Silent Cry

by Dorothy J. Newton

  My mother was just relieved he was alive and thanked God every day. It was amazing to watch how gentle she was with him and how attentive she was to his every need. Of course, we all were glad he was alive, but we were also partly glad he had tasted the consequences of irrational violence. I wrestled with my thoughts, but in time I chose to look at it as a chance for him to redeem himself and live a better life. God needed to shake him up to get his attention — and now he certainly had it.

  People from the community came to visit my stepfather every day. Through acts of kindness, they demonstrated God’s love for a man who had done very little to deserve such care. Some prayed with him or shared the gospel, giving him the opportunity to make a decision for Christ. He was encouraged to trust God to heal his body, to repent, and to turn his life around. God must have spared him for a reason and he best find out what that reason was. Slowly but surely, their kindness cracked his shell.

  I visited him too. I knew it was the right thing to do. And I began to feel a burning desire for him to know Jesus. During my time in campus ministry, I had seen many students give their lives to Christ, and I wanted my stepfather to know him too.

  When I was sitting with him one afternoon, a pleasant silence had filled the room. He looked over at me, and I saw kindness in his eyes. For the first time I could ever remember, he asked me about myself.

  “How’s school?” he asked. I was taken aback. He had never asked me a question like that before. I answered him cautiously, and though it was awkward at first, the more I talked, the easier it got.

  “Tell me more about this campus ministry you’re so involved in,” he probed. I looked at him, searching for some sign of false concern on his face, but there was none. Once I started talking, I couldn’t stop. It just flowed out. I told him all about my friends, the wonderful church I attended, and how families adopted students and mentored them and helped them discover their destiny. I told him about leading others to Christ and how God can change a life — any life, even his. I spoke of repentance and forgiveness and hope and healing, and my stepfather soaked up every word like a sponge. We lapsed into silence again after a time, and I thought the conversation was at an end. But it turned out there was more he wanted to know.

  “Tell me,” he said, “Tell me about what you want to do with your life, Dorothy.”

  I turned my head and looked at him in amazement. Was this the same man who beat my mother? Was this the man who came home drunk in the middle of the night, demanding food and shouting obscenities? I looked at his face and felt God’s love surround us both. God loved this man, and therefore so would I. In the weeks that followed, I continued to come back and visit every weekend.

  As I drove back and forth from school to the hospital, I was flooded with memories of all the times my stepfather had driven me back to college after a visit at home. We usually went back on a Saturday after he’d had a chance to sleep it off and sober up. For the long, three-and-a-half-hour ride, it was just the two of us alone together. He often used the time to talk about himself and offer excuses for his behavior toward my mother. He always told me how sorry he was to have hurt her when he lost control. My stepfather claimed he wanted to stop drinking, but he repeatedly denied the needs of his family in favor of his desire to drink. I didn’t hate him, even then. I felt sorry for him. He was trapped in a losing cycle, unable and unwilling to break free.

  Yet here he was now, surviving a bullet to the stomach shot at point-blank range. Surely, God must have more for him. I was certain that if he gave his life to Christ, he could be free forever from the grip of alcohol and gambling. He could live a new and meaningful life. In fact, I could already see the signs that he was changing. During one of our visits, he told me how proud he was that I was going to earn my degree — and he wanted to be at my graduation! I was deeply moved.

  To pass the time during our visits, we sometimes played a game to help strengthen his lungs. The hospital had given him a cylindrical device filled with hollow plastic balls, which had an attached tube with a mouthpiece. He was supposed to blow into the tube to see how high he could lift the plastic balls. The exertion helped to expand his lungs, preventing fluid from building up and causing additional health concerns. We took turns blowing into the device. When it was his turn, his face would contort so strangely that it made me laugh. Of course, the fact that he was competing against an athlete in top condition meant it was no contest, but it was a good time between us.

  In the hospital, there was no chance for a drink, and he dried out completely for the first time in his adult life. I could see the impact that God’s love was making on him. He was truly a changed man. He was growing warmer and friendlier by the day. I knew he would never be the same again, and I actually looked forward to our visits. I was hungry to be around him. I had never really known the love of a dad, and I wanted to experience it. The doctors had nothing but good news to report. In fact, his prognosis was so good that his release was planned for a few days later. I felt relaxed when I drove back to school, anticipating that our lives were finally about to change for the better.

  It had been three days since my last visit to the hospital when my coach called to ask if she could stop by. She had been extremely supportive throughout the crises with my mother and stepfather, and I assumed she simply wanted to check on me. “Sure,” I said easily, and I returned to my studies without any anxiety.

  When she knocked, I opened the door with a big smile. But when I saw her, I instantly knew something was wrong. She had not come alone. Once again, she had assembled a group of team members, and by the look on everyone’s faces, I knew the news was not good.

  “Dorothy, honey, there is just no easy way to say this,” she said. “Your stepfather is dead.”

  “How can that be?” I stammered. “I just saw him. He’s getting better. He’s supposed to go home today!” I shook my head in disbelief. “This can’t be true,” I said firmly. But it was true. My stepfather never got a chance to go home. He never had the opportunity to live out a changed life. Just when I had allowed myself to hope for a happy home for my mother, he was gone forever.

  CHAPTER 9

  Nothing Is Wasted

  Life’s challenges are not supposed to paralyze you; they’re supposed to help you discover who you are.

  Bernice Johnson Reagon

  The night following the news of my stepfather’s death, I lay in bed staring up at the ceiling. Hot tears spilled from the corners of my eyes and washed down my cheeks, making my pillow damp. I felt numb inside. Why God? I thought to myself. Why didn’t he get the chance to go home and live a new life like he was supposed to?

  Through a gentle whisper I felt the reassurance of the Holy Spirit. He told me that my stepfather did go home — just not to his home here on earth. When I heard the Holy Spirit speak to me so clearly, it changed my life. I realized God could use everything in my life — the good and the bad — to help me grow and mature. Nothing was wasted. Even the pain had purpose. I took great comfort in this.

  In the days leading up to the memorial service, I made frequent calls to check in on my mother. She seemed more fragile now, and I remained deeply concerned for her health. I was sad to have lost my stepfather just when I was beginning to get to know him, but knowing that my mother was truly safe — totally free from danger — gave me great peace. I was relieved to know no one would ever abuse her again.

  After my stepfather’s home-going service, I spent some time with my family, but then I went back to school determined to put all the distractions behind me and finish my semester strong. But when I returned to school, there were distractions there too.

  Kenny, the love of my life, was engaged to another woman. Danny and Theresa, the campus minister and his wife, had accepted a new ministry position and would soon move to Oklahoma. News of their leaving was a crushing blow. I had also finished my last year with the volleyball team, and my friends were beginning to marry and move off. It seemed as though everyone I had invested
time in building a relationship with was moving on to do what God had planned for them. I wondered what God had planned for me.

  When the spring semester ended, I went home for a short break before returning for summer school. My mother was still spending time and energy trying to deal with the death of my stepfather. Even though she wanted to put it behind her, the shooting was still under investigation, and my mother was being constantly dragged back into the ordeal. The stress was too much for her already failing health. She began to have frequent seizures, each one requiring more time to recover from than the previous one. I was powerless to change her situation, and as the time drew near for me to return to school, I had to lovingly place her in God’s hands.

  When I returned to school for the summer semester, life on campus was not the same as it had been. I was now the manager for the volleyball team, which was entirely different from simply being a team member. The church was in the process of hiring a new campus minister, so no one was leading the student ministry. Most of my friends had graduated in the spring, and moved on. I was not going to graduate until December, but I was just as eager to begin my postcollege life too. I was restless, lonely, and tired. And then came more bad news from home.

  One evening, my mother called to tell me that Mary, my twenty-three-year-old stepsister, had been diagnosed with Hodgkin’s disease and was in the hospital in Baton Rouge. Friends in my church knew some people in Baton Rouge and arranged a place for me to stay on weekends or whenever I needed to be there to support Mary and my mother.

  I dreaded a return to the hospital. I was accustomed to being around young, vibrant, healthy people. I had come to hate hospitals. I felt nauseous and sometimes even vomited just being there. Walking the corridors brought unpleasant memories to the surface — memories of my stepfather’s passing, fears of my mother’s frailty, and now the uncertainty of my sister’s future. In a hospital, I felt powerless, helpless, and frustrated. I desperately wanted to do more than offer up prayers and give words of encouragement. But prayers and words of encouragement were all I had to offer, so that’s what I did.

  Mary looked forward to my visits. She had developed a daily routine that included studying her Bible and reading daily devotionals. On the weekends, she wanted me to read aloud to her. Sometimes family members were present, and sometimes it was just the two of us. These were special times for me, and I was delighted to bring Mary some joy. Sharing God’s Word with her created a deep bond between us.

  Mary grew increasingly ill and showed no signs of improvement. It was so difficult for all of us watching her health deteriorate at such an alarming pace. As her body was failing, her relationship with God grew only stronger. Her primary concern was not for herself but for her children. She didn’t want them to grow up without their mother. I looked into her eyes and felt such grief — she was so young. Why God? I thought to myself. Why?

  Exactly two months and twenty-one days after my stepfather died, Mary joined him in heaven.

  Once again our family plummeted into sadness and grief. Mary was gone. Death was now an overwhelming reality for me. It was my enemy. But even in the midst of loss, I found a deep appreciation for the gift of life. I was determined once again to make the very best of mine.

  CHAPTER 10

  New Beginnings

  It’s not the years in your life that count; it is the life in your years.

  Adlai Stevenson

  You’re a what?” I asked.

  “I’ve become a Jehovah’s Witness, baby,” my mother answered calmly.

  “Why? When?” I managed to say. This was incomprehensible. When we were younger, she wouldn’t even allow us to speak to a Jehovah’s Witness for fear we would become confused. She loved telling people about Jesus, and her favorite thing in the world was to lead someone to Christ. I couldn’t understand what had occurred to cause her to make this shift. In fact, I later came to believe it was her zeal to witness and evangelize that drew her to them.

  Jehovah’s Witnesses emphasize witnessing and still go door-to-door to proselytize. Their emphasis on the equality of all races and clean moral living were very appealing to my mother. This I could understand, but there were other things I most definitely could not understand — rejecting the symbol of the cross, not believing in hell, and refusing to believe that Jesus and the Holy Spirit are fully part of the Trinity. Beyond the theological issues, Jehovah’s Witnesses also abstained from celebrating birthdays and traditional Christian holidays, which further complicated things for me.

  I loved my mother and respected her deeply, but I simply could not agree with her new definition of faith and practice. The woman who had been my bedrock and given me a strong foundation in the Bible — the woman who had led me to Jesus — now accepted a version of salvation I could never agree with. This too felt like a betrayal. Tensions between us mounted, and I did not want to move back home.

  Dallas. That was the place for me. I had my degree in sociology and business neatly tucked under my jacket, and it was time to make my way in the world. My college roommate Sheila and I had been to Dallas several times on volleyball trips, and with each trip our desire to move there grew stronger. Dallas was a big city filled with excitement and opportunity. In Dallas we could expand our horizons, test our wings, and find our futures.

  After graduation, Sheila went back home to find a job, gain some experience, and earn money to prepare for the move. I remained in Lafayette, rented a room from a delightful older woman named Ms. Rodgers, and found a job as an accountant at a wonderful company, Wm. S. Nacol Jewelry. I was gaining life experience, and I felt sturdy in my independence, but after a year I felt restless. I wasn’t discontented, but I was eager for something more.

  For months, I had been preparing to finally make the move to Dallas, and now it was time. New beginnings are exciting, but new beginnings require necessary endings — and these can be painful. Leaving my church family, school friends, and natural family was a difficult thing to do. I was a young, black woman leaving my support structure to forge my way in an unknown world. I had no job, no place to stay, few friends, and no real connections — just a dream, a spirit of adventure, and a belief that I was obeying God. I knew everything would work out.

  When the time came to leave, I packed my car and began the five-hundred-mile drive to Dallas. After an overnight stay with friends in Houston, I finally arrived in Dallas — my new home. I immediately met up with Sheila, and we had a joyful reunion. She had been living in Dallas for six months, and her lease would soon expire. We had a ten-day window for me to find a job and for us to find a suitable apartment to share. That night, I asked the Lord to bless me with a good job to begin my career. Before going to bed, I checked the newspaper and mapped out several places to seek work the next day.

  At the first place I interviewed, I was asked to return later that day for a second interview. That was a good sign. When I returned in the afternoon, the interview went so well that I knew beyond a shadow of doubt I would be offered the job. I was amazed at how quickly God had answered my prayer. Amazed, yes; surprised, no. I trusted God.

  They did offer me the job, and it paid well. I knew God was in this opportunity, so I did not hesitate to accept the offer. I would be starting in two weeks. I couldn’t wait to tell Sheila the good news!

  Sheila took off from work the next day so we could search for an apartment. It turned out that Vanessa, another of our close college friends, was also living in Dallas. Sheila and Vanessa, whom we affectionately called “Bug,” had been in contact because Bug was also looking for a new place to stay. We decided to look for a place large enough for the three of us to live together. That same day, we found a three-bedroom apartment in Valley Ranch that was just four miles from my new job and less than five miles from where my new roommates were already working. It was perfect! By that weekend, we had moved in and decorated our beautiful new home.

  I came to town on Sunday, got a job on Monday, and found a place to live on Tuesday. It couldn�
��t have been more obvious to me that God’s hand was on the move to Dallas. All that remained was for me to find a good church home. Although Sheila believed in God, she had not committed her life to him at the time. She was very respectful of my faith and open to Bible study. Knowing how important it was to me, she had compiled a list of churches for me to check out. On her list was Highland Oaks Church of Christ. It was a forty-mile drive from Valley Ranch, but it turned out to be well worth the trek. There we were on a Wednesday night, sitting together at this church far from our home, but it somehow felt like home. I could tell that Sheila enjoyed the service too, and this was just one more confirmation to me that this was where we should attend.

  My first two weeks in Dallas flew by. I had found a job, an apartment, roommates, and a church home without the tiniest struggle. Everything in my life was falling into place, and I constantly offered praise and thanksgiving to God for his goodness. I kept the lines of communication open back home with friends and family and gave them cheerful updates on my new life in Dallas.

  My new job was in health care administration, which was very different from accounting, but I enjoyed it immensely. I found great favor with my coworkers and was easily forming friendships. Janet, a single mother with two children, decided to take me under her wing. She went the extra mile to train me, showing me love, patience, and kindness as I learned to do my job. In just three short months, I was promoted from supervisor to manager. I was overjoyed.

  I became more and more involved at Highland Oaks and was active in church events and ministry. Sheila and Bug, along with another friend, started attending with me on a regular basis. It was a long drive, but we visited together during the commute and enjoyed the services immensely. Within two months, Sheila gave her life to Jesus Christ. The day she was baptized was one of the happiest days of my life. We had been best friends for seven years, and I loved her like family. We rejoiced together in sweet celebration of this new chapter in her life.