Sitting near a window I looked at through the treetops to the city scene below. I leaned up against the tie-dyed wall hanging and tried not to cry. Here I was alone in my apartment in downtown Palo Alto, California. I'd come home after working an evening shift to find closets open, drawers tossed and my fiance's clothes gone. He had left without so much as a goodbye note. It had been a wonderful evening, sun still shedding it's last warm rays, a cool breeze ruffling the leaves of the trees. None of that helped how I was feeling now, I had been abandoned.............................
In High School I had dated plenty of nice boys. Guys with good family backgrounds. Guys who had plans for the future and shared common interests. After High School in my first year of college I met someone who was the opposite of all the boys I'd met before. A product of the Beatles era, this guy knew the lyrics, spoke the language and came from a world I knew nothing about. He talked about his days in San Francisco, the parties, the concerts, the wild times. He shared his youth, drugs, crime, jail. It seemed so romantic and exciting. He met my parents and my father, a good judge of character, let me know what he thought of him. "He's a loser Robin, " he told me with love. "He's got no plans, no future and he doesn't have any manners."
For me, that's all it took for me to decide he was even more interesting. I had grown up in church, been a good child and had found myself longing for excitment. I also felt rebellious as all get out. I played my records loudly and sang to their tunes. My radio blarred from my car radio, "Are you going to San Francisco?" I dyed beads and strung necklaces. I shared my opinion, often and unasked. I was part of the in "me" generation and we were going to show the establishment how wrong they were.
My boyfriend, anxious to be away from my parents authority talked me into withdrawing my savings, packing my belongings into my car and leaving home. I left watching my world grown fainter in my rear view mirror. I didn't cry, I didn't think twice, I was having and adventure. Off we went driving I-5 to California. One of the first stop's we made after stopping for gas, was to a dumpster where he convinced me hanging on to my clothes was foolish, that I needed to let go of possessions. Arm load, after arm load of expensive clothes found their new home with yesterday's garbage. Finally, after several days, we got to California and ended up in Palo Alto. I don't know why we went there. We didn't know anyone there really. Somehow we just decided that was the place to go. The first night or two we slept in the car until we finally found an apartment manager who was willing to let us rent a small apartment. I used some of my dwindling savings and we unloaded what was left of my belongings. For several months we survived. I worked at a fast food job to support us while he 'looked for work." At least that's what he said. One day, home early I heard a female voice call out to him, "Hey Ernie," she asked, "Are you going to be over at the bar at the usual time?"
I snapped. Looking for work? I don't think so; all the days I'd been working he'd been going to the bars and hanging out. An ugly argument continued and he left in a huff. I cried myself to sleep and wondered why in the world I ever thought he was nice. A week or two later I came home and he was gone.
I'd like to say that I learned from that mistake, that I went home, moved on with my life and said goodbye to a horrible relationship. Unfortunately that was not the end of the story. He called my folks house one evening about five weeks later, "I'm sorry," he said, "I just got so stressed out. Please let me come back. I love you." Well, apparently I'm weak willed and weak minded, I let him come back. My parents however put their foot down. "You're not going to live here unless you're man and wife!" They called a pastor friend and in my parent's front room we said our vows, no friends, nothing very special just a ceremony.
My new husband was restless in his country surroundings. He was used to th night life in a big city. Then news came in the mail, the United States Army had drafted him! Well he was a tried and true hippy, hated the Viet Nam War and everything about the establishment. There was no way he was willing to join the Army. We argued, we fought, he insisted. We packed up the car again and headed for Canada. We lied as we crossed the Candadian border telling them we were on our honeymoon. We drove further and further north. Winter was setting in and the snow and cold began. My savings was almost gone at this point and after a day or two we found rooms for rent with an Italian couple that spoke no English at all. We had a bedroom, kitchen and bathroom. All completely empty. The weather temperature continued to drop to unheard of lows, 50 below zero. The windows in the apartment froze up and we couldn't see anything outside whatsoever. We had to wear all the clothes we had just to keep from freezing when we went outside.
My husband tried to get work but no body wanted to hire an illegal immigrant. Accepting money under the table he worked at a gas station for about a week until they fired him. My husband, used to a life of crime, shoplifted in the grocery stores. He tried to get me to shoplift also, but I refused. I hadn't been raised to be a thief. One night bored, we cranked our radio up loud and danced late into the evening over the bedroom of the owners. Early in the morning our Italian landlord used the only English he knew, "Out!" He screamed coming up the stairs to where we were, "Out!" So we packed up our belongings and drove out in the large city of Edmonton, Alberta.
My husband got an idea that we could save money by sleeping in the car so we piled everything around and found a dark place to park. Sometime in the night we were awakened with a loud banging, "Get up!" a uniformed police officer was saying, "You've got to find shelter, you're going to freeze to death in there." My husband tried to protest we were ok but the frozen water bottles next to us weren't good proof of that. We drove to a cheap motel, rented a room and slept for a few hours."We've got to go home!" I cried. Exactly like the prodigal son I realized that at home at least I would be safe and have food to eat. "We've got to go home!" Finally after crying and pleading my husband gave in and we started out to cut across Canada and come to the States through Vancouver BC. As we drove, the snow started and became a blizzard. We could barely see the road in front of us as we drove, through the night. We continued, no snow tires, no tread, just two stupid American kids trying to get home. Somewhere up in the mountains the car started to slip and into the ditch we went. It was dark, there were no houses for miles, and the weather had dipped to a record 60 plus below. I started crying, and praying. "Please God, help us. Please." For what seemed a long while, all was quiet. Sensible people were home in their beds, only here we were stuck in a snow bank.
Hundreds of miles away, unknown to me, my father had been woken up from a sound sleep with a burden to pray. He went to the dining room table, and head in his hands he prayed and prayed asking God to help me. He stayed there, praying until the heavy weight on his heart lifted.
Back in the car, alone in the dark, a set of lights appeared through the blizzard, a voice called out in the darkness, "Are you ok? Do you need some help?"Did we ever. A man in a truck had noticed the car tracks, not yet filled up with snow and decided to get out and see if he could help. He just happened to have a winch on the front of his truck which he used to pull us out. Finally out, we thanked him and went on our way. Slowly, cautiously we creeped through the storm across the mountain pass.Tired, aching, cold we stopped an old boarding house and rented a room. It was odd, but warm. One bathroom for a dozen rooms. The next day we drove straight through until we reached the Canadian border and crossed back into the United States. I heaved a giant sigh of relief, I knew here at least we wouldn't freeze to death.
A half a day later and we pulled into my parents drive way. The welcome home was warm, if a little strained. For two months we lived in their basement. My father always a hard worker was astonished that my husband was content to play cards, or watch TV all day. He showed no signs of having any desire to look for work.My father got heim started on projects in the yard, but my husband still didn't seem too motivated.
My husband decided that anything was better than the life we were living. He called the draft board, said his goodbyes and went to turn himself in. I cried, and then sighed a sigh of relief. Maybe things would be peaceful now, I thought. Several hours later I was cleaning our room when I heard footsteps on the stairs, in walked my husband. "Why are you here?" I asked. "What happened?" He explained he went through the whole intake process, did all the paperwork, then went through the physical exam. The examining Dr. pulled him aside and let him have the bad news, "Son, you've got a mal-formed bone in your right foot. I'm afraid the Army can't use you." So home he came.
Life continued on and I got pregnant. My husband seemed moodier than normal and said he needed to walk to the store and get some smokes. I didn't hear from him for another two weeks. He called, apologized and asked to return. Frantic I let him come back and didn't protest when he insisted we move away from my parents. We got a small apartment in Tacoma and attempted to make the best of things, or so I thought. One day he complained of a headache and asked me if I would go to the store and get him some aspirin. I left, picked up a few things and returned. His clothes were gone, and so was all the money we had tucked away in a drawer.
I didn't hear from him for ten months. I carried the bady to full term, went through labor and delivery alone and tried to adjust to being a single parent. I cried through much of that pregnancy until I reach a point that I gave everything to God and just focused on reading my Bible and getting ready for the baby. I can remember actually feeling happy. When the baby, a little girl, was three months old I got a call from my huband. He was sorry, ya da, ya da, and could he come back? Again, I didn't listen to comman sense, or to reason, but I allowed him to come back. Again he decided we needed to move, and move we did. From the bright clean, happy apartment to a dirty, scary run down house in Vancouver Washington.For once in our relationship, my husband got up, went out and got a job. For several months our lives consisted of cleaning, repairing and painting the old house we were in, and having the routine of him working and me being alone with the baby. It wasn't horrible for me, I loved having a child. For him, however, it was a different story. He came home one day in the middle of the day, he didn't "feel" good. He asked if I could run to the store and get him something to eat, maybe ice cream. I went, came back and found our infant daughter alone in her crib, my husband's clothes gone and an empty house. I didn't hear from him until 13 years later.
Why did I go after someone who was so contrary to all the life I had known? I don't know. I know rebellion had a huge part. Along, with the baby I struggled to find myself a place in the world. It's been an uphill battle where if I keep faith in God, and stay on the right path, things are good. If I stray, go after the world and it's values, my life begins to get out of control and I make more poor choices.
Was I glad I had parents who loved me enough to welcome me back with open arms? Yes I was and just as happy to know a God who cares enough to give each of us second and thrid chances to do it right. I was the prodigal daughter, who more than anything else needed to here these two words, "Welcome home."
Today, if you are in your own rebellion, stop, take time out to pray to an ever caring God who will help you find the way back home.
No comments:
Post a Comment