A Time to Dance/A Time to Embrace (42 page)
If you or someone you love is in the throes of divorce, please do not hear condemnation in this letter. Hear compassion and hope and, above all else, love. Because where there is God, there is faith, there is hope, and there is always love.
Love that perseveres. Love that never ends.
Fight for your marriages, friends. Pray for wisdom and godly counsel; seek God and find a way back to the place where love began, a place where love can begin again.
For some of you that might mean renewing a relationship with the Creator and Savior. For others it might mean starting such a relationship where one never existed. The process is fairly simple. In the most definitive example of love ever, Christ died to pay the price for your sins, for mine. In doing so, He gave us the choice of abundant eternal life now and forever as an alternative to hell. Perhaps it’s time that you admit your need for a Savior and commit your life to Him. Find a Bible-believing church and study what the Scriptures say about having a relationship with Jesus Christ.
Once you understand that kind of love and grace, it’ll be easier to love others around you. Easier to let them love you.
Finally, know that I have prayed for each of you, begging the Lord to meet you where you are, dry your tears, and bring beauty from ashes. That He might help you and your spouse find a place of love greater than anything you’ve known before. Let us all love deeply, friends. No matter how impossible it feels, God is pulling for you, waiting, watching. Ready to help if only together you will let Him.
If you or someone you love is divorced or separated from a spouse who has been unwilling to try, then know God is there for you, also. Keep praying. As God was faithful to answer Nicole’s prayers for her parents, so He will be faithful to answer yours. His grace and mercy know no bounds, and with your hand in His, He will one day lead you to that place you long for.
A place of magnificent, boundless, unimaginable love.
Thanks for journeying with me through the pages of
A Time to
Dance.
May God bless you and yours until our next time together.
Humbly in Christ,
Karen Kingsbury
P.S. As always, I would love to hear from you. Please write me at my e-mail address: [email protected].
The following questions may be used as part of a Book Club, Bible Study, or Group Discussion.
Relationships do not change overnight. What were some of the signs that Abby and John were having trouble? Why is it easy to miss such signs?
Name three things that caused a strain in the Reynoldses’ relationship. What can people do to safeguard against the common problems of busyness, distractions, and judgmental attitudes?
Many of the Reynoldses’ problems stemmed from a lack of trust. What could John have done differently so that Abby might have believed him from the beginning? What could Abby have done differently to keep the lines of communication open between the two of them?
Share what you feel about your spouse’s friendships with members of the opposite sex? What guidelines should a married person follow when it comes to such friendships?
When was it clear that John and Abby were crossing into dangerous territory with their outside friends? How can married people avoid reaching out to strangers to have their needs met?
What did you learn about the eagle in
A Time to Dance
? In what ways can we learn from the eagle’s example?
How was it apparent that Nicole’s prayers for her parents were being answered?
What were the individual breakthroughs John and Abby needed to experience? What lessons did they have in common?
What role does our memories play when we’re faced with the temptation to walk away from our spouse? How does attending a conference like “Women of Faith” help us remember what’s important?
Marriages—like all relationships—are tapestries woven with an assortment of colors and fabrics. The dark colors and brilliant hues make up the beauty of our lives together. Think of three moments of sorrow and three moments of celebration in your own marriage. Recall a time when you knew you would love your spouse forever. If you don’t feel that way still, what has changed? What can you do, with God’s help, to take the first step toward healing?
A Time to Embrace
Contents
My husband, in honor of his fourteen years as a varsity basketball coach. You have suffered much this past season, but always you held your head high and believed. “God has a plan,” you would say, leaving me and everyone else awe-struck at your faithfulness. Without a doubt you are the most honest, most loyal man I’ve ever known. How blessed I am to be your wife . . . truly. Your character stands as a shining beacon for all who have had the privilege of even the briefest contact with you. Yes, my love, God has a plan. And one day in the not so distant future, the name Coach will ring once more, and you’ll wear the whistle again.
I have two prayers for you. First, that we savor every minute of this season of rest. For the basketball program’s loss is most certainly our gain. And second, that the loving legacy of your coaching days will change forever the lives of those boys who called you Coach.
Kelsey, my precious little teenager, whose heart is so close to my own. I watch you on the soccer field, giving everything you’ve got, and I am grateful for the young woman you’re becoming. Nothing pushes you around, sweetheart. Not boys or friends or the trends of the day. Instead you stand at the front of the pack, a one-in-a-million sweetheart with a future so bright it shines. Wasn’t it just yesterday when you were teetering across our kitchen floor, trying to give your pacifier to the cat so he wouldn’t be lonely? I can hear the ticking of time, my daughter. The clock moves faster every year . . . but believe me, I’m savoring every minute. I am blessed beyond words for the joy of being your mother.
Tyler, my strong and determined oldest son. Since the day you could walk, you wanted to entertain us. Singing, dancing, doing silly tricks. Whatever it took to make us laugh. And now here you are, tall and handsome, writing books, and learning to sing and play the piano, putting together dramas in a way that glorifies our Lord. All that and you’re only ten years old! I’ve always believed God has a special plan for your life, Tyler, and I believe it more all the time. Keep listening for His lead, son. That way the dance will always be just what He wants it to be.
Sean, my tender boy. I knew when we brought you home from Haiti that you loved God. But it wasn’t until I saw your eyes fill with tears during worship time that I realized how very much you loved Him. “What’s wrong, Sean?” I would whisper to you. But you would only shake your head, “Nothing, Mom. I just love Jesus so much.” I pray you always hold that special love in your heart, and that you allow God to guide you to all the glorious plans He has for you.
Joshua, my can-do child. From the moment I met you I knew you were special, set apart from the other kids at the orphanage. Now that you’ve been home a year I can see that all the more clearly. God has placed within you a root of determination stronger than any I’ve seen. Whether you’re drawing or writing, coloring or singing, playing basketball or soccer, you steel your mind to be the best, and then you do just that. I couldn’t be prouder of the strides you’ve made, son. Always remember where your talent comes from, Joshua . . . and use it to glorify Him.
EJ, our chosen son. Yours was the first face we saw on the Internet photo-listing that day when we first considered adopting from Haiti. Since then I’ve been convinced of one thing: God brought you into our lives. Sometimes I think maybe you’ll be a doctor or a lawyer, or maybe the president of a company. Because the things God has done in the one year since you’ve been home are so amazing, nothing would surprise me. Keep your eyes on Jesus, son. Your hope will always only be found there.
Austin (MJ), my miracle boy, my precious heart. Is it possible you are already five? A big strapping boy who no longer sees the need for a nap, and who has just one more year home with me before starting school? I love being your mommy, Austin. I love when you bring me dandelions in the middle of the day or wrap your chubby arms around my neck and smother my face in kisses. I love playing give-and-go with you every morning. And wearing my Burger King crown so I can be the Kings and you can be the Bulls in our living room one-on-one battles. What joy you bring me, my littlest son. You call yourself MJ because you wanna be like Michael Jordan, and truly, I don’t doubt that you will be one day. But when I see you, I’ll always remember how close we came to losing you. And how grateful I am that God gave you back to us.
And to God Almighty, the Author of life, who has, for now, blessed me with these.
T
HE KID MADE
C
OACH
J
OHN
R
EYNOLDS NERVOUS
.
He was tall and gangly, and he’d been doodling on his notebook since sixth period health class began. Now the hour was almost up, and John could see what the boy was drawing.
A skull and crossbones.
The design was similar to the one stenciled on the kid’s black T-shirt. Similar, also, to the patch sewn on his baggy dark jeans. His hair was dyed jet black and he wore spiked black leather collars around his neck and wrists.
There was no question Nathan Pike was fascinated with darkness. He was a gothic, one of a handful of kids at Marion High School who followed a cultic adherence to the things of doom.
That wasn’t what bothered John.
What bothered him was a little something the boy had scribbled
beneath
the dark symbolism. One of the words looked like it read
death.
John couldn’t quite make it out from the front of the classroom, so he paced.
Like he did every Friday night along the stadium sidelines as the school’s varsity football coach, John wandered up and down the rows of students checking their work, handing out bits of instruction or critique where it was needed.
As he made his way toward Nathan’s desk, he glanced at the boy’s notebook again. The words scribbled there made John’s blood run cold. Was Nathan serious? These days John could do nothing but assume the student meant what he’d written. John squinted, just to make sure he’d read the words correctly.
He had.
Beneath the skull and crossbones, Nathan had written this sentiment:
Death to jocks.
John was still staring when Nathan looked up and their eyes met. The boy’s were icy and dead, unblinking. Intended to intimidate. Nathan was probably used to people taking one glance and looking away, but John had spent his career around kids like Nathan. Instead of turning, he hesitated, using his eyes to tell Nathan what he could not possibly say at that moment. That the boy was lost, that he was a follower, that the things he’d drawn and the words he’d written were not appropriate and would not be tolerated.
But most important, John hoped his eyes conveyed that he was there for Nathan Pike. The same way he had been there for others like him, the way he would always be there for his students.
Nathan looked away first, shifting his eyes back to his notebook.
John tried to still his racing heart. Doing his best to look unaffected, he returned to the front of the classroom. His students had another ten minutes of seatwork before he would resume his lecture.
He sat down at his desk, picked up a pen, and grabbed the closest notepad.
Death to jocks?
Obviously he would have to report what he’d seen to the administration, but as a teacher, what was he supposed to do with that? What if Nathan was serious?
Ever since the shooting tragedies at a handful of schools around the country, most districts had instituted a “red-flag” plan of some sort. Marion High School was no exception. The plan had every teacher and employee keeping an eye on the classrooms in their care. If any student or situation seemed troublesome or unusual, the teacher or employee was supposed to make a report immediately. Meetings were held once a month to discuss which students might be slipping through the cracks. The telltale signs were obvious: a student bullied by others, despondent, dejected, outcast, angry, or fascinated with death. And particularly students who made threats of violence.
Nathan Pike qualified in every category.
But then, so did 5 percent of the school’s enrollment. Without a specific bit of evidence, there wasn’t much a teacher or administrator could do. The handbook on troubled kids advised teachers to ease the teasing or involve students in school life.
“Talk to them, find out more about them, ask about their hobbies and pastimes,” the principal had told John and the other faculty when they discussed the handbook. “Perhaps even recommend them for counseling.”
That was all fine and good. The problem was, boys like Nathan Pike didn’t always advertise their plans. Nathan was a senior. John remembered when Nathan first came to Marion High. His freshman and sophomore years Nathan had worn conservative clothes and kept to himself.
The change in his image didn’t happen until last year.
The same year the Marion High Eagles won their second state football championship.
