Chapter 18

18.  Fast Forward
My break at home that 1997 autumn was uneventful and I just couldn’t wait to get back to California and my newfound romance.  Mario and I spoke on the phone every night and, boy oh boy, were those phone bills high!  I didn’t share a lot about Mario with my family while I was home and the break was very quick.  Soon I was back in California and Mario picked me up at the airport.  He took me to dinner at his house and I met his family.

Mario has five sisters and at the time, two of them lived at home with his mother.  His 5-year-old niece also lived there since his older sister was a single mom, working hard to make a home for herself and her daughter.  I have to admit when he told me about all those women in his family I was more than a little intimidated.  It’s hard enough to meet the mother of an only son, but to meet 5 sisters and a niece too?  That was nerve-wracking to say the least.  The visit, however, was mostly pleasant and I only shook in my boots twice.  The first time was when I met his 2 oldest sisters, who had driven up to us in the ministry's parking lot. Rolling down the passenger window, both sisters allowed Mario to introduce us. Then the oldest one, who was driving, leaned over and menacingly warned me, "if you break his heart, we'll kick your a**." All of us girls laugh about it now but at the time I thought they might actually be gangsters.

The second time was when his mom took me aside privately to, well, basically ask me what my intentions were regarding her son.  I'd never had a mother of an only son approach me like that. It was kind of scary. But apparently I satisfied her curiosity because after that I was welcomed with open arms and received no further threats from the sisters.

During my break at home I had received a call from the main ministry office asking if I would be interested in attending the directors’ camp as a nanny just before the teams reconvened for the fall tours.  The camp was arranged for a few days up in the mountains designed to prepare all the leadership and directors for the upcoming ministry.  I had met most of them by then and had become friends with one of the couples.  Their little girl was a bilingual toddler, speaking both French and English.  I loved babysitting her while they had meetings and really developed a great bond with her.  While at the camp, my director asked me about my relationship with Mario and I filled him in on our growing feelings toward each other.  I knew that the leadership generally split non-married couples up to join different teams in order to protect team unity and lower the distraction level for ministry purposes. So I expected that would be the decision the leaders had made for Mario and I once we arrived at the general team rehearsal camp in a few days.

When we arrived at the regular rehearsal camp, I was shocked to discover that Mario and I were to remain on the same team.  Confused but happy, I rehearsed with my orchestra teammates and tried to act like Mario and I were not dating [per the ministry rules].  Talk about a tough assignment!  Well, I really had no idea how hard it would actually become. It turned out that it was a whole lot more difficult to act like we were unattached while we toured that fall to places like Hawaii and Colombia.  But even through the hard times, like jealousies and disagreements [we had plenty of those], our director made sure to pray with us as individuals and as a couple throughout the next few months.  During our team’s ministry in Hawaii, it was most difficult to maintain any sort of distance from each other.  I mean, for heavens’ sake it is one of the most romantic places on earth!  Though it was unpleasant at times and decidedly annoying at others, we succeeded in honoring our director, each other and the Lord through the few weeks in Hawaii and later during our tour in Colombia.

From September to mid-December, we played in churches, parks, malls, schools throughout the southern United States, Hawaii and Colombia.  In mid-December all the teams met back in Visalia, California for one last concert together.  By now I had transferred out of the little orchestra, no longer playing the keyboards but singing as an alto in the vocal lineup.  Through the years of ministry with the group I had high aspirations of being a vocalist, learning their warm-ups, the harmonies and lyrics while playing my part in the band.  I thought, “I could give glory to God so much better from up there than down here”.   Good grief, what a stupid way to spend my brain cells!  

Once I was up there in the vocal lineup, I realized that being in the orchestra was actually the enviable position.  In the orchestra, I could play but also watch the audience and pray for them.  I could pick and choose what parts I would play.  I knew that people would watch me but that not everyone would.  As a vocalist, I had to sing my part and my part only, time my vibrato and breathing "just so" to match the others and sing when I might not necessarily feel like it (which was quite often actually).  Everyone was looking at me, all the time and I had to have my “game face” on every night.  That was much more difficult than I had imagined.  Yet it taught me so much about pride & humility, about losing myself in worship and about putting others before me.  Much of what I learned there has helped me in ministry at home and showed me more about God’s forgiveness, grace and mercy than I ever would have learned while behind my keyboards.

Mario and I looked forward to the final concert with trepidation.  We had grown closer through handwritten notes and diaries that we shared but had had very little alone time since September.  Did the Lord want us to continue on with the ministry for the next two-year cycle?  Or did He have a different path for us?  Were we meant to be together forever, as Mario believed? Or were we just there for each other for a season, as I nervously wondered? Separately we prayed about what God would have us do as individuals and as a couple.  

I'll never forget one morning when Mario came to the bus. He seemed like he was floating, and for a 300-pound, 6'3" guy that's really saying something. He couldn't wait to share something with me but we had to wait for all the preliminary preparations to be completed before the bus started moving and we could sit near each other. He whispered, "I had a dream last night. A vision actually, I think." Moved with curiosity, I waited. Still talking in a low tone but no longer whispering he began to share...

"I was driving in a pick-up truck with Robert*, headed up the mountain into the Sequoia National Park. We stopped on a hillside and looked out over Woodlake where all those orchards are," he paused to see if I knew the area he meant. I nodded.

"Well, we were looking out and we could see nothing but trees for quite a ways. And Robert said, 'Mario, see those trees there? That's how many people your grandmother has reached for the Lord.' 'Wow', I replied, 'that's a lot.' Then we got back in the truck and drove further up the mountain. Getting back out, Robert pointed to the west and all we could in the setting sun were trees, stretching to the horizon. Robert told me, 'Mario, that's how many people your mother will reach for the Lord.' Amazed, I said nothing. Getting back in the truck, I pondered all those lives represented by the trees. Suddenly we were at the top of the mountain and Robert pointed to the view surrounding the entire mountain. There were trees all along the sides of the mountains, spilling into the valleys, over the hills, past the bounds of our vision, past the horizon." Mario paused for a moment. By now, I was picturing the scene with him. Once again whispering, he said, "Robert turned to me and sweeping his arm across the view, he told me 'Mario, this is how many people you and Angel will touch for the Lord together."  

It was like the air had been sucked out of the bus, teammates gone and only Mario and I were left. My heart pounded and my imagination whirled. Though he spoke softly, his words hit my spirit like a flood. It locked something into place for me and I saw what Mario had seen. I believed in my heart that we could be a very strong couple for forever, just as Mario had said. It remained to be seen, however, if these feelings would diminish over time as we were about to be separated from each other for who knew how long. We prayed together that day, that God would direct us very clearly and that we would know our next steps.
After the ministry Christmas party and the last concert of the year (which was powerful and amazing), Mario drove me to Los Angeles to catch a flight home.  We stayed with his friends in the city for a day and talked about our future.  We continued to pray together about it and ultimately came to the decision that our time with this particular ministry had come to an end. We would head to our respective homes to see what other paths the Lord had for us.  I was wary about our relationship, even after hearing about Mario's vision, thinking it might have been great while on the road but it wouldn’t stand up to the strains of distance and time.  I knew that oftentimes what we feel so strongly during the "high moments" of ministry times, fades with the onset of "regular life". I thought to myself, “well then, if he's serious and if he really wants me, he will come and get me.”  And giving him one last kiss, I boarded my plane back home to Detroit.

Chapter 7

7. Senior Year
Time passed and my senior year of high school began in late August 1992.  I was signed up with 4 other classmates to take college courses at the Community College nearby for the morning hours and then return just before lunch to our high school campus.  During my junior year I had joined the Forensics Team, which competed in events for dramatic reading and acting.  I was still avoiding athletics whenever possible and had successfully managed to avoid it throughout high school.  I spent my 9th or 10th grade winter on the JV volleyball team and the coach still laughs when she remembers me begging her not to make me play but let me take team statistics instead.  She was kind and conceded but only because I'm sure she didn't want to be embarrassed by my clutziness either.  I joined the Pep Club one year and then a ballet class another year.  The people there politely asked if I played any instruments and suggested I may "want to just stick with that then".  At least, that's the way I remember it and I distinctly got the impression the other dancers wouldn't mind if I bowed out at any time.
 
I remained active in the music programs, however, playing in the orchestra for 3 years and then auditioning for the Elite Vocal team.  We had so much fun in that class, delivering Singing Telegrams to students during Valentine's Day, performing at local malls and schools.  I have to admit that, for a bunch of teenagers, our harmonies were pretty tight and we loved to worship the Lord together just as much as have fun.  We led praise and worship times during chapel sessions, put music to our skits, and performed musical theatre.  In the spring of 1992, the drama and vocal teachers put together our premier performance of "H.M.S. Pinafore" by Gilbert and Sullivan.  I snagged the part of Buttercup,  the rotund and comical seller of odd-bits-and-ends who visited the ships as they were docked at port, peddling food and wares they needed.  I had trouble reaching all the notes, so I transposed all of my songs to lower keys by hand for our accompanist.  A friend from the senior class showed me how to project my voice and breath properly.  I have been forever grateful to him for that!  My mother modified my costume to give me bumps and curves where I had none and the end result was great laughter when I first appeared on stage.  I accentuated my larger "behind" as I bounced around stage and loved every minute of that experience.  All of us still giggle about our memories from that play.
 
The fall of 1992 brought me freedom from my braces (thank you, Mom and Dad), senior pictures, mock elections and a near-win at the Homecoming queen crown.  Things sure had changed.  I felt more confident about my appearance, my friendships and my future.  After all, I'd already been through two huge, life changing experiences.  I filled out college applications, took the ACT exam (only once though I should have taken it again for a better score), cheered on my classmates at their basketball and volleyball games, socialized every chance I got and studied as much as necessary to maintain my grade point average.  I did not, I confess, have a 4.0 by then but I did have a strong 3.9.  It was enough to grant me valedictorian status by May 1993 and the goal I'd set for myself in kindergarten was achieved.
 
If you talk to any of our teachers from that time period, we are still remembered as the "family" class.  We had our own internal problems and no, everyone did not hang out together on weekends.  But overall, we were a close-knit group.  During high school, I had several "crushes" on the boys there and probably some of those feelings were even returned.  But since I wasn't allowed to date, I didn't have a "real" boyfriend until the autumn of my senior year.  And by "real", I mean someone who took me out on actual dates to the movies, dinner, mini-golfing, basketball games, youth group outings and concerts.  I knew my parents did not want me to date and I knew that they believed it was safer for me that way.  They taught me that it would be easier to maintain my physical and, therefore, spiritual purity if I just didn't put myself in a position where I'd need to make choices like that.  I caused a great deal of drama in our family by not heeding their advice but they were good enough not to disown me at the time.
 
I think it helped that the boy I developed real feelings for was the pastor's son at the church we'd been attending since my freshman year.  We had known his family since I was four years old and our parents were close friends, ministering together and fellowshipping with each other.  It felt natural to fall in love with him and we both agreed it would be "perfect" if we started dating.  He did not attend my school and was "an older man", already enrolled in college courses, about 2 1/2 years older than me.  He was cute, he could sing and, although he had odd tastes in clothing, he was a strong Christian.  I fell head-over-heels for him.
 
He and I respected each other and the boundaries we set as a couple helped us make good choices.  Sure, we struggled with physical temptations over the next 3 years but we never gave up our commitment to respect God and ourselves by remaining virgins.  He is now a very dear friend to my husband and me because of those boundaries we set so long ago.  I believe that God ordained our friendship and perhaps we should not have dated for so long but young love is stubborn.  I am not writing this memoir to expound on my personal romantic history so I only mention this particular relationship because he was there with me through events that formed who I am today.  My parents did allow him to take me on dates with specific parameters of time and location and looking back, I know even that was probably very difficult for them.  Especially since we were unable to tell time and I was almost always late for curfew.  Okay, always late.  I believe now would be another great opportunity to apologize to my parents.
 
The autumn of 1992 came and went without much to document other than my 17th birthday, the beginning of this new love and Christmas time.  The Christmas holidays began in my family on the day after Thanksgiving when we put up the Christmas tree after our family feast.  We did not spend Thanksgiving "with the in-laws" but always just the four of us together, perhaps visiting other family members later for the football game.  Our feast was, and still is, scheduled to begin just after noon and didn't really end until bedtime.  Because the greenhouse schedule was unrelenting, cut the roses twice-a-day every day, our meal times and holidays were planned around when Dad would be working next door and when he would be able to spend the greatest amount of time at home.  Mom's holiday meals are indescribable really.  She prepares the entire week ahead of time so that her homemade turkey dressing is just right, the turkey comes out on time, the pie crusts are just crumbly enough, the from-scratch applesauce is perfectly pink...I can almost smell the delicious aromas now.  Where was I?  Oh yes, the holidays.
 
I don't really know how to describe our home because as I've gotten older, the memories have been frosted with golden edges brightening the years past with a happy glow.  However, if you had asked me as a teenager, I would have answered, "It's not fair.  All my friends get to go places, date and do things that I can't do.  My parents don't understand what it's like now-a-days."  And I probably would have said even more with corresponding huffs, sighs, and foot stomps.  I fought with them a lot in those years determined that they were wrong and I was right, trying to force them to change their minds about what was good and what was not.  

One of my aunts asked me once, "looking back, what do you think your parents could have done better that would have helped you make better choices?"  I thought long and hard about it and I responded, "I don't think they could have changed anything at all.  They disciplined me when I needed it and when I hated it.  They were consistent and gave me Scriptures and tools to help me make boundaries for myself.  When that failed, they made boundaries for me.  I guess I just was determined to learn some things the hard way."  I know this last paragraph is full of cliches but it is exactly how I remember.  Of course, they were not perfect and I'm sure they should have "lightened up" on me in many ways but I don't fault them one bit because I certainly did not make it easy on them.
 
Overall, however, our home was peaceful and all the good things most families only dream about.  Again, living next door to my grandparents was a huge blessing especially during Christmas time.  We had a tradition at that time with Dad's family.  On Christmas Eve our family, with my Dad's five siblings and their families, made our way to Grandma and Papa's house.  It would be after the second cutting of the roses but just before dinner time.  I don't remember who made what except that Grandma always had a big pot of her famous sloppy joes.  There were side dishes galore and desserts of all kinds, including unsweetened apple pie.  Papa would lift the top crust of his piece of pie, sprinkle a huge spoonful of sugar on it, close it up again and give a silly grin before he dug into it.  

After dinner and clean up we all gathered in the living room.  Every seat in the house would be brought in and us youngsters sat on the floor.  Not all of my aunts and uncles were married or had families in 1992 but there were plenty of us to make the room nice and toasty.  There wouldn't be a fire in the fireplace that night!  The family wasn't so big yet that we had to draw names for a gift exchange so we each bought or made gifts for everyone there.  One at a time we would open our presents as Papa, also known as "Santa Claus", passed them out.  We had family sayings like, "Good Shopping!" after someone got excited about their gift. "Just Add Water" for a small box that we'd tease had a big item inside. "Is that really what's inside?" for boxes that looked too good to be true, and the best "oooh, Santa paper - that's a good present" because the best gifts were always somehow wrapped in paper with Santa Claus on it.  

After the gift giving frenzy, we'd tidy up the paper and boxes and Grandma would bring out a tray with communion elements.  Papa would read the Christmas Story and offer some thoughts on the past year and would pray over the little bits of cracker and the little cups of grape juice.  He would also pray over the family.  We took communion together every year and even as I write this tears fill my eyes remembering that precious time.
 
I do not remember any specific gift from that Christmas in 1992 but I do remember one of the best presents I ever received.  Grandma was an avid knitter, making sweaters, hats and mittens.  They were good quality and beautiful, not made with gaudy colors or itchy yarn.  But best of all, Grandma knitted afghans.  Nearly every one of us has an afghan from her.  But I like to think that ours were more special because we were the first grandchildren.  When we were little, April and I received our first afghans knitted in our favorite colors (hers, pink and mine, purple) with a soft, fine yarn.  Those blankets were our princess gowns during playtime and our cozy warmers during movie time.  We wore those gifts out.  She also made matching little ones for our dolls and I still have that one.  When we grew into young ladies, she made new ones for us (same colors) and I still have that one too, although no one else is allowed to use it.  These afghans were special symbols to us of Grandma's love for us.  When she gave me my teenage one she said to me, "when you go off to college and you don't feel good or you're lonely, you wrap yourself up in this and I'll be right there holding you."  I will never ever forget that precious promise.
 
Papa and Grandma were tremendous examples of Godly love, looking past faults and unconditionally trying to serve the other.  They argued, yes, but they lived the truth of God's forgiveness and restoring power right in front of us.  They were not just Harold or Jean, they were Harold and Jean.  Not a matching set but a set nonetheless.  You automatically got one with the other.  They worked together, disciplined their children (and grandchildren) together, shopped together, vacationed together.  They were good friends to my parents and a terrific influence in my life too.
 
I will never forget February 9, 1993 as long as I live.  That Tuesday was cold and gray but not snowy.  I was in my afternoon English class and a page came over the intercom for me to come to the school office.  Curious, I went quickly down the hall meeting my sister half-way.  April was in the tenth grade and had been called down as well.  Reaching the office, we stepped up to the secretary's desk.  She nodded and said, "Angel, you'll both have to get your things together.  Your parents called and want you home right away."  Later I discovered that wasn't exactly what my mother had requested, she had asked them to tell us to come home right after school without any delays.  Oh well, they tried.  Heart thumping wildly, I told April to get her things and meet me at the car.  I rushed back to my English class, offered some sort of explanation to the teacher and my friends and went to my locker.  

I remember having the presence of mind to gather my homework items and pack everything just as if this was the end of any ordinary day.  Meanwhile, my thoughts were careening into one another.  I thought, "well someone has died or they wouldn't have called here.  They would have waited until we got home for anything else.  Even a hospital emergency.  It can't be Mom or Dad because the secretary said 'they called'..." and so on.  All the way home April and I prayed for everyone we could think of, our maternal grandparents, our great-grandparents, our entire family.  Then I remember thinking that maybe it was my boyfriend's grandmother since she had recently been ill.  But I quickly tossed that thought because I knew they wouldn't call us home for that.  That was a terribly long 30 minute drive, let me tell you.
 
Arriving in our driveway we saw that our parents' mini-van was gone.  "Well, that's not a good sign," I told my sister.  We went inside the house and no one was there.  Confused, we went next door to Papa and Grandma's.  No one was there either.  We went out to the greenhouse and found Bill (you remember, the friend who prayed over me) working there.  He saw us and we immediately noticed that he was crying.  We said, "Bill, what's wrong?!" and ran to give him hugs.  He hugged us back but shook his head.  "I think your parents need to talk to you.  They are at your great-grandma’s house but will be back soon.  Go back to your house and wait."  So, we did.  

This particular lady is our great-grandmother on Dad's side.  His mother's mother.  She lived about 30 minutes north of us.  We were very frightened, thinking she had gotten ill and that's where everyone was.  But we stayed put and prayed together.  Fairly soon, Mom and Dad came home and told us the news.  They said that it wasn't about our great-grandmother at all. Instead they told us that Papa and Grandma were in Florida that day going to see our other great-grandparents, Granny and Gramps.  They had stopped for a rest and that Grandma had suddenly and immediately passed away.  No sickness, no pain, just was here and then was gone.  Papa said later that the expression on her face was just like she had opened the front door and seen someone she hadn't seen in a very long time and was so happy to see again.
 
I felt a million things in that moment and felt nothing at the same time.  It was my first experience with grief.  I went upstairs to my room, got my Bible, sat on my bed and wrapped myself in my purple afghan.  I cried some and prayed a lot but never opened the Bible.  I just held it.  After a while I went back downstairs and discovered what my first instincts are in a tragedy.  Help the ones who are hurting more.  Daddy wouldn't let anyone call his siblings and the rest of his family but himself.  So that left Mom.  I believe we cleaned the entire first floor of the house that evening.  Mom and Grandma were very close, working together in the greenhouse daily for years.  

My parents united as a front and showed me how to grieve while pressing into God at the same time.  They were amazing.  Papa came home in the next days.  He and I have always had a special bond and it broke my heart to see him suffer.  I will not share my Papa and my thoughts about his experience with you but I will tell you that I learned a great deal from him over the next few years and I am very proud of him today.  I can tell you that losing my Grandma, who was like my second mother, so suddenly really hit me deeply but in ways I have only recently uncovered.

 
Needless to say, getting hit by a car, attacked by a dog and losing my Grandma so quickly in succession and in less than 3 years had a huge impact on me physically, emotionally, mentally and spiritually.  Now it seemed that fear had become.... fear and now had morphed into.... FEAR.  And it seemed it was here to stay.