Solemn Visit with John and a Great Poem

Recovering from a morning of housework, she loads three of her twelve children into the dirty van. She's tired, but in a great mood, feeling fulfilled and content. She takes a look at her children. The 16 year old, jobless, high grade a D+, glasses on crooked, and hair too long looks over at her from the front seat. He looks at her with the glazed look and the goofy grin that characterize him and she makes a mental note that she better keep reminding him to brush his teeth as they look like they haven't been touched in weeks.

The middle seat holds a 13 year old daughter, full of energy and life, already singing to the radio -- loudly and off tune, though she doesn't ever realize it. Her brothers do, but this day they choose to let her belt it out without comment. They are all feeling good, so why ruin the moment?

The backseat holds one of our two newest sons. Not very motivated, often bored, she smiles at him because, even though he is a bit lazy, he is cooperative and kind. She is amazed that she can love a child this much having only known him for 4 months.

Outside the air is cold. Dirty snow on the ground, little flurries in the air. But the inside of the van it is warm and she cranks the CD as she and her daughter begin to sing. They smile their way through "Bubbly", joke about how Hakunah Matata is about farting, and sing one of their very favorite songs at full blast.

They enjoy it so much, they rewind it and sing it again while the boys roll their eyes at the racket. The mood in the car is upbeat, loud, and everyone is glad that Mom is happy and acting crazy.

The van pulls up and after several mishaps -- wrong door, no answer, second door, no answer, waiting, "don't touch this bar", "oh no, Jimmy, you touched the bar" alarm goes off, run-away drill instituted among 100 residents, staff glaring -- this interesting partial family enters the facility. They check in and wait in an old school cafeteria with a few other families visiting their sons.

Then the moment comes and her son, a skinny eight year old when she met him, now a stocky 240 pounds of muscle, walks in the room. He needs a haircut, he's wearing "weekend uniform" -- sweats and a t-shirt. Long hugs for everyone.

And they sit for 90 minutes and talk. He pours out his frustrations that he is sitting there, making no progress, with his 18th birthday rapidly approaching. No job, no money, no plan. He talks about his desire to connect with his birthmom to ask her why she never did what it took to get him back.

She watches her near grown man cry. She holds his hand. She wipes away his tears. She assures him that no matter how old he is, that she and his dad will always be there for him. She mentions that he might wait to confront birth family until he is emotionally stable and has some success under his belt, not the day he turns 18. She tells him that they will help him figure it out. He weeps silently. He is scared.

She is scared too. What will become of him? Will he make good choices? Or will she be visiting him in a prison facility several months down the road? Will he accept his parents guidance or make choices that head him down a road from which he can never return?

He hands her a note addressed to Mom and Dad. It's a poem that he found that he has changed some. Here is what it says:

My past will always haunt me
a past that will always be
but I am a better person now
having learned the better part of me.

With my arms open wide
and a heart full of pride
I can now express to you
Just what i feel inside.

You tried to lead the way
yet I went astray
and of course, I then became
more stubborn, just the same.

Though you felt I was a rebel
I know that you could tell
I was only trying to find where I belong
Just wanting to sing my very own song.

But know that you were always there
so please put away all despair
for you always mattered
and I always did care.

Believe me when I say "I love you"
Because it's so very true
I know how much you love me
I've learned of love because of you."

She read the note. And she shed a tear. And he shed another. And for just that moment they both knew that everything that had happened in the past, and with everything that will happen in the future, that there is always love.

The visit is over and the family heads back into the crisp cold air. Shivering, they turn on the heat, and a CD, much more mellow this time, plays in the background. Subdued by the somber visit, everyone is quiet now, each thinking, nobody talking.

And as she returns home, the highs and lows of the last nine years come pouring through her mind. And she is both sad for the losses and grateful for the opportunity to have known, raised and loved this troubled boy/man.

And at the end of the quiet ride they arrive home, ready to enter chaos again, knowing somehow, that how they have chosen to live their lives really does matter.

This is my day, our life, our gift from God.