Rain Dance (20 page)

Up in my office later, I started a new Bible study about the life of Jesus. One thing I found clear. He often withdrew and prayed. After these quiet times with His Father, the Son returned to His ministry refreshed.

I was experiencing a normal down feeling after the elation of finishing a book and sensed a deep inner need for renewal. A new outline rested on my desk, but I knew it wasn’t the right time to work on it.

At supper I asked Ben, “Honey, do you mind if I take tomorrow off?”

“Of course not. It’s always fine with me if you take time away from writing.”

“This time I want to do something different, like go to the cabin and spend most of a day in prayer.”

“Alone?”

“Yes. Mom and Dad spent last weekend there so it’s open and clean. Betty and Dave are going up and they’ll be right next door.”

“Do you want to stay overnight by yourself?”

“I thought I could go up with them, and then you could drive up on your cycle after work and join me.”

“You know, this is beginning to sound like a win-win situation.” I heard the smile in his voice before I saw it on his face.

After the ride up with my aunt and uncle, I withdrew to the cabin. While coffee brewed, I put my supplies—Bible, journal, and pens—out on my favorite Adirondack chair. The wide arm provided a perfect table. Grabbing a pillow and a cup of hot coffee, I headed for the porch. My time started with writing a love letter to God. When the page was full and the mug empty, I put the pillow on the floor in front of my chair and knelt on it.

“Father, spending this much time in prayer is new to me. I don’t know where to begin except with my needs and burdens . . .”

In the midst of some hard praying an unexpected joy came and things took a turn. Songs of praise and thanksgiving flowed from my mouth in a worship service of one for One.

When my stomach growled, I fished a peanut butter sandwich out of my bag and poured another cup of coffee. After a short walk in the woods to work out the kinks in my legs, I started back toward the porch. Sunlight filtered through the trees onto the path in front of me.

“Lord, I need Your wisdom in all things,” I whispered.

“My Word is a lamp to your
feet and light for Your path.”

“Oh God, I want to be
full
of Your wisdom!”

I hurried back to my Bible and opened to the book of Proverbs—the book of wisdom. When I got to the next to the last chapter, a verse stood out as if it had been printed in bold letters: “There are three things that are never satisfied, four never say, ‘Enough!’ The grave, the barren womb, the earth that is not satisfied with water—and the fire never says, ‘Enough!’ ”

Jumping out of my chair, I exclaimed, “God! You understand!” For a moment, I stood still, hugging my open Bible to my chest, and then knelt again. “Thank You for meeting me where I am—for drawing me out here. Thank You for this verse. Lord, thank You for opening my eyes to Your Word.”

It took a while for my enthusiastic joy to quiet and my spirit to settle into an unearthly peace. But my legs felt as though I’d plugged them in, so I headed for the lake. As I walked along the shore, my thoughts turned back to Him. The God who is love.

I stood on the sand and waited. The sunshine soaked into my body like warm oil. A warm breeze hugged my skin.

Lord, I feel Your presence. What’s next?

Stacie

Hope seemed to wilt before my eyes.

              When I introduced myself to Peggy, she said, “I recognize you.”

              “Yes, I’m Eve Dunbar’s daughter. Cutter is my married name. Please have a seat.”

              Peggy seemed hesitant, but I put that off on bad nerves. I watched Hope instead.

              “Maybe this isn’t a good idea,” Peggy whispered, also watching the child.

              “Why is that?” I asked. “Do I make you uncomfortable? Or is it my inexperience?”

              “Oh, no. Our social worker told us you would be the most passionate advocate and do an excellent job. I am not sure that Hope can do this.” Peggy sat on the edge of her seat.

              “What if we give Hope a chance to decide. If you sense she’s under duress, we will stop immediately. Does that sound fair to you?”

              Peggy nodded but nibbled on her lower lip.

To the little girl I was just another stranger with lots of questions. She rocked back and forth in her chair to a secret rhythm. The doctor’s report stated she’d reached her learning capacity. At fourteen she was fast becoming a woman physically, but no matter how long she lived, she’d remain seven mentally. Now, after a devastating fire and severe burns on her legs, she was silent. Her injuries didn’t include damage to her vocal cords, but although mentally alert, Hope no longer spoke. Something inside her had shut down, and we needed to find a way to open the door of communication.

Peggy told me that before the fire Hope liked to draw pictures and write simple stories. The child looked at the whiteboard table and back at me. I smiled. Her mouth turned up on one side. I found her beautiful. Long, shiny black braids, bronze skin, and coal black eyes told the story of her ancestry. I envisioned her grandmother long ago following a hard but simple life in the Badlands.

Thank You, for sparing her face in the fire
.

A prayer? I guess it was—to an unknown God I didn’t believe in.

“Has there been any improvement in her condition, Peggy?”

Her foster mom replied, “Yes. It’s a tiny thing, but Hope now grunts when one of the other kids bothers her. And the other day she laughed at something silly Stevie did.”

“Great.”

“We think so. For whatever reason, Hope has bonded more with Stevie than with the other children. He’s become her protector and instinctively interprets her needs. He’s more emotionally mature and seems to grasp some of the horror Hope feels. There was a fire on TV the other night, and he quickly shut it off. He often tells her he is her big brother and will always take care of her.”

“How developmentally challenged is he?”

“He has Down Syndrome.”

“And he comprehends that much?”

“He has learned many practical skills, but his greatest strength is his tender heart for others’ hurts.”

I turned my attention to the girl across from me. “Hope, this is a drawing table. It is for you to use when you visit me. Here is a box of brand new markers. You can draw anything you want to on this table. Then if you don’t like it, you can erase it.

“Sometimes we need to speak and we can’t find the words or our voices,” I continued. “But we can draw those words. It’s a different way of telling people what is happening in our hearts. Do you want to try?”

She shrugged and looked away.

“Sweetheart, your doctor told me you used to be able to talk, and he believes you can understand me now. We want to find a way for you to tell the judge where you want to live. It’s really important. If you can’t say the words, I get to be your voice. The only way for me to do that is for you to find a way to tell me so I can tell him.”

She answered by rocking a little faster.

“I’m going to get Peggy and me a cup of coffee. Do you want something to drink too?”

Eyes still glued to the floor, she nodded.

“Does a Sprite sound good to you?”

Again she nodded. Every positive response equaled a success.

I brought the drinks and settled onto the couch. I started getting to know Peggy and her family a little better while Hope continued to listen in. Peggy listed the first names of the kids she and her husband had adopted. Each one lived with a different handicap. Most people saw only their disabilities, while Peggy and John saw their possibilities. Their love for their daughter Faith, who was born with Down syndrome, had motivated them to adopt other physically and mentally challenged children into their family.

“Tell me a little bit about the house you live in.”

“We prayed for it.”

Oh boy
. I felt a fake smile stretch across my face, making my cheeks feel tight.
Here we go again.
Prayer meant faith. Faith meant God. The One I didn’t believe in had no intention of leaving me alone.

“I see.”

“We knew we’d need a house with several bedrooms, easy access, a dining room to seat us all, and a fenced yard. If it had two floors, we’d need an elevator for the kids who have wheelchairs. It had to be up to code in every way.”

My smile became a bit more genuine as I encouraged her to continue.

“Our pastor called on the congregation to pray for us and our dream. A woman called me later and told me she’d heard about us from her attorney, who attended our church. The women’s shelter had a new building, and their old one was going up for sale in a week.”

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Hope open the box of markers. I turned back to Peggy so she wouldn’t catch me watching her.

Peggy blinked back tears. She’d noticed too.

“The realtor called and we took a tour. It was everything we needed and wanted, even to the Victorian design and a modern elevator. The doorways, bathrooms, and entryway were already handicap accessible. There are eight bedrooms and four and a half bathrooms. I had a Goldilocks-moment—everything was just right—except for the astronomical price.”

“How did you swing it?”

I tried to ignore Hope, who slid to the floor and put one hand on the whiteboard table. Then she picked up the markers.

“More prayer, some fundraising, and a huge donation from an anonymous source.”

“Any idea who?”

“The lawyer told us the donor was a very wealthy individual who simply wanted to help. This person wanted to purchase the house in our name and would cover maintenance costs for thirty years. A trust fund was set up for us.”

“So you were up and running.”

“We were.”

I watched Peggy observe Hope. Love shimmered through her tears.

Turning my attention to the picture taking shape on the table, I moved behind the young artist.

“May I watch you draw?

Not looking up, she nodded.

A little white house scribbled over in red squiggles stood by a bigger green house. An arrow connected them. I knew the little one represented the fire where her parents had perished and she had been injured. The big one must be Peggy’s house. Silent tears splashed onto the whiteboard.

“Is this where you want to live, Hope?”

Instead of a nod, she wrote the letters h-o-m-e under the big house. She drew a cloud over the little burning house with big drops falling from it.

“Did it rain that day?”

She shook her head and whispered, “Tears. God cried.”

It was all I could do not to grab her in a big hug. I resisted scaring her and losing all of my professional distance.

“May I take a picture of your drawing to show the judge?”

She nodded again, and I snapped the photo. Hope wiped the board clean with the eraser and went to snuggle up to Peggy.

I handed Peggy a tissue and took one myself. “When may I come to your house? I want to see it so I can make a full recommendation to the court. I want to be able to tell the judge I’ve been there and fully understand Hope’s desire to live with you.”

Hope went back to rocking.

Peggy hesitated before saying, “As soon as you can. Hope is the last child we’re adopting. We will be all full then. She will be our third daughter.”

“Did you complete the questionnaire I sent you?”

“Yes. And I brought you copies of the home study in case you hadn’t heard from the county yet.” She pulled a large file from her bag and handed it to me.

“Here are the kids’ histories, medical records, and all the information you asked for.”

“Lots of reading,” I said. “I probably won’t get to these until after I see the house.”

“We keep excellent records. It’s important for their guardians to know everything just in case anything ever happens to John and me.” Peggy stood and held her hand out to Hope. “It’s time to go home, sweetheart,”

Hope hugged me goodbye. I guess the bulge under my shirt was bigger than I realized because she pointed to my stomach and said, “You got a baby in there.”

“Yes, I do.”

“I’ll never be a mommy because I’ll always be seven.”

I didn’t know what to say to the once silent girl who now stood before me speaking with such profound understanding.

Peggy smiled down at the child. “Your voice is so pretty, Hope. Please try not to hide it from us again, okay?”

“Okay, Mommy.”

We wiped more tears away, and Peggy hugged Hope to her side. “This day is truly a miracle.”

As they walked to the elevators, Peggy turned back. “Stacie, there is one person who lives in our home we will never adopt. We are taking care of him on a permanent basis for his dad. He’s just as much ours as the others, but his dad loves him deeply—he just can’t care for him on his own.”

“It’s in the file?”

“No. We are his legal guardians, and his records really belong to his father. Is it necessary for you to have them?”

“I don’t see why. If we need anything it might be a brief summary of your relationship to him.”

“Thanks. Will tomorrow afternoon around one work for you to come over?”

“That’s great. The bus brings the kids home at two-thirty, and things get hectic. I’d like to give you a tour and talk without so much diversion.”

“Eventually I’ll need to meet John and the kids and see you interacting.”

“Does the boy I mentioned have to be there then? He isn’t with us all the time. Sometimes his father takes him for a day or so. I want to protect that time for them.”

“Although it would be nice, I doubt the judge would be concerned if one of the kids is on a field trip.”

Peggy seemed relieved, and I couldn’t help but wonder if the father was difficult to get along with. She seemed determined to protect him and his son. I decided that was a quality the judge would find appealing.

Hope waved as the elevator doors closed. I realized she now owned a corner of my heart.