Rain Dance (12 page)

At home, I set the table with our china, lit candles, and put a pot roast and vegetables on the table. Ben and I chatted about our week and the one yet to come. Life settled back into our normal routine. The food was good, the company great. Some of the edge eased off until I brought up the ladies.

“It seemed easy for you to be gracious to them.”

“They are my elders. Dad drilled respect for older people, especially women, into us kids. And besides, what they have to offer us will be gone with them. They are unique creations of God, deeply loved by Him too. No one can give me what they can as individuals. I don’t like what they did to you—to us. But for my life to move ahead with Christ, I am required to forgive them.”

“I know.” I couldn’t keep the resignation out of my voice. “But why is it so hard?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe because it is so important.”

Ben cleared the table while I cut generous slices of peach pie, heated them up, and dropped a big scoop of vanilla ice cream on each. I promised Ben, “Tomorrow I will walk four miles instead of three.”

“Whatever, Hon. The game is about to start.” Ben looked like an imp wearing a Jim Carey smile.

“Go on.”

I watched him walk away in his stocking feet, taking his first big forkful of dessert.
Would our little boy look just like him, Lord?

The desire to have a son from our bodies again overwhelmed me and the invisible hand of despair gripped my soul. I poured a fresh cup of coffee and carried it in one hand, my pie in the other, to the living room. On the couch with my feet tucked under me, I dug into the treat. A huge bite in my mouth, I started another silent conversation with the Lord.

I’m uncomfortable,
so
what are You trying to tell me?
What plank is blinding me? I’ve always treated Della and Bernice with respect and kindness. They talk to me like I’m still a little girl. I’m a married woman. Their words prove they don’t get it. I don’t understand why they are so mean.

“Lean not on your own understanding.”

It feels like they think they’re superior because they are mothers. It makes me so stinking mad. They know it all. Wasn’t there sin in their lives? They
still conceived. None of us is
blameless,
and if sin is the cause of infertility, every woman in the world would be barren. Your Word says we will be known by our love for each other.
They are Christians, so where is their love?

“As I have
loved you, so you must
love
one
another.”

I’d also memorized this verse. It precedes the one I reminded the Lord of. He seemed to stress the “as I have loved you” part. That’s the thing about memorizing verses—when you least expect them, there they are.

Am I capable of this love, Father? Are they? Is anyone? You are God. How can
I possibly love the way You do?

“With me all things are possible.”

Before I could continue our argument, the phone rang. I carried my empty plate to the kitchen, annoyed because I didn’t remember eating beyond the first bite. Shoot. Rich, creamy, fruity, and crusty was my favorite taste combo.

“Hello.”

“Jonica, this is Bev. I have an urgent request for all our prayer chain members.”

Grabbing a pen and notepad, I said, “I’m ready.”

“Della’s son, Don, was killed in a car accident today on the way to his mom’s for dinner.”

I couldn’t think of a single word to say and was glad Bev continued with information.

“Pastor is with Della now. So is Bernice. Please pray for her and Don’s family. I’ll call back when I know when the funeral is. Please pass it on.”

“I will,” I promised and hung up. I dialed Natalie’s number.

“Hi. It’s me.”

“Jonica. You sound so far away.”

“Just very sad. We have a prayer chain request.”

As I gave her the news, Natalie started to cry. “I can’t imagine anything worse than your child dying,” she sobbed.

I spied my purse sitting on the counter with a tiny edge of lace peeking out. “Me neither. Please pass it on.”

I reached for the hankie and held it to my nose and inhaled. The words of the Lord came back to me,
“Lean not on your own understanding.”

“Lord, I cannot know what Della is going through right now. I can know she’s hurting, but I cannot understand her pain. You can and do. Your Son died too. Please, Father, hold her in Your tender loving care. Thank You for being near her right now. As only You can, please give Don’s death eternal value. Please forgive me for not forgiving her as You forgive me.”

“Joni?” Ben’s voice interrupted my prayer. “Who are you talking to?”

“God.”

“Who called?”

I told him and tears filled his green-gold eyes. “I guess there are some things worse than infertility.”

The white light of truth burned into my heart.

Oh God! This is worse. She carried Don in her womb and delivered him in pain.
I know she loves him deeply. His death doesn’t change that
. . .
except now she can’t tell him. She’s going to be so lonely for him. Please shelter her in the shadow of Your wings.

Anger is stressful. As I released my resentment, the burning in my stomach eased, my jaw unclenched, and my shoulders relaxed.

Lord, thank You for setting me free—again.

Stacie

Mike woke me up on Sunday morning with breakfast in bed; coffee and an Egg McMuffin—fresh from the golden arches.

              “Breakfast is served.”

I sat up and pushed the hair from my face. When he bent over for a kiss, I tried to dodge him and muttered, “Morning breath.”

“Kiss me, Stacie.”

I did.

“Dig in. I’m starved. Want to do something today?” he asked as he moved a big bite of muffin to his cheek.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

“Okay, Mom.”

“Mike!” I put down my half eaten muffin and burst into tears.

Surprise and concern washed over his face. “I’m sorry. It was a joke.”

I sniffed. I was as sensitive on this mother thing as Jonica.

“I don’t know what to say. I feel like I’m walking in a mine field without a detector.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not. Tell me how to fix the hurt I caused just now.”

“Take this,” I said and handed him the food.

He punched it into the bag, set it on the dresser, and looked at me. I opened my arms and said, “Hold me.”

He did. “I’m serious. How can I make this better?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Strange things bother me now. Will I ever be normal again? I wonder if I will ever make you happy. Your mom and I are so different, and she’s special to you. I wonder if I’ll ever ‘qualify.’ ”

“I don’t want you to be anyone else. I have a mom. You are my wife. But I wouldn’t mind if you knew her better. I think you’d enjoy who she is.”

“I guess I’ve kept my distance on purpose. You know how good I am with my mother.”

“Our mothers are very different—and that’s a good thing. Besides, you and Jonica are nothing alike, but it still seems to work. Override those arguments, counselor.”

“Your mom is one of them, isn’t she?”

“A Christian? Yeah. But she won’t push her beliefs on you.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Has she pushed yet?”

“No. I don’t give her any chances.”

Silence reigned for a moment. Then I asked the question that seemed to bother me the most. I wasn’t sure which answer I wanted to hear.

“Do you believe in God?”

“I don’t know. Sometimes I want to. At one time I did. Then at college I found so many other things to consider. I guess I don’t know what to believe. What is truth? Are there absolutes? If there is a God and He is love, what’s up with this world?”

“I don’t have any answers. But it sure seems like someone is circling the wagons—there are Christians everywhere right now.”

Later we took a long ride, and Mike called his parents. We fell back into our normal Sunday routine with no effort. Late in the afternoon, the phone rang. It was Eve.

“Stacie, I’m calling to ask how you are.”

“Fine.”

“Have you thought any more about what we discussed?”

Anger flared. “My answer is no.”

“Go ahead and take some more time to consider it. I can hold the position open a few more days.”

“No. I’ve made other arrangements.”

“And they are?”

“I’m opening my own office.”

“Whose idea was this?”

“It’s always been my dream. I never hid this from you. Chandler Daniels helped me remember my passion. Mike agrees and so will Dad.”

“Mike?”

“We’ve reconciled our differences.”

“Well. Your father is waiting to talk to you.”

“Thank you for calling, Eve, and for asking how I was.”

I don’t know if she heard me. I could only hope so.

“Hi, Stacie. How are you?” Dad’s deep voice surrounded me in comfort. It was like an umpire yelling, “Safe!” over the runner at home plate.

“I’m fine. Mike is back home and I have so much to tell you.”

“Are you two free for dinner tonight after I take your mother to the airport?”

I asked Mike and he agreed.

“Dad?”

“Yes, honey?”

“Give the senator a hug for me.”

“Sure. Where to you want to eat?”

“Bob’s Truck Stop on highway fourteen?”

Mike gave me the thumbs up.

Dad laughed. “My country club girl has gone country.”

At the truck stop we sat in a booth and ate BLTs and onion rings and drank chocolate malts. At the end of the meal, Dad said, “I love you both. You belong together. Do what it takes to make it work.”

“Dad, you love Eve, don’t you?”

“I’ve never loved anyone more.”

Back home, Mike and I snuggled on the couch and talked about our plans to make my private practice a reality. I rested my head on his chest and let the beating of his heart comfort me.

“I know it’s going to mean less money than we planned for the rest of our lives,” I said. “I had no idea what it costs to advertise.”

“Can you live with that?”

“I think so. Cutting back on most things won’t bother me.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know. There are always things we want.”

His arms tightened around me. “Like what?” I heard a knowing smile creep into his voice.

“Like to love you forever and ever. Like to be the best legal advocate this county has ever seen. Like to get my mother to love me and keep my dad smiling. And you know . . . just more.”

“Look at me, Stacie.”

I sat up, faced him with my legs crossed yoga style.

“There is more,” he urged. “Tell me.”

The longing I was afraid to voice was almost constant, and I didn’t know where to start. Fear welled up inside me and tears slid down my face. Mike handed me a tissue and waited.

“Honey, do you want a new car? A new house? Those things will come, but it’s going to take some time.”

“No. They don’t seem as important as they did before.”

“Since when?” The two most beautiful eyes in the world to me squinted as he pulled his brows together.

“Since recently.” I sniffed and was rewarded with the box of tissues.

“So, what’s on your mind?”

“I’m afraid to tell you.”

“Do you want to wait until our counseling session on Thursday?”

“No. We need to learn to share without a third party. I just don’t know how.”

My hands shook and a trickle of sweat ran down my side. I knew my face was flushed, my eyes and nose red. So much for bewitching him with my beauty.

I felt him waiting. It was hard to begin. Jonica accepted my desire as natural and didn’t resent me, but the abortion had left Mike feeling betrayed. How could I tell him this?

“Mike, I have this intense yearning . . .”

“Is it something I can give you?”

“Yes. But I don’t know if you will understand.”

“I won’t if you don’t tell me.”

“I want to have a baby,” I whispered.

“What?”

He released me and lifted himself off the couch, careful to avoid touching me. I looked up.

He stared down at me. “I don’t know what to say.”

“What are you feeling?”

“Angry—way too angry.”

“Please hear me out.”

“Right. You aborted our first baby just a little over two months ago. And now you want another one?”

“I know,” I sobbed. “I have these dreams—”

“What dreams?”

“Please, I can’t talk to you when you’re physically looking down on me.”

He walked over to his recliner and sat down. “The dreams?” he asked.

I told him about the cries, the crib, and the bloody blanket. “I know the cry—it is as familiar to me as your voice—it is our baby’s. My arms ache for him. I can’t hold him, kiss his cheeks, nurse him, or change his diapers. I can’t make him stop crying because he’s gone.”

“You think it was a boy?”

“For some reason I do.”

I looked at my hands amazed at the way they were clenched to the point of white knuckles, and yet I didn’t seem to have any feeling in them. Everything in me was focused on the stabbing fear in my heart.

“I can’t explain how much I miss the baby, the opportunity to see if he would have your eyes or my nose,” Mike said softly.

“What are we going to do?” I sobbed.

“I don’t know. We can’t replace him or her with another pregnancy. We were given one chance to have that particular child and it’s gone.”

The loss in his voice frightened me, but his next words crushed me.

“I don’t know if I can trust you.”

“Trust me?”

“Yeah—to get pregnant again.”

“What do you mean?”

“I have to know. Will you change your mind and get another abortion?”

His question stole the breath from my body. My lips went numb and my head spun. My stomach rolled and I felt hot all over. As the room started rotating, I put my head between my knees.