Have You No Scar: The Magnificent Intimacy

By Ann Stewart-Porter

Which do you want us to save, your wife or your son? Your daughter is profoundly retarded. She is blind, deaf and will remain on a three month old infant level all her life...which we give to be two, maybe four years from now.
Some days, aspirations, affirmations and one good aspirin is enough. For other days, you may need to know the secret of living in the Joy, of embracing the Grace of knowing how to live out your Faith in the most practical way. Knowing God does not make us exempt from hideous scars, shame, disfigurements or debatable issues.
Already muddled with grief, frustration and struggles, I felt The Great Whisperer tug at my spirit.
What was it He wanted this time?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 13, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465329806

Ann Stewart-Porter

Ann Stewart Porter is an author, speaker, and Christian Counselor with Serenity Life. She lives with her husband of 41 years, Daniel, in her beloved mountains of Colorado. From there, she serves others with her JoySong. Look for Ann’s other books online: Where Children Fly (Inspirational Parenting) What Went Away (Processing Our Grief) Have You No Scar? (The Magnificent Intimacy)

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Copyright © 2011 by Ann Stewart-Porter.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

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Contents

Dedications

Acknowledgments

CHAPTER 1

Heart Gathering

CHAPTER 2

Snapshots of Change

CHAPTER 3

Days of Serendipity

CHAPTER 4

The Best is Yet to Be

CHAPTER 5

The Heat on Your Face

CHAPTER 6

Character Sketches

CHAPTER 7

Stonework Paths

CHAPTER 8

Thank You for Telling Me

CHAPTER 9

Heart Beyond Home

CHAPTER 10

Little Things

CHAPTER 11

English Channel

CHAPTER 12

Ends of the Earth

CHAPTER 13

Bears Need Jesus, Too

CHAPTER 14

Bamahuta

CHAPTER 15

Walk on Water

CHAPTER 16

Anybody Can Run

CHAPTER 17

Crossfire

CHAPTER 18

Full Dress of Faith

CHAPTER 19

Sweetest April

CHAPTER 20

Dancing in the Out Post

CHAPTER 21

Leaves in the Dark

CHAPTER 22

Tuesday’s Tears

CHAPTER 23

Memorial Days

CHAPTER 24

Navigating the Heart

CHAPTER 25

The Message of the Scars

CHAPTER 26

Summer of Discontent

CHAPTER 27

Storm Riders

Whispering Hope Epilogue

Whispering Hope Epilogue

Dedications

How could I write a book on the intimacy of God without dedicating the book to Him and to the power of His work in my life? I must, for He is the One who has both carried me and made me stand. I am forever grateful for His grace which makes my writing more than words.

Beyond my Redeemer, I dedicate this book to the people who have lived in my stories, breathing countless joys and growing spurts into me. I must say apart from my Abba, Daniel Paul Porter, has touched my life in a way no other human being has ever done. Daniel, I cannot imagine a time without you. You have changed me, loved me, and given me the adventure of a lifetime. I will love you forever, for always and no matter what.

To my children, both in heaven and earth, I dedicate this story to your memories and your wealth in my life. I look forward to seeing Ethan Paul, Abigail Grace, Matthew Daniel and Rachel Suzanne again when the veil is lifted. You made a difference in all I do. To my beautiful, cherished Suzanne Nicole. You are a treasure in every sense of the word. You make me know I have done something truly amazing. How else would I have mothered such a spectacular gift?

To my parents, James and Gaynell Stewart, whose active and loving and powerful training made me a true Ambassador, a strong soldier, and a lover of Truth. To my Siblings, Sharon, Rebekah, Stephen, Sarah and Martha and their wonderful families who allowed me the grace to share their stories that others might grow, who indeed have ridden the storms, I thank you. I love you.

To my Son in Love, Joshua Sarters and my grandchildren, Dylan, Nathan and Natalie, you have all changed my life in ways words could not explain. I love you all with all my heart.

Acknowledgments

As with all blessings, God sends people equipped with gifts beyond mine, who feel it is their power to give my words strength. Because this book spans a great deal of life, one would come, one would go and another would come. God is so good. These are women I believe God put in my life to do His work. I am thankful for them and their gifts.

Thank you Diane Newton, whose eye for detail amazes me and whose scars are faithful reminders of her powerful walk with the King. You are my heart!

Thank you Alice Brown, who was so certain this was something she needed to do, even when she had to wait to see it in print. Her faith in me gave me the passion to continue. I appreciate you!

To the many who I know and do not know who put the pieces together. To readers who will grasp the truth and shine in the light of it.

To the husband who always believed I was meant to shine and loved me on the days I could not, Daniel Paul… this is most of all, our story. The story of Us and Him and what a difference a faith makes. I could not have done any of this without you. To my family who has always considered me smarter than I am and to friends who believed in me when I thought I was crazy. To my daughter, Suzanne I wrote this as part of your heritage, your heirloom. I do not yet know if financial gain will come because of it, but I pray you will always know I did my best to give you a good name… which God says is better than riches.

You all have made my heart full~

Hast thou No wound? No scar?

As the Master, shall the servant be,

And pierced are the feet that follow Me;

But thine are whole: can thee have followed far

Who has not wound nor scar?

Amy Carmichael (1936)

from Kohila

 . . . This is a story of a following . . .

CHAPTER 1

Heart Gathering

It was a desperate act of courage, muddled momentarily by the sorrow of the stillness. The heart’s emotions stand still in awe of the demand. The reins of the decisions wore thin, sustained only by the grip of love. Though the young father was barely audible, the gatherers heard the distinction of pain as he whispered, Save my wife.

It is morning, an almost summery purple flowered morning in May. The pleasure of its elaboration driven away by the exit of its course. The phone rang in the silence. Paul reached for it out of a muddy sleep. Clearing his throat, he spoke out loud. Hello. Mr. Porter, this is Clayton General. We’ve had some complications… He was never to fully recall the conversation. He did not memorize the steps of passage which led him where he would choose not to go. He was given no choice.

He dressed, without thought, in a dead calm. His heart pounded against his chest. He fumbled, drunk with fear, reached for a toothbrush and wept. Mixing salty ash tears with water, he washed his face. It wasn’t like this was the first time he had held pain in his arms. It was just different. He did not stop to eat and was grateful Ann’s family was caring for the girls. Fringe decisions were best left undone. He shoved the car into gear. He never stopped praying to God that his young wife and baby would still be alive when he arrived. He drove like a madman. He did not know how long this road would go. He had not been in this place before… and yet, he had. It was the beginning of a story unfolding that no one would want to live, but someday, someone would tell.

Ann gathered her heart to herself. She withdrew from the remark with unusual quietness. She held her hair back with a brushed silk bow in her favorite color of olive green. Paul loved her hair. Long, barely passing her shoulders, it was light, wavy and golden in the sunlight. A few tendrils escaped the bows fastening. It always did. He watched her eyes, coughing teardrops she blinks aside. He felt particularly sad this moment as he recognized her pain. She did not say goodnight, but she kissed him on the cheek.

Remembering was not difficult for him. He simply chose to push it away. Yet, it was the photogenic pain that prompted the memories. They were not so easily disciplined. He would then find himself in places he tried often to avoid. Sometimes such places are passive. More often, they linger to become places of sharing, teaching, embracing the sacred in our journey. He did not always see the process of the circumstances in his life as a wonder. He did not define their scars. He usually walked away from the memory, letting it bear its own weight. A survivor of the threadbare acumen.

Ann felt the fragmentation of her life. She accepted that sometimes we are guilty of living in the shadows of our shelters. We choose comfort zones, equitable places of convenience. No wonder we think we are dying when the scar is healing. Pain awakens all senses. It is in the abyss of the unfamiliar that the formation of growth contends for it cathartic miracle. She squirmed as she lay in the over sized pencil post bed. She loved the lumpy mattress, the colors she had chosen of burgundy and blues. She turned from side to side, awakened only by her thoughts. She wished herself, as she always did, smaller, not so fat. She flustered herself, almost daily, with the body she once had; and the one she could not make friends with, even now, after so long. With the numbers of life closing their doors, she grasped the sad reality she was older than she ever thought she would be. Time had grabbed its unfair share and now, she simply sighed regretfully in her dreams.

One part of her felt oddly new, young, capable. The old part raced ahead and faced her head on too much these days. Lately, all the scars of her life had taken root. Grief came by like unexpected friends who begged to be pampered. She had begun to warm herself in the past, feeling cheated, out of season. She resolved to look deeper, past the scar, to address the healing and honor its miracle.

Paul lay sleeping, barely audible, beside her. They had not spoken of their haunting this night. He lay with his long arms straightway at his side. Someday, you are going to die like that… and we will just transfer you to your casket! You look dead—how will I know if you are alive, sleeping like a dead person? She had teased him often, but it was his ritual. For now, his small snore gave his aliveness a definite glance and Ann pulled the blanket over his chest. He was still handsome to her. In some lovesick way, he was still the most handsome man in the world to her. His blue eyes, clear and mild, now closed, were always bright. A strong, chiseled face and beach blond hair, now losing it grip—his constant complaint. She loved his olive skin. It was rather out of the ordinary for a light haired man to have his color of skin. She liked things out of the ordinary. He was definitely our of the ordinary.

After twenty-four years of marriage, and a good one at that, she saw that all she had fallen in love with so long ago; was even more enduring. His strong, well built hands were showing age spots, just as her father’s had done, she noted. She knew all his obvious faults, his failing successes and his regrets. With all the petty, monumental selfishness of her society, she marveled at this man who remained her very best friend. He was her caring companion, intuitive lover and soul mate. She prayed she would be the wife he truly desired. He certainly spoiled her enough. She was grateful everyday.

In some ways, they looked like siblings. Blond haired, fair skinned, Scottish and Irish—almost a mix kin to the mutts that follow you home. Maybe no stunning creatures of beauty, they possessed expressions of beauty. Oh, that made them seem ugly, they were not. As with all things, beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Let us just say we are not confined to labels of our society, she smiled to herself thinking through her sleepiness.

Ann looked out of the window at the mountains. Sleep was not coming, so she let her mind wander. Why were these mountains so beautiful? Was it their awesome strength the scars of imperfections, the slowly, changing movements? The depth? The steadfastness? Or the oceans with their rumbles and tumbles? Fish sliding to the shores. Sands with no sequence. Shells with no defiant signs of patterns, no two alike. There is no piecing together such imperfections. This is everlasting beauty or close to it. Ann thought it a bit eclectically humorous that in a country where plastic surgery, diets, and transplants reign, everyone still escapes to the mountains or the oceans for a touch of peace. Impeccable beauty is only found in the depths of imperfection, she reasoned.

She sighed at her philosophy in the night. She still would have liked longer legs. She remained petite or under tall, she often called it. Horizontally challenged she laughed lightly. Pushing her glasses up on her face, she loathed and blessed them. She tried contacts and wished she could have become familiar with them. Perhaps she did not try hard enough. Signs of wear and tear were clearly finding refuge here. Ann reminded herself that heaven would remedy such things. Of course, that was not really consolation when she looked at the here and now.

How come you have so many scratches and scars? the Indian doctor had asked in a thick accent, as he examined her hands and arms. Contusions had left marks. Rolling veins always made blood work painful and difficult. She thought of the days before, when a Nurse mentioned putting the needle in her neck. She had cringed then and felt the chill even now. The chill wrapped her in another time, Matthew’s time. A time where passion and sorrow cut deeply into yesterday, but were never far away. Matthew had tubes in his neck, his arms, his feet, his stomach and his head. She was surprised how often he appeared. She touched the scar on her hand.

Stepping into the surgical green painted room, Paul stepped into sheer darkness. He gasped as he realized he was losing the love of his life. Ann did not appear awake or alive. Breathing with the help of modern technology, she lay helpless. Her face was swollen, tightly bruised and thickly grasping at life. It was this moment that chose to imprint his heart. It was this moment he would remember and retell later. He touched her golden streaked hair. He felt her hand and then her skull. It was soft as clay.

His mind left with its memory pulling him to yesterday, barely twelve hours earlier. Ann’s voice was a small whimper. Honey… the Doctor wants me to go to the hospital. I think some thing’s wrong with the baby. Together, they called family to take the girls. She talked him into eating at the steakhouse after dropping the girls off. You know how terrible hospital food is honey—I might be there forever. They had savored their alone time, as they always did. Perhaps they were just putting off their journey into the unknown. They had been on this journey before. They chose deliberately not to dwell on seeds of whatevers. Instead, they became more aware of the precious moments given for only a time.

Life and death had defined a place in their lives just four years earlier. It began in the first few weeks of an Indian summer breaking through November, 1980. Pregnant, after three years of getting to know each other, Paul and Ann were excited to be parents. They planned the months ahead as most young couples do. The nursery, in yellow gingham, with the perfect crib. Ann was miserably sick, but worked almost to her eighth month. As all young mothers, she vacillated between illusions and realities. Paul smiled as he remembered her summary of it all. Well, if its so terribly difficult, then people wouldn’t keep doing it!

So she had their first child. A fast, almost easy delivery. It was not until twelve years later, the truth of complications would emerge. Medical records not intended for their eyes, found their way mysteriously to their door. At this time, though, they marveled that Ann had played the piano at Wednesday night church, had a baby on Thursday, went shopping on Saturday and played the organ on Sunday. She felt wonderful.

Her mother arrived from Georgia. It was a time of rejoicing and thankful hearts. Rachel Suzanne was lovely. She had ten toes and ten fingers. She was seven pounds four ounces and angelic. Ann had poured over baby name books. She believed that a name could project positive energy and inspire the child to their godly uniqueness. Both Paul and Ann came from large families. In Ann’s family, her parents, professors of Greek and Hebrew loved the old languages. They named each of their children ancient, noble Biblical names including Ruth Ann, Sharon, Rebekah, Stephen, Sarah and Martha. As young sisters, they had made a pact to carry on the tradition. So Paul and Ann named their first daughter, Rachel Suzanne. This noble Hebrew name meaning gentle, lovely lamb, gave a sense of quiet beauty they hoped she would embrace.

At home, Rachel slept so soundly, that Grandma changed her clothes six times without argument. (She wanted six different pictures to show off when she returned home.) Rachel did not mind. Everyone wondered what color eyes were, because she kept them closed. The first ten days of her life, she slept twenty out of twenty-four hours. Motherhood felt comfortable, a little.

The next ten days changed all that. Ann’s mom had left Texas before Rachel began crying. Soon, she was crying as much as she had slept the first ten days. It was exasperating. Nothing would quiet Rachel. Something felt wrong. They were relieved when the doctor insisted brilliant children often overreacted their first few months. My son was like that, he even added. The young parents bought the diagnosis, trusting the experts. Later they would learn when to defy the experts, but they resolved at this time to just catch a bit of sleep. Exhausted, they remained puzzled as Rachel worsened.

One morning the crib shook so violently, it woke them up. Paul thought she must be cold so he tucked the blanket around her, yet the jerking continued. This time, a chill could not be excused. They were waiting at the doctor’s office when it opened. Something is wrong, Paul insisted as the Doctor measured Rachel’s head, examined her ears and felt her heart. Finally, he sighed. Well, she has a double ear infection, but that’s the least of our worries. Her head is not growing.

Paul and Ann caught each other’s glance. The nightmare fastened its greedy claw to the moment. Life began it metamorphosis. Days trailed behind. Doctors, nurses, needles, tubes, X-rays, and hospitals. No one really wanted to speak the future of an angel-left broken on earth. The opinions slipped through the halls of their circumstances, sometimes sounding harsh. The Specialist looked at thoughtful as he sounded, probably hoping it would actually help. More testing. More waiting. Cranky days left unbalanced perceptions.

Mr. And Mrs. Porter, we really don’t have the facility to meet Rachel’s needs. We suggest Galveston or Atlanta. Both of those have good operations especially for your situation. The doctor seemed eager to avoid further investigations. They weighed the advantages and disadvantages of both places. Ann’s family, near Atlanta, encouraged them to return. They could avoid hotel expenses by staying with family. Still, Galveston was closer and maybe the ordeal would be over soon. In the end, they drove to Georgia. The decision was a good one. Eggleston Children’s Hospital was one of the finest in the country. It was also good to have the generosity of family close.

The drive to the hospital was still long, especially when they had to leave Rachel in the little steel crib among other hurting children. Today, after all the experiences with the medical fields, they would tell others never to leave your baby alone in the hospital. Never. Not all doctors and nurses operate on compassion. Things happen that should not happen. Mr. Porter, can you sign this release? We’re going to have Rachel under anesthesia. Generally, it is a safe procedure that carries a slight risk. However, with Rachel’s condition, we simply don’t know how it will go. The nurse was matter of fact, not overly kind. Oh my. They would hear with Rachel’s condition more than they could ever have imagined!

The test was scheduled for the next day when they would be present. They left for the night and returned early. The shifts had not changed. The halls were quiet and rooms still darkened. Paul reached the room first and looked at his daughter’s tiny crib. Rachel was not there.

Another baby slept in her place. His heart dropped deep into his chest. His frantic spirit overtook his senses. He read names on charts, ran from bed to bed and finally to the hallway. Raising his voice, he began yelling Where’s my daughter?!! Where is she? What happened? Rachel, Rachel!! He cried into this air. Ann stood, tracing his steps, watching his anger carry its fear. A nurse rescued the moment. Filled with apologies, she calmed him as she led them both to a transparent, spartan room marked ISOLATION. We’re so sorry, someone should have called you. We decided to do some infectious disease testing and needed to put her in isolation. I guess with the shift change, we overlooked calling you. Her voice floated away. Paul and Ann were relieved to see their angel, lying on her back, sleeping. The steel bed was larger, making Rachel look even smaller. They dropped their tiresome bodies to the odd, green couch beside the bed. The day passed slowly, as though skinning them alive.

Final diagnosis came from Dr. Almann. Slightly graying, tall and slender, he spoke as a kind father, knowing the impact of his words. The room was small, white, with a cluttered desk. Paul stood by the only window in the room. Ann held Rachel. Ann’s mother sat beside her. Dr. Almann gave a quick, trying to be doctorly, prognosis and left the room. His eyes were moist when he returned. In the years to come, they would make doctors and nurses cry, some alone and some publicly. Dr. Almann cleared his throat and started again. Rachel is microcephlic. That means small head. Her head, including the brain has stopped growing. Her soft spot is almost closed…

Ann touched her baby girl’s tiny head. She fluttered away the tears in her eyes. I’m sorry to tell you that Rachel is also blind, deaf and will basically remain on an infant level her entire life. Dr. Almann stopped. He knew the weight of his words gave the room its dense silence. He wished he did not have to go on. The prognosis for life expectancy is not very good. Most children like Rachel live 2-4 years. I would say if you take her home and love her, you will get 4… if you put her in an institution, I would give her 2. He paused again. Digesting such information is a reflective journey through a million minutes in a short span of time. He waited for their response. It was too quiet. Rachel slept.

Paul’s fist hit the wall, but only slightly. Then he just punched one fist in the other palm, and whispered It not fair. It’s just not fair. Ann sat in her own hurt. Her mother, having taught educable retarded students for years, knew the lingo of medical definitions, but was dismayed at the extent of damage. She thought about the institutions she had visited for research. She heard pathetic screams of the forgotten in her head. There are no words for such a moment. You catalog all your acumen obligations and drift in the fog of it. They tried to ask questions. They would ask them again. Broken dreams take time to connect. Scars must heal in their own way. They are the bearing walls of pain.

What they were hearing was like being on the battlefields of war. You are not real sure of all you are seeing, feeling or hearing. You are certain it is uncomfortable, threatening and never to be forgotten. Processed images and words are dressed up with no place to go.

The Doctor was speaking again : My advice is simple. Take her home and love her. Don’t listen to what everyone says. There are a lot of crazy ideas out there. Love her as long as you can. We don’t know what God has for her.

These words sustained their spirit, for there is always hope in love. So, they wrapped themselves in the hope of love and it warmed the coldness of their fears. Just love her. In the days ahead, comments flew loosely around them. I don’t know. I don’t think I could handle that. I don’t think they realize how hard it’s going to be. If they think it through, I think they’ll put her in a home. I tell you, they ought to put her away before they become too attached to her."

Paul and Ann heard plenty. Friends and family, busy deciphering facts, unaware how loud the heart can speak, slipped in their opinions. It was quite an array of comments. Yes, life would be easier without such a child, they reasoned. And what about medical bills? What about the seizures? Other children? How people would treat them? We wouldn’t blame you if you decided to put her away. Were they thinking of themselves, their own embarrassments, their own changing roles? Yes, put her away before you get too attached. Before they got attached?! This ludicrously callused remark made them angry. Rachel was beautiful, a part of them, part of their heart. What if she had been disgustedly deformed? Could they handle it if you became so?

The future so uncertain, wiped its hands on their present. Pressed upon their soul were the wise words of a doctor who believed in the divine of all life. The wisdom of their hearts held love strong. They listened to the stillest, smallest voice. If the table were turned, what would they want Rachel to do with them? It was clearer than they thought it would be. Though some would continue to encourage institutional care, Paul would finalize all decisions by simply stating We’re taking her home. We’re going to love her as long as we can. God put her in our home and until we can’t take care of her, she’ll stay where God put her.

Conflict comes from misplaced desires of the heart. Had they felt life only with their desires, Rachel would have been an unresolved conflict. Their desire was to love, be it sacrificial or comfortable. That decision was made before they knew the cost of love, yet it remained the steadfast joy of their commitment. They continued to love her in a ‘spoiled rotten’ fashion. When the crazy people said crazy things, they learned to laugh. Only once did they call the doctor with some new fangled cure of a lifetime.

The lady told us they hang the child upside down in a closet to imitate the womb process… Ann described the cure as best she had been told. The doctor laughed aloud and wanted to know where this lady was from! It was the last call, though cures expanded differently each year. It was a bit sad, too. Just thinking about what some little child might be facing because we cannot accept what they are. Ann deplored child abuse. She was a strong advocate for children. She was devastated when someone asked her neighbor if they had beaten Rachel. No doubt, she looked like a little rag doll when carried. She was limp, sometimes spastic. It had to look bad, but Ann was heartbroken. She refused to leave the house anymore. It was her Dad who finally convinced her to ignore people. If they really thought you had beat her, then they should have come to your house and rescued her. I think they only meant to hurt you, her Dad surmised.

Ann was convinced. From that time on, she did everything with Rachel. Paul would take her down the slide at the playground and she loved to swing. They brought her a bird. She imitated the sounds. They did not let anything get in the way of what they wanted to do with Rachel. They learned quickly that they were her voice to a watching world.

As a general rule, people stared. Some made fools of themselves, running into doors or something. Most of the time, children were curious and Ann loved their curiosity. Does she sleep in her chair? Can you tickle her? Why do her eyes move if she’s blind? Most adults gave pitiful looks and the usual comments, She had beautiful hair. Occasionally, someone would get to know her, fall in love and forever be changed. However, it would always be rare for someone to hold her. Some would admit they were scared of her. There was always a fear of the seizures, now increasing daily. They counted fifty a day and more if fever was present.

The enemas were the worst. They were bloody bowel movements that made Rachel cry and Ann would cry with her. Ann bargained with God. If you’ll take away the enemas, I’ll deal with the seizures. Soon, they found a way to keep things functioning better and the enemas were not so traumatic.

There were many more things to learn in this new place. The way people looked at them as though waiting for a demon to arrive was harder than they knew it would be. Paul was overly protective and sometimes, his sadness responded to the rude new space where people think feelings have dissipated. The realities of Rachel broke their heart and some of their spirit and some of their will and yet, they loved her.

Having a Rachel is like an unexpected vacation. You plan for years to go to Italy. You learn some of the language. You watch a few shows and read some books. You talk to friends about their experiences. You can’t wait to see the cathedrals or eat the good cooking. You buy your ticket. Then you land in Holland. It’s not that Holland is bad, but Holland isn’t Italy. You were all prepared for Italy. You don’t know what to do with Holland. You didn’t read those Guidebooks. You don’t know anything about the terrain. You are plenty upset that you are there, but while you are there, you learn, that in its own right and beauty, lies a wonderful place. There are glorious tulips and canals and eventually, you relax and maybe even realize it was just meant to be.

Detours give us a chance to see new things, experience a difference. Because Paul and Ann believed life is spiritual, they believed life’s problems are spiritually based; therefore, they are spiritually solved. Rachel was a gift from God. They chose to believe if God had taken the time to create her, He most certainly had a purpose for her life. Ann would never forget a dear Pastor who was meeting Rachel for the first time. Oh my! Whatever did you two do… He came bounding toward Rachel. Ann cringed. Whatever did you two do to deserve such a special gift?! Paul and Ann cherished that precious insight. They would defend Rachel often, but that moment, they simply rejoiced in the recognition of a gift. They confidently chose to let life live itself out, pushing away the monsters of whatever or what if whenever they dropped by to pick a fight. They changed their dreams, their future.

As the romantics would say All for love.

CHAPTER 2

Snapshots of Change

Bound for Texas, Paul and Ann looked forward to getting home. There was a lot to think about. It was a good long trip from Georgia to just over the border of Louisiana. It was already hot in June. Summer was setting in. Ann’s family wanted them to move back home. Paul’s family wanted them home in Texas. Paul and Ann just wanted to be in their own space. They wanted life to be okay again, not all tangled up. They wanted dinner with their neighbors, dirt bike races with their friends and to worship in Eden Drive Baptist Church. They considered the words of Pastor Steve as he counseled their hearts when he heard about Rachel. I just hate that Devil… but you must realize God is too wise to do wrong and too good to do bad. They talked of it all as they drove through Alabama, Mississippi, and eventually Texas.

It was a warm, over cast day when they turned into the country road of Villa Springs. Everyone had their yards all dressed up in summer flowers. Surrounded by woods, out in the countryside, they enjoyed the company of neighbors who became close friends. Even the nurse who delivered Rachel was just a few doors down. There was an older retired couple who lived a few doors the other way. They worked in the yard a lot and when the flowers would not bloom, they would put out a bunch of plastic ones, giving everyone a passing smile. Next door was a dreamer who always had a new idea for inventions. His wife made tea syrup and never seemed to mind his dreams. Ansel and Jhetta lived near the end of the road. Hard-working, simple disciplined people. They were young, but seemed older. Jhetta was expecting their first baby also. Paul and Ann looked forward to these kind, gentle friends. They knew warm hugs awaited them. They also feared the pitiful look to come. They were surprised to see Paul’s parents waiting for them. Paul’s father was a strong, ex-military Chief Warrant Officer. Shorter than his youngest son, he still intimidated Paul. Yet they shared the same free spirit and balding head. He and Paul were not as close as Paul wished they could be.

Paul’s mother was tall. Not thin, but not heavy, she was a pretty, white haired lady. She was prone to do to much for the boys and missed them as they left home. Paul never felt he had enough time to talk to his mother. His parents raised him in the wet hills of Arkansas, then Texas. He was born in Dallas. His dad was running a Rescue Mission there. Eventually, they moved to Arkansas, and his dad kept a fishing tackle business going to feed his family. Days on the road meant Mom worked harder. She resigned herself to that work and was a good teacher. Along the way, bitterness had taken some root from the church situation and his dad never took another church. He would preach at Nursing Homes and jails, but not in a church.

Paul had worked with the family business a few years, but mainly because his mother had broken her foot and they needed help. Ann had kept the household chores up, while Paul worked inventory and sometimes a travel sale. Ann hated that. She substituted at the school in town while he was gone, but she missed him so much. She was not used to the hermit life of the country and grew unhappy quickly. So, several years later, they took a job in Longview, that Paul’s brother-in-law found, a few hours from his folks. It was better for both of them, although his parents protested. Ann was never to feel their love and acceptance and it broke her heart. Still, life had been good in Longview. Paul had enjoyed his work and was glad he had made the move. It would be good to settle back into things other than the hospitals and tests.

As they parked the Chevy, in the familiar driveway, they wondered why Paul’s father was there to meet them. He was in a somber mood. As always, he wore his usual plaid shirt and held his hat in his hand. They hugged hello and sat in the living room. Obviously, something was troubling his dad. Son, uh… there’s… there’s been a problem at the company. You’ve been accused of sabotage. They wanted to arrest you on your arrival, but we talked ’em out of it, considering what you’ve been through… The words fell like boulders tumbling through a mountain tunnel. Swirling in the strength of their darkness, Paul and Ann sat trembling. They could not cry. Their bodies, over full from the smörgåsbord of pain, would just shake uncontrollably. They felt betrayed, cursed, without life. Hearing, but not able to connect the words, they felt faint.

The peaceful homecoming, so needed, so wanted, slipped out of view. The day evaporated into a week of negotiations, painful observations, unexpected, unfair changes. A co-worker had taken advantage of a vulnerable time to advance his position. He had leveraged himself so well that Paul had no substantial recourse. Though the plot was soon uncovered and Paul redeemed, the company saw the opportunity to avoid the cost of Rachel’s medical bills, and quickly averted the burden. All in all, the end result was not great, but not bad. Charges were dropped. Paul resigned quietly. The house sold the first hour out in the paper. It helped to ease the changes. Paul sold his small motorcycle—a sure sign life would not be the same. They stuffed the truck full of too many things. They decided to move back to Georgia. Surely finding a job in Atlanta would be easier than a small Texas town. Rachel could get better care and Ann could be close to family again. She could teach at the Academy.

Paul closed the door and they headed back in the direction they had come, just a few weeks earlier. They needed time to adjust to the changing quality of their lives. The ragged edges of their hope scraped against their pain and left a scar. The realities of life had come down like a cold, bitter hard rain.

They arrived safely to Ann’s parents home before summer ended. They took the days as they came, one at a time. No grand illusions. Paul struggled finding work. He had no desire to even hunt, which made interviews unbearable. Devoid of hope, he fumbled through the struggles God had given him. Others, in easier places, judged too harshly and even good advice fell on deaf ears. They were simply two very worn out people, with gaping wounds. They felt the pull of death as strongly as they felt the pull of life.

Medical bills reached astronomical numbers. With their scrawny tail of hope wagging behind them, they began to climb out of the abyss. Several years later, they were enjoying their large country home on two acres, a good church and family dinners. They had become fast friends with a youth director couple who shared their love of kids, music and Rachel. Ann played the piano. She and Amy grew closer after Ann began teaching, and Amy’s son was in her class. He was extra bright, large for his age and noticed everything. Always longing for the girl she never had, Amy took Rachel as her own.

Amy was also a very sick lady. A few years later, after Ann and Paul moved away, they heard that Amy had overdosed on her medication. They had never heard from Mark, Amy’s husband. He married the baby-sitter. Paul and Ann never saw them again, though they passed the road to their house every time they visited the area. It was strange not to stop in for a cup of tea. Amy was so hospitable. It was hard to imagine her gone. Some people said it was suicide—and Ann remembered how tired Amy was the last time she had visited. She also remembered the baby-sitter. Life is a strange place to live. True stories have stranger twists than fiction can create.

But in 1982, the friends were all eagerly waiting. Ann was expecting baby number two. Rachel was doing well. They had consulted several doctors on the possibility of other children. Conflicting answers brought them to their hearts desire. After all, should Rachel die soon, another child would be a great comfort. It took several months before the tests were positive.

Each month, Ann would cry for a baby. She was so happy when the news changed. She loved telling Suzanne this story after she was old enough to understand it. Suzanne loved hearing how wanted and loved she was from the very beginning.

In the fourth month, the doctor requested Paul and Ann to come to his office. With a certain reserve, they waited. He finally came in with a chart in his hand. He asked a few questions, sighed and took off his glasses. I think you ought to consider an amniocentesis. This test will give you a fairly accurate picture of this baby’s progression. Then, if there is a problem, you can decide to abort before things get complicated. He put his glasses back on and did not wait too long for a response. Paul, without hesitation, once again made himself the hero. Even if something is wrong with this baby, it doesn’t matter. We would not choose abortion anyway… and we won’t endanger the baby by having this test.

Case closed. After all, these were not the words of a father who feared the unknown, but of a dad who had become familiar with the worst of fears. He was now well versed in pain. He lived in close quarters with the not knowing. Rachel was two and according to her prognosis, due to die soon. Yet, Paul was certain God makes no mistakes. He trusted Him even now. The doctor smiled. He told them success stories of other couples who chose to let the miracle take its course. Still, sometimes, they experienced doubts that they had made the right decision. After all, they were still getting to know Rachel’s condition. They were still recovering from her medical costs and unable to secure help they had hoped to find. The youth group at their church was a constant encouragement. They held a Walk-a-Thon to pay the bills. They loved Rachel, always holding her and protecting her. They were soon familiar with her seizures and prayed for her.

One night, the party was fun loving and warm as usual. They were at Mark and Amy’s log home. A crowd of sixteen or more were there. The girls took turns passing Rachel around. At first, no one took notice of the strange stillness, but soon they discovered Rachel had fallen into a deep coma-like seizure. After several attempts to revive her, the kids grew quieter, sober in spirit. Paul called the Doctor. While difficult to hear, Paul and Ann appreciated the truth their Doctor always sought to give them. After several questions, Paul hung the phone up. He says he doesn’t know. She could be dying. We just need to watch her breathing, warm her up. They bathed Rachel. They prayed over her. The seizure was nearing a three hour span of time—far too long for comfort. Paul and Ann finally decided to take her home, unwilling to accept death in the presence of so many. The kids cried, not knowing if they would see Rachel again or not. It was a ragged moment. Holding Rachel, Ann sat crying as Paul turned the key and pulled out of the driveway. Barely down the rode, Ann felt Rachel’s body go limp. She tried to find a pulse. There was none. Ann’s face convulsed into a strong sobbing out loud plea: Oh God! I know she wasn’t ours to keep. I know I needed to be ready for her to go to you… but… but, God, I’m not ready! I’m not ready. She hugged Rachel tightly. Paul touched her chest. He too, felt no heart beat.

They waited, unwilling to accept this moment. They did not expect death to come like this. Their tears could not contain their sorrow. They wrestled with their emotions. Neither one had ever faced death head on and had never even thought about how to handle such a time. Sitting in the deafness of their coarse pain, they waited as fear danced to the time. Pulling off the road, Paul stopped and wrapped his arms around them both. They wept in silence. He too, was not ready for death. It was at this moment, as they waited in the paucity of their sorrow, that Rachel jerked, jumped and opened her eyes. She kicked her feet and made a wide open gurgle. Taken aback, Paul and Ann lifted Rachel upward. Their dazed hearts rejoiced. They drove home, called friends and family, thanking them for prayers and love. Then they turned their grateful hearts toward God and his mercy. They slept that night in great peace and a new awareness of life’s unpredictable goodbyes.

Ann, stop it! You’re making me way too nervous! Amy cackled. Ann was speaking while holding two forks in midair. Ann was laughing, despite the contractions. Both were trying to eat. Ann felt her stomach move again. Oh, I bet I have this baby before ten tonight! She grinned. It was almost five and Paul had dropped Ann by Amy’s. Paul and Ann lived a good way from the hospital and Paul felt it would be safer to drop Ann at Amy’s while he worked. They were close to the hospital and Paul’s work. It felt too early yet, but Amy was so nervous, Ann called Paul to come.

At 8:09PM, a baby girl, 8 pounds 10 ounces, arrived. A large head caused Ann great distress and the pain was sharper than before, but Ann was happy to see her baby. Everyone waited to see if everything was okay. She appeared to be fine, except for the yellow jaundice. Ann’s parents arrived shortly, taking time to see the new granddaughter. Grandpa came in to report that she lifted her head up and on the first night! Suzanne Nicole was chosen as carefully as Rachel’s name before her. They wanted to carry on a part of Rachel’s name, but give a strong sense of self. Suzanne Nicole was a mixture of Hebrew and Greek meaning loving victory.

Ann was angered by the little pin cushion feet Suzanne acquired from the many blood tests. She could hear her crying, loud and strong, down the hall. She was longer in recovering this time. She welcomed going home. She also welcomed her mother’s generous help. The years of change were drawing them close. Though Ann was as independent as her mother, they were coming to terms with their need to be close, without expectations. Clara was a small, auburn haired, brown eyed woman. She would always seem to be the perfect balance of strength and beauty. Always carefully attired, overworked and with a brilliant mind, she had raised six children, taught school, been a nurse and a preacher’s wife-almost at the same time. She had taught Ann the love of Scripture and given her a strong curiosity for life. She also gave Ann courage, conviction and the ability to face suffering. Clara had known the power of suffering for years. Her worsening arthritis caused perpetual complications. Yet, she refused defeat. As with most mothers and first daughters, Ann and Clara grew up together and vacillated between friendship, rivalry and heroism. Still, Mama was always there and Ann could count on her experience, devotion, and wisdom.

At home again, Ann felt good despite a more difficult recovery. After her Mom left, she began to work on losing weight and enjoying her home in the country. Suzanne slept through the night even with Rachel’s early mornings feedings. She was a good baby, fun loving and curious. At first, things seemed to be going well. Even though Paul was working too many hours, Ann managed to juggle the twins she loved.

As summer wore on, she wore out and began to feel but she began to feel lonely and overwhelmed. On top of that, the lady in the mother-in-law cottage behind their house was beginning to show sign of lunacy. It came to a head one day as night was falling.

Paul! Paul! She’s got a gun! The lady waved it in the air as Ann yelled into the dusk. She seemed drunk, angry, then finally she folded into tears of frustration. Paul managed to get the gun. It was not long after that episode that the truth began to emerge. They had bought the house from her as her husband was leaving for military duty. As she worked on papers with the lawyer, Paul and Ann made the payments to her. The truth was, no such payments reached anyone and the house was now in foreclosure. She was diagnosed as a schizophrenic and left the situation in a mess.

By January, Paul and Ann moved, out of necessity rather than desire. Ann faced a depression that caused her to believe she could no longer handle a retarded child. She even went so far as to call the institution. The phone voice was kind. Well, Ma’am, you won’t even have to drive down or drop her off. We’ll come and pick her up. She and Paul drove by the brick buildings. What would life be like with someone you loved in a