July 18, 2013

•             It is a blistering day on Delmarva.  Certain Man’s chickens are big old lard buckets — scheduled to go out tonight and Monday.  (Great are the protests from the Chicken Farmer, also know as Certain Man) It was time for my yearly GYN appointment in Lewes.  Before I ever left for the doctor’s office, the chicken house alarm went off.  Then, before I could actually make it out there, the alarm had reset itself.  I was sorely tempted to not even go and see, but Certain Man allowed that he would feel better if I checked what was going on, so I went.  And for some strange reason, I could find nothing.  Not even a current alarm notification as to why it had gone off.  So, Certain Man placated and, in fact, my own heart reassured, I headed out.

              I happen to like our seaside town of Lewes.  I have found good doctors there, and it is picturesque and bustling.  There was no leisurely shopping or dawdling, though, today.  I got done with my appointment (all is well!) and headed home.  On impulse, I slipped onto the side road where “my kids” lived, just to see if maybe they were outside playing or to see if I could catch a glimpse of them.

              They were gone.  Certain Man was pretty certain they were when we drove by one night last week, but it was dark, and I needed to be sure.  The house sat neatly, without trash and broken screen door.  The vehicles, though not necessarily in good repair, were unfamiliar and parked outside — Something Dee and Big Sensei NEVER did.  Secrecy was a trademark of their lives.      

              And no, I was not surprised to see that they were gone.  Judging from past experiences and court records, I am quite certain there is no forwarding address.  I do happen to have Dee’s mother’s cell phone number, so I called her.

              “Has Dee moved?” I ask her.  

              “Yup, she’s moved.  I don’t know where, though.  I hear that they’ve been homeless, but she won’t tell me where they are.”

              “They’ve been homeless?”  My heart stops as I think of the four kids that I haven’t seen for over six months.  I feel sick.

              Iva seems uncomfortable.  ”You never know,” she says, “that’s what I heard.  You never know.”

              “Have you heard from her?”

              “Only when she needs something,” she says.  ”July 4th was my birthday and she called me.  She said, ‘I need help.  I have to have four hundred and fifty dollars.’  Didn’t say ‘Happy Birthday’ or anything.  Just that she needed help.  I told her, ‘I can’t help you.  I don’t have it.  I gotta’ live, too.’  And I ain’t heard nothing since.”

              “How long has it been since she moved?” I ask her.

              “Oh, she been gone a month or two.  But I don’t have any idea where she is.”

              “Do you think she might have gotten into the new low income housing that she was approved for last fall?” I ask hopefully.  ”My husband is the state plumbing inspector and he said that unit recently opened.  Maybe she was able to get into there.”

              “I don’t know anything,” she said again.  ”Like I said, I heard they were homeless, but I don’t have any idea where they are.”

              “Is she still with Sensei?” I ask.

              “Yep.  She is still with him.  She told me that she was going to get rid of him, but they’re still together.”

              We talked a bit more and then I hung up the phone.  I have been thinking about the kids over these last months, praying for them, and wishing that I knew what was happening in their lives.  Last summer, we had so many happy times together.  Browns Branch park for a picnic, Milton Public Library for a Rehoboth Summer Children’s Theatre presentation, Pizza at a hole in the wall restaurant, even visiting their grandpa’s grave in a large cemetery on the edge of a historic Delaware town.  I saw them often, and the relationship evolved into something that was pleasant and easy and so, so sweet.  As I look back, I realize that it was when the kids and I were the most entrenched into each other’s lives that their mother moved in with demands and unreasonable expectations, effectively causing distance and disruption in any relationships that we attempted with the children.

              The six months since we have seen them have been full beyond measure.  Sometimes I wonder how we ever would have managed the intensity of their needs in addition to the church and family issues that we have had — Oldest Son and His Ohio Heartthrob’s three little guys, Certain Man’s knee surgery, the death of my mother-in-law, my own Sweet Mama’s health issues, dear friends with serious health crisis, Youngest Son and his Girl with a beautiful Heart’s move to Alexandria, VA,  family reunions and various other gatherings, a beloved nephew and his wife facing the challenges of a baby born with a serious genetic disease — just on and on and on.  Some things directly mine either to grieve or plan or come to terms with.  Others sit on my heart with the pain of those whom I love and care so deeply about and yet feel so keenly my primary role as pray-er.  And even when it doesn’t feel like it, that is still the best of all,

              Which brings me back to “my kids.”  And once again, dear Father, I relinquish them to you and your watchful care and keeping.  You hold them in your tender embrace, because you love the little children. Your hands can reach where mine cannot.  Your eyes can see where mine are so limited.  

  Your love knows no limit.

   Your Grace has no measure.  

  Your power has no boundary known unto man.

  For out of your infinite riches in Jesus,

  you give and give and give

  And then give again.. . 

   

  My heart gives grateful praise.

  • 10:52 pm
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