Lost and Found: Finding Hope in the Detours of Life (11 page)

“You’re much prettier than the ex-fiancée,” she said, looking me up and down.

I was shocked, but Robert had warned me that they don’t hold much back. I nodded and forced my own polite smile in return. This car ride would be interesting.

Once we got their bags and settled into the car, I took them to Robert’s apartment. During the drive we chatted about safe topics, mostly about Robert, and warmed up to each other. But sweat starting beading on my nose when I put the key into the doorknob. His apartment had never really returned to its original glory after Operation Payback. His mother, Ms. Samantha, hadn’t brought it up thus far, but I feared walking in would strike up the inevitable conversation.

“Mm-hmm,” she said, looking around and then looking at me. “Now, what happened?”

“Well,” I said and swallowed hard, stalling for another two seconds before deciding to tell her the truth. “I spent a lot of my savings,
time, and energy into decorating a home for Robert, not a love nest for him and his ex-girlfriend.”

She shook her head and then gave me a genuinely warm, knowing smile. “Well, a woman’s got to do what a woman’s got to do!”

I knew I was going to like this lady. And I couldn’t wait to call Stacia.

———

As silly as it may seem, when people know who my father is, they tend to change who they are around me. Usually people try to be very righteous or holier than thou, thinking that this must be how we live our lives. But some go out of their way to prove that they don’t care one way or the other. Robert and his family were so beautifully themselves, naturally sidestepping these extremes, that it intrigued me. They didn’t filter their words or thoughts to make sure they were T.D. Jakes approved. Nor did they try to shock me by blatantly disparaging the church or his ministry.

Meeting them made me fall even more in love with Robert.

I always felt like I needed either to act a certain way to be in the church or to disown my religious roots to fit into the world. Either way I would have to change, but here they were, freely being themselves. Things weren’t always said the most eloquently or even politely, but they said it. I loved how beautifully his mother and sister owned their truth. Once we got the apartment talk out of the way, the rest of the day was smooth sailing.

———

That same weekend, I learned that Robert had a son.

When we first met, Robert had told me about his daughter and about her sister, who wasn’t biologically his but whom he cared for like his own. He had never mentioned a son—and clearly still didn’t intend to. I guess I wasn’t the only one afraid to give myself away.

Now that I knew, I desperately wanted to know more. Should I wait and let him feel comfortable enough to tell me the truth in his own time, or should I confront his omission?

Growing up in ministry, I had learned that people share when they’re ready, not when they’re forced. One day, after Robert told me the truth, I would tell him that I knew all along, but that I wanted him to tell me in his own time. He would see that I could be gentle with his shame, insecurity, or fears. I would prove to him that love could conquer all.

I knew I had my work cut out for me, that Robert was waiting for me to abandon him. When we first started spending hour after hour chatting, he shared a lot about his childhood with me. His younger brother had died in a house fire when he was young. In the middle of the night, Robert was awakened by smoke. After he helped get his mother and sister out of the fire, he wasn’t able to go back in and get his brother.

He carried the guilt with him for many years. He told me that coping was hard for their entire family. While some people turned to drugs, he turned to football. He wore that jersey for his brother, Rudy, and for himself. If he couldn’t save him, he at least wanted to make him proud.

When I learned that Robert had a son, I wanted to run. It wasn’t just that he had a son, but that he had hidden him, and so many other unknowns, from me. Robert was clearly afraid of the power of the truth, and so was I.

I fell in love with the parts of him that I wanted to change about myself. Misery loves company, and there was something appealing about knowing that I wasn’t messed up on my own. The more I
focused on his dysfunction, the less time I had to worry about my own. He became an incredible distraction from my own struggles. The more I worked on him, the less time I had to focus on what was wrong with me.

But by the end of the semester, my own weaknesses were staring back at me. School was one of the many things lost in competition with Robert. Of the five classes I was enrolled in, I would be lucky to pass two or three of them. Not excel. Not master. Barely grasp. Just pass by the skin of my teeth.

My parents were bound to find out. There was no way I could explain my failure without serious fallout. I prayed they would not force me to choose between school—which represented my blueprint for the future and my path of redemption—and Robert, who represented the only thing I could see in the present.

I was headed for a showdown.

WHEN I RECEIVED
my transcript at the end of the fall 2006 semester, I knew I was in serious trouble. As feared, I had passed only two of the five classes for which I originally enrolled. And those two grades were nothing to write home about, either. My parents surely knew something was going on with me. They had already reminded me earlier in the semester that they held me accountable for their investment in my college education. The message was clear: If I couldn’t get it together on their dime, the next time I attended college it would be on my own.

So sitting down with them to reveal my grades, I was more than nervous.

I admitted to my distraction and attributed it to being caught up in the freedom that college brings. I made it less about my relationship with Robert and more about the overall transition. I didn’t want to admit that I had become so distracted that I wasn’t even sure I could finish college. They wouldn’t want to hear that my time with
Robert was causing me to really question what I wanted. After taking and failing the prerequisite math course for my accounting degree, I started taking journalism courses.

Of all of my courses, the ones where I showed the most promise were always language associated. Anything that involved the passionate use of words intrigued me. My motivation for wanting the accounting degree remained with me: I wanted to recover from my pregnancy, and I felt the only way to do that was by helping my father. My pregnancy no longer made me a fit for ministry, so I was depending on an accounting degree to complete my recovery. As the semester came to a close, however, I knew that it would be impossible for me to successfully achieve that goal.

I didn’t have the strength to disappoint them again, though. For me, it was hard to believe that they were not supporting a future accountant. I couldn’t grasp that they were just supporting
me
. Our idea of forgiveness is often based on the idea that there must be recovery. We hardly ever isolate the two concepts.

Seeking forgiveness doesn’t mean that you have figured out the best way to recover. All it means is that you’re committed to fixing what’s been broken. As children we are taught that there is a punishment you pay in order for redemption to be granted. After being grounded, spanked, or having a toy taken away, we learn our lesson and life goes back to the way it was.

It’s an awful trick we play on our youth. Because when we grow older, we learn that some decisions inherently follow you the rest
of your life. No atonement can restore the way life used to be. The incarcerated serve their time and are released to a society that will constantly remind them that their past cast a shadow larger than their present.

Just because we’ve been forgiven doesn’t mean we’re free.

It then becomes our responsibility to use that shadow to hide our truth or protect others. Now, because of the shadow cast by my past, I hope others can be saved from the scorching pain of taking the same path I chose.

Will we use our shadow to take the heat off of others or to dim our own flame?

———

The more the misdirection of my past began to complicate my future, the more frustrated I became. What was the point in going to school if it wasn’t for accounting? I had spent months selling the idea of becoming chief financial officer of The Potter’s House. When I first shared my dream of becoming a CFO, I remember my father beaming with pride. I went on to explain how much job security the field offers.

My first real accounting assignment came when I had to add up how I had spent so much time away from home but had only two passing grades to show for it. My calculator failed me. There was no excuse.

How could I explain that I had spent that time making sure that Robert’s paper was done and his apartment clean, while my heart was on life support? I spent Christmas break pleading my case with them, using freedom, transition, and (im)maturity all as excuses for my failure. Now that I had a chance to fully adjust, I could give my studies the attention they required.

For reasons I didn’t understand then, but fully comprehend now, my parents gave me another chance. You see, my parents never
expected that I wouldn’t mess up again; they just wanted me to know and believe that better was possible for me. They were supporting me, not the dream I advertised for their benefit.

When we grow accustomed to being used, we anticipate that everyone wants something from us. But my parents never made us feel like we had to take on the weight of their calling. I carried that weight because it was what I thought I was supposed to do. Time after time, we fail at fitting into a perfect little box. Our childhood issues, mistakes, and fears don’t make the prettiest corners.

Instead, we take the sharp edges of our lives and try to fit in and pray that our secret is never exposed. No, my biggest fear wasn’t hurting myself or even others, and it wasn’t because I was brave. I just didn’t want anyone else to see exactly how much I didn’t fit, especially my parents.

How could I admit that I was drowning when I was so busy gasping for air?

Instead of trusting my broken pieces with those who could cover me while I healed, I gave them to someone who could understand what it was like to be broken. Then cried when he broke them more. The vicious cycle of disappointment became comfortable for me. There was no chance for me to disappoint Robert because he was too busy disappointing me.

But maybe if I gave him what I needed, somehow he would find a way to give it back to me. I didn’t want to change him; I just wanted to inspire him. I wanted to be enough for him to become better. I made him me. Supported him to my own demise, all to see if it was possible for love to truly conquer all.

I ignored those who were capable of throwing me a life jacket because I didn’t want them to take a break and save me again. So when my parents gave me another chance, I didn’t think they knew I was in trouble.

At the time my son was a toddler, but now that he is entering his tweenage years, I realize that there’s no way your child drowns and water doesn’t fill your own lungs. My parents were trying to save me. Somewhere in the ocean of my mess, they were on the coast offering me a way out, a chance to admit that I was lost.

Working with youth and speaking with parents at our church, I know there comes a point with your child, if you’re anything like me, that you wonder where you went wrong. You question every decision you make. Did you do enough? Did you say it right? Was it too soon to move them? Too early to leave them?

I imagine you replay every decision that you think caused them to turn into someone you hardly recognize. Although I haven’t gone through that stage as a parent yet, I can tell you from the other side that I knew I was drowning. There wasn’t one day that passed where I didn’t think that I was in too deep. The first and last thought of every evening was how I could get out. I wanted God to save me from myself, but I wasn’t done thinking I could fix it myself.

We shun those who make us face ourselves because we aren’t ready to see just how broken we are. My parents, each of them, would take off their clergy adornments, get into the water, and stand by me. They never forced me out or made me think that I had to choose. When they suspected I was drowning, but was too arrogant to ask for help, they stood beside me extending a lifeline.

I wasn’t able to tell them I was in trouble, but at least I knew I wasn’t alone.

There are formative years in our lives when we learn the harsh realities of life. No matter how much, as a parent, you’d like to protect your child, there are some lessons only life can teach.

You did what you could. Even if it wasn’t the best, it was what you gave, and now you can choose to wash your hands of their mess or you can stand with them. Standing doesn’t mean you agree, it doesn’t mean you think they’re right, and it certainly doesn’t mean that it was what you dreamed for them. Standing only means that you’re willing to partner with them and find a way out. Waiting and hoping for the moment when they finally place their hand in yours can be daunting.

It is the ultimate test of faith: giving your child back to Him.

When your child starts making the decisions that time-out can’t cure, remember that you’re merely a foster parent. Care, nurture, and help them until their Father makes His purpose clear in their lives. It won’t be easy, but if Mary watched her child be crucified for God’s glory, certainly we can trust that He will protect those who come to Him.

You may be the only gateway to God that they remember. Keep your heart pure and your faith strong.

———

After many conversations, the decision was made. I would move onto campus, where I’d be trusted to continue my studies without distraction, only coming home on the weekends to spend time with Chi. My parents would help me balance parenting while I made a better future for the both of us.

Three weeks into the spring semester of 2007, I completely stopped going to class.

I was no longer passionate about pursuing accounting, and the math course I had already failed twice was off to a less-than-stellar start. I didn’t want to go home, I was too afraid. I didn’t tell anyone
except Robert. But I had a plan. If I got a job now, I could start saving enough money to get Chi at the end of the semester. That way I would still use the time to make a better life for us.

When I told Robert my plan, he asked if I was sure, but he didn’t make it a big deal. Where he was from, the fact that he went to a university made him a hero. But he didn’t care that I had lost any chance of receiving my own cape.

I called a friend of mine whose boyfriend played on the football team, too. Although she didn’t go to school at TCU, she was always on campus and we had become friends. I told her I was looking for work and that I needed some pretty significant money. While I waited to hear from her, I continued looking for work on my own.

With no job experience and only some college to speak of, pickings were slim. Going out for interviews, I usually found myself in a reception area surrounded by people quite a bit more qualified than I was. The jobs I did get callbacks on were for commission-based jobs—selling knives, magazines, or some other product from door to door. I needed something that would be more reliable.

A friend called me and told me that she knew of a place that was hiring and that I could start the next day. I pulled up at the address and found a strip club. I called my friend, freaking out! Was she crazy? There was no way in the world I could strip. After saying a few words, not worth repeating here, she finally told me that I would be waitressing. It was easy, the tips were great, and I wouldn’t have to actually be the entertainment.

The moment I stepped into the strip club, I saw a familiar face and left before they could see me. So this would be interesting. I called my friend and told her what happened. After we hung up, she sent me a picture of her tips for the evening: $300.

I could find another club. I told only one person besides Robert about my new career path—my best friend Stacia, who was now
a law student. She didn’t judge me, though. She knew that I was just doing what I had to do. She knew neither of us had been raised to live the way we were, but if we had to be lost, at least we were together.

———

I searched the outskirts of the metroplex for places that would be least likely to have someone who recognized my Jakes face. Almost everywhere I went, the waitresses were scantily clad or they were only hiring dancers. Having received no callbacks from my more traditional interviews and running out of luck on the fast money, I got discouraged.

When Robert got back to his apartment from practice one evening, I was sitting in the middle of the floor with my laptop, newspapers, and a pen. I had applied to at least twenty jobs a day. I told Robert that I would have to file to officially withdraw from school. If I couldn’t find a job, the least I could do was make sure my parents got their money back.

Withdrawing meant moving home with no job and no plan. Before my imagination could begin to run wild, Robert offered to let me stay at his apartment. Of course, we’d be struggling. His check barely covered his expenses, but we could make it work. The next day I withdrew from school, then moved out of my dorm and into Robert’s apartment.

Yes, I was shacking.

There comes a time in our lives when we combat with all of our might not to become the worst version of ourselves. We ingrain the image into our brain so that we can never forget who we could become. For some, it’s the stepfather who abused your mother. For others, the mother who blocked you out with the wall she built around her heart. For me, it was failing. I would do anything to avoid disappointment on my parents’ faces. I’d already done my fair share
of damage as it was. I’d rather try to make it on my own than have to admit I’d messed up again.

So I arrogantly masqueraded my fear as pride. I was an adult. I could make my own decisions. I spent the first couple of years with my son striving to outrun statistics. I excelled in high school because I wanted to repair the damage on my life’s résumé. I wanted to prove that a pregnancy wouldn’t define me for the rest of my life. I spent so much time running from my truth.

If only we spent more time embracing who we are and less time grieving who we thought we were supposed to be. I thought my greatest sin would be that I wasn’t able to honor my son’s life with a traditional upbringing. Turns out my relentless pursuit of correcting those wrongs left me more damaged than the pregnancy itself. I think God allows some things to happen so we are forced to seek Him. Foolishly, we pursue materialistic things knowing that it’s not just because we need them for the pretty picture. We need the materials to cover the shame.

Broken, lost, hurt, and confused, I had no more material to cover up the shame of my worst fear being realized. I wouldn’t be able to fix the mess I’d made in Malachi’s life. I wouldn’t be able to repair the damage the ministry took. I was flunking out of class for someone that made me feel like I was worth looking at. I think it’s what made me fall in love with Robert.