to home wasn't easy from the start, on top of my annoyance of driving him was his eagerness to be the boss. But he tried to honor his 11:30 curfew. Later that first week home he was with a trusted neighbor watching a football game, just down the street. He asked if he could stay until the end of the game. We said yes. He came in at midnight. But then, according to Roma, his curfew was now midnight, because we had allowed it before. Roma's reasoning techniques and arguing skills were well honed. I once thought he would grow up to be a lawyer.

One of the first mornings when we started our drive to meet his boss, he was reminiscing about his old car, sad not to have the freedom of his own wheels anymore. He said the mother of his most recent roommate before he moved home had criticized us as parents for not helping him out. He said, "And I told her she didn't know what I put you through, and how much money you already spent on me."

I wanted to swerve to the right onto the shoulder and slam on brakes to see who was sitting beside me in the car. But I calmly asked, "Roma, did you really say that?"

"Sure, I told her you always had my back." I was stunned. Roma "got it"! On the planet Roma inhabited, the light bulb was coming on! Roma's dark journey had a Light at the end of the tunnel. His brain's frontal cortex was finally fusing. I was hopeful that this was an irreversible step toward the Promised Land.

But then we would have our little misunderstandings. And I was getting impatient that he wasn't getting another job closer to home. As soon as we would get home in the evening, he would head out, down the street to see friends, or a friend would pick him up. We wouldn't see him again until curfew and bedtime.

One morning, maybe the end of week two, when we got in the car, instead of listening to his excuses about some new misunderstanding, I turned up my Christian radio station and we had to listen to it way too loud. By the time we were close to our destination, I had cooled down. I couldn't stay mad at Roma long. I had been totally distracted by my anger, I didn't even listen to the teachings on the radio.  

The next morning, we got in the car, and he quickly turned the radio, claiming his station for this trip. But then he leaned in and turned the volume down very low.

I suddenly had that heightened awareness of God at this odd action. I thought, Roma either wants to talk or to listen. I waited, and he eventually began. "Mom," he started slowly and thoughtfully, "I know what you were talking about yesterday." 

My mind reeled back to yesterday, trying to remember a nugget of wisdom I had delivered, but all I could remember was the blaring radio. I waited for more clues.

 He continued, "Mom, God loves the Jews. He isn't going to let anything happen to them."

I was trying to absorb what he was saying, as I was overcome with a feeling that our time in the car together was precious. It was Sacred. It was the only time we had together.  The only thing he did at home was sleep.

When I recovered a bit, I told Roma about God convicting me that our driving time was precious, and he agreed, saying, "See Mom!" like it had been his idea. (Roma claimed all good ideas as his own!) 

Now, months after the fact, I can't help remembering the man who showed up at my door to buy a wrecked but running car so I had to drive Roma to work. The Grace I recognize now humbles me to tears. Yes, the time in the car together was sacred. 

When we arrived at the convenience store, he usually just got out and waited for his ride, and I headed home. Starting that day and every other day after, we waited for his boss to arrive together in the car, talking away about important matters, about God and faith. He had his ticket to go to Passion 2016 in two and a half months in Atlanta over New Years, a gift from Nancy from Georgia. He was excited to repeat his last years experience at Passion 2015. My prayers were for the coming conference to be even more enlightening and convicting for his faith. He was truly starting to flourish in that, and so many other areas.

I was happy for Bruce, when he got the sacred time in the car with Roma. They usually talked sports, but that was fine. And even Taylor had time in the car with Roma. They usually listened to music, and that was fine too. 

Sacred moments don't fit in a certain size box. I was just thankful to recognize the gift. 

Continue with Catching up.

Return of the Prodigal

continued from Roamin' Roma

Roma settled back in Maryland in mid August to live only thirty to forty minutes from home. "Putting himself out there" meant Roma was bold enough to ask for favors. From friends or complete strangers, and anyone in between. I could imagine Roma asking everyone he had ever know, even in the remotest sense, if he could come live with them until he could find a job and help with rent.

No, Roma wasn't shy about asking. And he wasn't easily offended or discouraged if they said no. His list of possible helpers was endless. Who knows how far he had gone down his check list before getting a nibble from the winner of the opportunity to be Roma's roommate. And he was sincere about his offers of one day being a contributing member of a household.

He did not want to live with his dad and me. He was 21 and , in his never humble opinion, he was an adult. We had rules, even for adult children living at home.  And our not-so-distant memory of Roma residing with us had been a strain. Most of his friends were away at college, and living independently from their parents, as far as Roma could tell.

I was surprised to learn that Roma's new roommate was living with his mother. I was comforted to learn this little detail. If Roma didn't think he needed his own mother, perhaps he would continue to get a bit of mothering elsewhere.  It has always been evident that Roma could never have too many mothers.

Roma reached out to us often while living away, yet so close. I would get a surprising text saying, "Mom, look at the sunset this evening, it's beautiful." I thought this odd and amusing because I was always saying that to him, often dragging him from the TV to come out on the deck to see God's artistry. Or when we were driving home, over the last hill, the landscape would open up and was mostly painted sky.  Sometimes I would stop the car at the top of that hill so we could marvel at the beauty.

"Maaahm," he would scold me in his boredom, "It's just a sunset, oh my gosh, they happen every night."

I wondered if Roma's new recognition of the familiar splendor of the sunset made him a little nostalgic, tugging his heart toward home.   Once there was a serious car accident a quarter mile from our house, and Roma, after hearing of it, called to make sure we were all safe and not involved. He did love us. No one ever said that Roma didn't have a huge, sweet heart.

He asked if he could go with us to our lake house in neighboring West Virginia the next time we went. We agreed, cautiously optimistic, and agreed on Labor Day weekend.  

Once at the lake, our extreme extrovert wanted to go to the lodge earlier than we could, to see what was happening. He rode a bike the mile and a half to the lodge to start gathering friends for the evening. When we arrived, Roma came over to introduce himself to our friends, always the gentleman. By 11 pm, we were heading home, telling him to head on his bike soon. I texted him and he texted  back, "I'm just hanging home."

I read it as "I'm just heading home," an auto-correct issue, I assumed. I texted him at midnight, asking if he was okay, since we hadn't heard from him, and he was riding a bicycle without street lights.

His last text before his phone battery died read, "I'm fine." When he finally came home, an hour later, he defended himself by telling me he had told me that he was just "hanging here" for a while, since his new friends were still available. Roma didn't want to miss anything. It was a golfing weekend, and he met some people who were staying in the motel. Roma, never one to miss any activity, assumed we knew he was okay, because he had told us. And he had grown unaccustomed to checking in with us. 

Those kind of misunderstandings were common with our communications with Roma. He couldn't understand why we would worry. He had told us the truth.  And he was 21, he often reminded me. After our weekend together, the first in four months, we dropped him off near his new home at a convenience store. He said we couldn't drive beyond a gate. I suspect he didn't want us to know exactly where he was living. I was determined to allow him this freedom.

Later in the week, via a Faceboook group from our lake house, I learned that Roma had made some nice friends at the lodge that night. He had left a favorable impression on adults in our lake community who he had talked to at length that night. That shouldn't have surprised me, but it did please me. I had worried he was up to irresponsible behavior. Silly me! 

By mid October he was talking about coming home. I was reluctant to have him come home because it had been difficult to share a home with Roma in the recent past. Although he had always been easy to love, it was not easy to raise a boy who wanted his freedom more than a family.

Two weeks later, Roma began talking like a homesick boy. I was not eager to start the cycle again. Hadn't God nudged me to withdraw the safety net? Was it time to run and eagerly greet the prodigal son? I'm not sure I was ready. 

In mid October, Roma hinted that he wanted to come home. A sense of dread struck me, as  my memory was still fresh from when he was home four months earlier,  and of every episode of his home stays before that. Had he worn out his welcome with his present family?

Still, something made us know that if Roma was going to try to live at home again, we had to let him, while maintaining our high expectations of his improved behavior. He told me that he needed his family.  We knew what Roma needed most, after God, was his family, but it had to be Roma's idea. It always had to be Roma's idea.

So on Monday, October 19, Roma decided it would be a good idea to come home. He also decided that he would follow the house rules. He reminded me it was his idea, and I didn't have to remind him.

He met Bruce at the church gym for Monday night volleyball, and brought him home afterwards, with his pitiful little bag of possessions. The prodigal son had returned. He was almost contrite. And almost contrite for Roma was a shocking and welcome condition. He set down with us and reinforced to us that he needed his family. He wanted his family. He wanted us to go on a family vacation, like we used to do, before we bought the lake house. Like a little boy, he told us he wanted to rent a big house at Holden Beach in North Carolina, like before, and the whole family go. Maybe he could invite a friend. He had it figured out this time. And it was going to work this time. I told him we would start making plans for the summer of 2016. 

The prodigal son was home. Again. I was trying to be eager to 
be optimistic this time. 

Continue with A Grace Refined

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