Rich in Love: When God Rescues Messy People (10 page)

It was the principal’s turn to look astounded and confused. “You didn’t know Doreen was walking out of the class and being defiant?”

“This is the first time I’ve heard anything about this.” I turned to look at the teacher. “Why didn’t you notify me about her behavior?”

“Well,” she said, looking indignant, “I sent a note home with Doreen.”

I looked at her, thankful she couldn’t read my mental response:
Are you really that stupid?
Instead, I took a deep breath, struggling to keep calm. “Was I supposed to reply?”

The woman just looked at me.

“Did you really think a child like Doreen would even give me the note?” I turned to the principal. “Can we meet privately?”

The teacher was dismissed, and Doreen was sent to sit outside the office.

Once they were gone, I spoke my mind. “I don’t think it’s fair to expel Doreen for all these offenses when I wasn’t made aware of them and given the chance to deal with them.”

“What do you suggest?”

As we talked, we came up with a solution: I would come to class with Doreen every day and sit in the back of the classroom until she learned to behave. I would also sit with her during lunch, which would embarrass her to no end. I hoped that would be motivation enough for her to begin straightening up.

I drove home with Doreen in the backseat, feeling that Domingo and I were in over our heads. Again. My hope was that I had the same Holy Spirit Jesus had when he endured the cross. It helped to keep this in perspective—the difficulties Doreen brought to our family were nothing compared to what Jesus faced on the cross.

Doreen was one of the hardest girls I have ever raised. No one could tame this wild child. She demanded attention, and if she didn’t get it, she’d do whatever she could to make that happen. I really wanted to help her, but she did not listen to me or Domingo. The limitations set on us by the foster care system stipulated that time-out was the only acceptable disciplinary measure. A lot of good that did. When we put her in time-out, she’d look at us and laugh. I felt as though nothing was going to change her hard and defiant heart. Doreen had been abused by her father, who she loved dearly. She felt that men had more power, and she wanted to be one and hurt those who were weaker.

Whenever she did cruel things at school, the tough kids celebrated her acts and the good kids stayed away, reinforcing her bad behavior. Being cool and the center of attention was her strongest motivation. So we made the decision to take her out of public school, and I began to homeschool her, along with the other kids.

I was not an avid homeschooling mom and didn’t homeschool my kids because I wanted to; I did it because I felt I had no choice. I couldn’t be at school all the time and give the other kids as much attention as they needed as well. Besides, all these kids seemed to gravitate toward other rebellious and lost souls in the public school. Homeschooling was a way to give our kids the special attention they needed.

But taking Doreen out of public school didn’t help her meanness at all. She was a very dark little girl, capable of hurting other children. She had a foul mouth and wounded others deeply with her words. She fought with all her other siblings, being as mean as could be to them—except Joseph. Doreen looked up to him and wanted to play sports the way he did.

I became so distraught that nothing seemed to get through to her. I went into my bathroom and got on my knees and prayed, “Lord, do whatever it takes to change this girl’s heart.”

My one hope was that the legal guardian process, which had taken nearly a year, was almost complete. I thought perhaps that would be the turning point for her—she would be ours.

chapter 9

storm clouds

One summer, I had the opportunity to take Doreen and Esther for a week to a Christian summer camp called Forest Home. The kids slept on cots in tepees and ate outside and learned all about God’s love. Neither girl had ever been to camp, and both wanted to go. Although I’d never left the other kids to go anywhere for an extended period of time, I felt this would be a good opportunity for the girls, so I went as the counselor for a group of seven campers from our church, including my two girls. I knew I needed to go to protect Esther from the other kids and the other kids from Doreen.

The day we left was my birthday. The family came to the church to send us off on the bus that would take us up the mountain to camp. I gave everyone a hug and a kiss good-bye. When Domingo, whose back had recently gone out, reached for my bag, Joseph stopped him. “I’ll carry it, Dad.” Joseph walked me to the bus, my bag in one hand.

I was so proud of him. Oh, how I’d learned to love this animated and charismatic child. Domingo’s words suddenly echoed in my mind. He had been right. The act of loving Joseph with God’s agape love had turned into a flooding emotion. This was my boy, and I loved him with all my heart.

At the bus, I grabbed his face and kissed it all over. He chuckled and smiled his beautiful smile that made me feel limp. “Joseph,” I said, “I feel as though you are flesh of my flesh. You bring me such joy. I’m proud to be called your mom.”

His grin grew even wider, and he threw his arms around me.

“Good-bye, Son.”

“Good-bye, Mom.”

I stepped onto the bus, realizing that I’d gone from not liking this kid much at all to feeling as though my heart would burst with all the love I had for him. As I sat on the bus, squirming kids opening and closing the windows, the warm winds flowing through, I felt somewhat like Mary—pondering all these things of God in my heart. How God could change a heart so selfish that I couldn’t love a bratty kid to where, four years later, I loved him to overflowing. How God could take an angry, rebellious boy and create a complete turnaround.

When I got to camp and opened my suitcase to unpack, I found a stuffed monkey with a note attached. Joseph had tucked it inside when I wasn’t looking. I held the monkey as I read the sweet note he’d given me, wishing me a happy birthday, telling me how much he loved me, and thanking me for his new life. I couldn’t have asked for a greater birthday gift.

We had a wonderful week, singing camp songs, swimming, hiking, playing camp games, and being together, focusing on God and one another. I kept in touch with the family by using the pay phone in the center of the main camp each afternoon. The kids at home were not doing well with one of us gone. They were defiant and mouthy. Not all that surprising with all those teens and preteens.

On Friday, a strange feeling nagged me all day. I felt anxious enough that I went into the main camp early to call Domingo at work. He relayed that the babysitter was having a difficult time with the children—especially Joseph. I was so upset that when we hung up, I dialed our home number, ready to let Joseph have it. As the phone rang, I decided I’d rather deal with him face-to-face when I got home the next day. This was so unlike me. I preferred to deal with issues immediately.

That night after we’d fallen asleep, a counselor came for me, saying Domingo was on the phone. I knew something serious had happened, since Domingo would never call in the middle of the night. As we drove down the hill, I ran all kinds of possibilities through my mind. I thought Domingo must be hurt since he could already barely move before I left. I prayed God would give me the strength to receive the news.

But as we came into camp, I saw my husband and my two oldest boys waiting for me. I don’t know why, but I knew immediately what had happened. I pulled my sweater around me as if I could warm myself from the chilling news.

“There’s been an accident, Irene,” Domingo said, and he started to cry. “I found Joseph in his closet. On his knees. Strangled with a belt around his neck.” He took a breath. “I got him down and gave him CPR. But his eyes wouldn’t open. He wouldn’t breathe.” More tears came, and the pain in Domingo’s eyes cut straight through me. I couldn’t bear it. “It made no sense, Irene. All he had to do was stand up. Why didn’t he stand up? What was he thinking?”

I don’t even know if I can describe how I felt. This wonderful boy who had stolen my heart was gone—forever. I would never see his smile or hear his voice again. Despair took control of me. There was nothing I could do to change what had happened. My heart ached, my head spun, my legs felt like they were not connected, and this uncontrollable heart-wrenched sobbing took control of every part of my being as I leaned into Domingo and he put his arms around me, his sobs mingling with mine.

On our way down the mountain, I thought of the call I had made earlier in the day. If I’d yelled at Joseph on the phone, my words and the tone I would have used could have tormented me the rest of my life.

When I got home, I went into his room, looking for something to help me understand what had happened. I was so confused. What had he been doing in the closet? Had it been an accident? Or had he purposefully taken his life? He was such a prankster that I wondered if he had been trying to play a joke on his siblings. The investigators said it had to have been an accident because even a grown man wouldn’t be able to stay on his knees to suffocate himself. The body’s natural tendency is to get air, so any person in that situation would automatically stand up when the air supply is cut off. The investigator thought Joseph was fooling around and somehow passed out. His head fell forward over the belt, constricting his airway, and he suffocated.

I searched his room and found a note in a pocket in a pair of pants that said, “I want to be a better Christian and be more like Jesus.”

Although that didn’t answer my question about what had happened, at least God gave me the hope I needed—to know I would see my precious boy again in heaven.

God used Joseph to touch many lives. Some came to know the Lord at his memorial service.

There weren’t enough arms to hold the hurting surviving children. Friends stepped up to each take a child, but Doreen refused to be held. She didn’t even want to be touched. And yet she cried. It was the first time I’d ever seen her cry. Her crying revealed the brokenness in her—she was mentally and spiritually defeated. Her wall of defiance came crashing down.

Domingo and I had to put our grief on hold so we could take on the pain of our wounded children. It was so much to bear, I often thought I wasn’t going to make it. But, as always, Domingo was our pillar of strength.

That day changed us all forever; in a way, Joseph’s death killed the entire family. The crazy way he died played havoc with our minds and emotions. Some would be haunted for years by grief, and others held guilt inside them that would keep them running for decades. Many of us felt blame—if only we could have done something to prevent it.

Marie blamed herself because she’d been mean to Joseph all week. She eventually ran away, back to her birth family, where she began to take drugs with them to numb her pain.

Alfred said it was his fault because he’d fought with Joseph right before he died. He changed and became hard, then rebelled like he was mad at us.

Felix did okay for a while, then he slipped when he turned eighteen. After he graduated, he left to live with his birth family, got on meth, and was immediately addicted.

Doreen’s world stopped. With Joseph no longer there to laugh and play with, she felt alone. Her best friend was gone forever.

Joseph’s life was short but hard. God was so sweet to me in my grief, but my heart was still burdened with a deep ache because I had not been able to say good-bye to my son. Once when my daughter-in-law came to visit, I shared the sadness I felt. I hadn’t been with Joseph when he needed me the most. I didn’t get to say good-bye to my boy. It was then my daughter-in-law said, “Mom, you were the only one who got to say good-bye.”

The truth of her words sank in and brought a soothing calm through me. She was right—I did get to say good-bye. As I hugged Joseph before climbing the steps into the bus and told him how much I loved him, I had said good-bye. The last words my boy heard from me were about how much he was loved and cherished by his mama.

Oh, how different it would have been if I had spoken to him in anger that day he died.

I hate that Joseph died. I hate that I had only a few short years with this boy I loved so deeply. And yet I’m so grateful that God gave us Joseph to teach me how to love. I thought I was compassionate, forgiving, and loving. And then God brought Joseph along to reveal to me who I really was—that my love doesn’t cut it. I said I wanted to help orphans, but what I didn’t know was how hard it would be to love them. It’s always been easy for me to love the lovely … but hard to love the unlovely. How I love others is what speaks to others about my relationship with God. First Corinthians 13:2–3 says that if I don’t have love, what good are any of my works, faith, and knowledge? It says that all of this profits me nothing if there is no love. God is love, and I need to show his love to the world. What better way to show Christ’s love than by taking in the unlovely—and learning to love them? Perhaps the world will see Christ in me.

Because of Joseph I know God can give me many different kinds of children and I will be able to love them all. I know that when a child comes to our home, things will be difficult at first. But my job is to be obedient to God and love through action and leave the rest to him. It doesn’t mean I don’t get discouraged—I do! But I know I will get through it.

Through Joseph I learned love is a choice. That truth has been proved to me many times through the years. Since that time I have learned to love many children. Through the one who created love, my love is supernatural—and it overflows. I have the power in the Spirit to love unconditionally the way I am loved. First Peter 1:22 says, “Now that you have purified yourselves by obeying the truth so that you have sincere love for each other, love one another deeply, from the heart” (
NIV
). Without the Spirit I couldn’t love this way. Besides, God had already taught me to love and forgive Domingo. And Joseph was the next step in the teaching process.

I can love anyone—through the power of God.