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October 14, 2014

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Storied Past – 8

Stunned for a few moments, Becky finally gathered her presence of mind and sprang up. Tearing down the stairs to the street level she searched for Ramona. The streetlights had already been on for a while but they didn’t reveal which way the girl had gone.

“Oh, Ramona,” she wondered, “where did you go?” Heading back upstairs she tried to think what to do next. Maybe Ramona would go back home tonight. She might try to check online for a doctor there or maybe she could get a referral from her own doctor. What to do?

Her ringtone abruptly sounded. It was Jeremy, the staff member from City Reach.

“Hi Becky, how’s it going?”

“Not good. Remember the girl I brought with me to the soup kitchen?”

“Yeah, she seemed real shy. Nice though. What about her?”

Becky sighed, “Well, she is pregnant and I’m afraid she might end it; soon!”

“Are you serious right now? Isn’t she with you?

“Well, she was at my apartment until I got home from work. Then she had a meltdown and flew out the door threatening to find a doctor. I don’t know what I should do.”

Jeremy thought for a second. “Want me to meet you someplace? We should try to find her.”

Becky agreed. “I think she might go to her house. Meet me there; 1015 East Granite Street. I’ll be there in fifteen.”

 

Ramona hurriedly walked to the corner where she turned left. She didn’t know where she was going and didn’t really care. She was only cognizant of this anger and deep hurt that drove her to get away; just go someplace, anyplace but here in this Podunk, small-minded town.

That thought lodged in her consciousness with a speck of hope. Maybe she really should go someplace else: a new life in a new city where no one knew her. They wouldn’t know her past; wouldn’t judge her now and she could make her own future without church busybodies telling her how to live. She could find a doctor in a larger city, take care of her problem and start over.

First she had to go home and pack some things. Then she remembered: her purse! She was in such a hurry to leave Becky’s she left it in the front hallway!

Continuing around the block she headed back to the apartment.

 

Becky and Jeremy arrived about the same time at Ramona’s house. “Did you knock yet?” he asked.

“No, I was waiting until you arrived. I may need your moral support.” Becky said.

“No lights on,” Jeremy noted. They peered into the living room window. “And I don’t see any shadows moving around either.” He said.

“Great!” Becky sighed and moved back to the front door. She rang the doorbell. No answer. She rang again and then again.

“Well, what do we do now?” Becky looked at Jeremy.

“Where else do you think she might go?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I’ve only known her for about a week, Jeremy. I saw her Dad at the mercantile store and then on the kitchen floor, unconscious. He is the only . . . oh, I know. Let’s call Pastor Marlowe. He would know lots of her friends and they could ask around; see if they can find her.”

“Great idea, Beck! I’ve wanted to meet him anyway.” Reaching for his phone he said, “I’ll search for his number.”

He found a Pastor Marlowe listed and handed the phone to Becky. She waited while it rang and then went to voicemail.

“Pastor Marlowe, this is Becky Moore, a friend of Ramona Beckett. I am wondering if you could help me find her. I think she may be a bit distraught and could be in danger. You can reach me at my number; 503.555.6162. Thank you.”

“Well, all we can do now is wait for him to call back. Other than that, I don’t have a clue where she could be,” Becky concluded.

It was now getting close to 9:30 pm. They caught a bus and headed toward downtown. Five or six minutes later they got off on Main. The streets were wet from a heavy mist. Diesel fumes from the departing bus mixed with the moist air in a familiar scent that describes most small to medium sized Northwest towns. The yellow/orange streetlights reflected off the dampness of every hard surface and magnified, leaving a glow that was both welcoming and mysterious.

Holy Grounds Coffee Company, Becky’s part time employer and the place she took Ramona after discovering her under the overpass last week, was in the next block.

“Jeremy, let’s go get some tea while we’re waiting for Pastor Marlowe to call back. I will tell you what I know about Ramona.”

“Right! Good call.” Jeremy agreed.

They ordered and sat down with mugs of steaming organic tea. Becky then related how she met Ramona just down the street a few blocks and everything up to when he called her a couple of hours before, including Ramona’s dream and today’s rant.

“Well, that is pretty sad,” Jeremy observed. “I have heard other people share similar stuff about that church. It will be interesting to meet the Pastor and see if he is really that . . . that harsh, I guess I might describe it.”

Becky’s phone interrupted their conversation. Pastor Marlowe’s voice asked, “Becky Moore?”

“Yes, Pastor? Thanks for calling back. I’m worried about Ramona.” She then gave a much shortened version of the last few hours.

“Well, what would you like me to do?” Marlowe asked.

“I was hoping you might check with some of her friends there in the church to see if they might know where she could be.” Becky suggested.

“You know, it’s hard to say. Ramona strayed from God and she’s gone into other friendships that her church friends probably wouldn’t know about. She could be anywhere. And I don’t want to get in the way of God’s disciplinary activities. What would that make me?”

Becky had a hard time with this last comment. She didn’t quite know how to respond.

“Well, I would be glad to call a couple of people if you could give me their names, Pastor.”

“If you want to call, that’s fine. I think she has made her bed though, and you can see what she did in it!”

“Yes, sir. Who can I call?”

Marlowe gave her three of Ramona’s friends from his church. Jeremy entered them into his phone as she repeated the names. Thanking the pastor, she hung up.

“You will never believe what he just said.” Becky was fuming. “I just can’t understand how a Pastor would write off someone and not even want to help.”

“There are those who believe that when you leave a church you leave God and His best ways,” Jeremy observed, “even if you don’t leave because of sinful activity. It’s like you can only serve God best in that church and by leaving it you have chosen to serve God at some lesser level, which is not acceptable once you have known a better way.”

“And what about Ramona? She didn’t leave because of that. She left because she felt like she couldn’t live up to the Pastor’s expectations, which she equated with God’s expectations. Oh! Excuse me. I need to call these friends before it gets too late.”

– To Be Continued –

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October 7, 2014

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Storied Past – 7

Ramona sank down into the stout hospital chair next to his bed. She hadn’t figured her father struggled with anything. He was always so settled and determined when it came to his faith. He seemed to act with unquestioned commitment as he dutifully followed the Pastor’s directives. If he, the one who was so careful to do the right thing, the one who always backed the Pastor fully, the one who was always there at church even if he was sick, if HE had questions . . . well, how could she ever make it?

That brought back a memory that made her shudder. In her mind she could hear a ditty that two of her friends sang years ago. Pastor Marlowe loved it! He had them sing it several times in front of everyone. One verse went like this:

“If we all backed our pastor, our pastor, our pastor
If we all backed our pastor, how happy we’d be.
When your friends are my friends and our friends are God’s friends
If we all backed our pastor, how happy we’d be.”

Well, she wasn’t happy! Maybe other people in the church thought it was because she wasn’t “backing the Pastor.” But, her dad was. Why didn’t he act happy then?

“You’ve been awfully quiet. What are you thinking about?” She snapped back to the reality of the sterile hospital room.

“Nothing, Dad. Um, did Mom always go along with Pastor Marlowe’s preaching? I mean, did she agree with all the rules and stuff?”

“Well, we had, shall I say, spirited conversations about different things. Sometimes when he had a Bible teaching about something, she would disagree. I always thought Pastor meant well and was truly concerned about making sure we were ready for Heaven.”

Ramona was puzzled. She had the impression that her mother was pretty supportive. She never talked bad about him anyway. Well, there WAS that time that Sister Jacobs had all the girls line up on their knees to check how short their dresses were. Her mom was not happy about that but what could she do?

The duty nurse slipped into the room. “I think we should let your father rest for a while now. Pretty big ordeal he’s been through today!”

“Sure.” Ramona said. “I’ll see you later, Dad.” He didn’t respond. He had drifted off to sleep.

Ramona was deep in thought as she exited the hospital. The distinct medical smells from inside were supplanted by the organic wetness of nature outside. The crispness of this spring evening was such a contrast and seemed to portend a feeling she couldn’t quite identify; something peculiar. Was it simply the known promise of the approaching warmth of summer? Was it the impending unknown experience this life growing inside her would bring?

A baby would change her life trajectory, of course. Many times in the last few weeks this thought had both frightened her and brought anxiety. She struggled to picture a daily routine which included feeding, smelly diapers, tiptoeing at nap time, the inevitable noise of a crying child, the virtual death of her social life. She didn’t want her future completely hijacked by a baby!

As she walked the fifteen or so blocks back to Becky’s, a possible solution she once rejected out of hand took form on the shadowy horizon of her consciousness. She needed to find a doctor though.

She had to figure it out; needed to think this thing through. It made sense because she just wasn’t ready; besides people did it all the time. How could she get a job with a baby? It would be too hard!

She tried not to think it might be a solution she could regret later but she was already filled with guilt and regret. With a baby she would still have that, plus the added burden of being responsible for a child. At least with an abortion she would only have guilt and regret.

Becky pulled a couple of shots of espresso to add to the Americano she was making. She had been thinking about Ramona all afternoon.

“Lord, how can I help her see you?” she breathed. “I know that her church experience has been hurtful and right now her faith is especially vulnerable. Let me just be a friend to her and listen.”

“Paul, your Americano is ready. Paul?

A good looking guy stepped up to claim the drink. “Thanks! Hey, what time do you get off work?” he asked.

“In a few minutes,” she returned, “but I have plans. Thanks anyway.”

“Well maybe some other time?” he offered.

“Probably not. My boyfriend wouldn’t like it.”

“Oooooo. Ok then. Have a nice life.”

He turned and walked out, to Becky’s relief. She clocked out and went to get her coat. Leaving the small shop she headed to her apartment.

Ramona was standing at the back kitchen window when Becky walked in. She hung her coat on the hall tree and walked across the small room to the overstuffed chair. She waited to see if Ramona would acknowledge her presence.

Seconds seeming like minutes passed and finally Becky ventured, “Ramona, you Ok?”

“Does God forgive all kinds of sins, forever?” Ramona asked, almost monotone.

“Yes, yes, of course Ramona. He has already forgiven all of your sins and mine. You know this; that Jesus died once for all of us and for all time. Sin has been paid for completely and entirely. You are forgiven.”

“Well, I don’t feel forgiven.” She shot back. “I feel dirty, I feel rejected, I feel embarrassed, I feel wronged, I feel like I’ve disappointed God, my family, church and I’ve gone too far, made too many mistakes and used up all of God’s patience.” She was gathering steam now. “That’s why I’m pregnant! God is punishing me because I went too far this time. I didn’t listen to him or the Pastor and now I have to pay for it.”

Ramona turned to face Becky. There were tears running down her face from reddened eyes. Becky was moved deeply as she sensed the pain Ramona was trying to express. But the next statement from Ramona shook her.

“I am going to fix part of the problem.” Her voice was strong and resolute now. “I can’t let a baby ruin the rest of my life. I need all my energy to get back on track. So since God forgives sins forever, I’m about to commit one more.”

“Ramona, how can I help?” Becky hoped this would slow down the girl’s speedy journey into more trouble.

“Well, for starters, you can take your “God stuff” and stuff it where the sun don’t shine! I’m tired of everybody’s sanctimonious attitude like they know what I should be doing. I know what I want and it isn’t a baby!”

She strode out the front door slamming it with a finality that chilled Becky to her bones.

“Ramona, Wait! Don’t do it. I can help.”

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October 1, 2014

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Storied Past – 6

“What is it, Ramona?” Becky raced into the kitchen.

“My dad, he’s lying on the floor,” Ramona cried. They both stooped for a closer look at the man. He appeared to have fainted or something.

“I’ll call 911,” Becky exclaimed.

Ramona mumbled, “Dad, what happened? Dad! Oh, please don’t be dead. I need you!”

She could hear his slight breathing and uttered a silent prayer of thanks to God. “Don’t let him die, God. I couldn’t handle losing him, too. ”She heard the sirens now and Becky returned to the kitchen. “Is he . . . ?”

“He’s still alive, Becky. Thanks for calling.”

“Of course,” she replied, and then intoned, “Thank you Jesus, for letting us get here in time.” Ramona tightened up inside but didn’t say anything.

The next many minutes melted together into a nightmarish fiction at glacial speed. The paramedics told the two girls that Mr. Beckett had suffered a heart attack. Arriving at the hospital, they followed the gurney into Emergency. Becky had to go to work leaving Ramona to witness the medical staff scurrying around attending to her father. A few moments later the doctor on call stopped to give her an update.

“It was a heart attack, probably from high blood pressure,” he related. It was pretty high when he came in.”

“Has he been under a lot of stress lately, Miss Beckett?”

“Well, my Mom passed a couple of years ago. Would that have caused this kind of stress,” Ramona queried.

“It certainly could have contributed but generally this comes from chronic stress which exposes your body to elevated levels of stress hormones like cortisol and adrenaline. Eventually, your body reacts to this unhealthy exposure in a sudden event, like a heart attack.”

“OK, thank you, sir. What are you going to do now?”

“Well, we are doing some testing now to check for coronary artery disease. We will know the results in a little while. I’ll keep you posted.”

Just then a tall, slender figure approached from her peripheral vision. “Ramona?” Pastor Marlowe asked. “Are you doing OK?”

“Oh, hello Pastor. Yeah, I guess. I’m still numb I think.”

“I heard about your father from a girl who called me this afternoon. Becky, I think she said? I figured I should come and see how he is.”

“They are running some tests right now. Looks like he had a heart attack; may be stress related.”

“He was pretty worried about you, Ramona. Thought you had run away when he couldn’t find you. Maybe that you had taken off with . . . well, no matter. You are here now. He was so hurt by . . . ; he felt like you had just gone over the edge.” Marlowe struggled to keep his own feelings and verbal communication in check. Ramona sensed he wanted to scold her himself but thought better of that idea.

“No, I just needed some space to think so I disappeared for a while.” She thought the less said to him, the better. No telling where that information would go. She recalled that other people’s issues often surfaced in private conversations disguised as “prayer requests” and she didn’t want to be the topic of church gossip any more than she already was.

“Well, I hope you take this situation to heart. Bad things often happen as a result of our own misguided actions. Who knows? Maybe your father was so distressed about you, thinking you left God forever, that his body just couldn’t handle it anymore. I believe God will forgive you when you come back to your faith.”

This last comment made Ramona seethe with anger. Why would she have anything to do with a heart attack? She wisely refrained from lashing out knowing it wouldn’t do any good anyway. She was glad to be away from such judgmental assessments like his. Maybe she would make this separation from church more permanent.

“Well, we will be praying for you, Ramona. I’ll get going but I hope you will come back to church soon.”

“Goodbye,” Ramona said. Under her breath she muttered, “. . . and good riddance.” Ohhh, she was feeling a bit wicked.

Pastor Marlowe’s absurd chastising reminded her of his weekly discourses to the congregation: Bible teachings that were explorations into how to be more consecrated and holy. They occasionally involved more esoteric excavations of ritual biblical practices like weekly fasting habits or Bible teaching topics of late 19th century holiness movements. The latter most often focused on women’s clothing. She recalled an instance where shoes with high heels were spotlighted and condemned because they caused the leg calf to be more pronounced and thereby seduce men. So it was the woman’s fault that men lusted, she assumed was the conclusion. Something there she needed to process more.

The nurse on duty approached. “Miss Beckett?” she inquired.

“Yes, I am.” Ramona replied.

“Your father is in a room now, 314. You can go sit with him until he wakes up, if you wish.”

“OK, thanks. I will.” She walked a few doors down finding the room the nurse indicated. Slowly she pushed the door open and parted the curtain around the bed. She stood there for a few minutes looking at him. Memories of when she was little crept out of hiding into her consciousness. Scenes of playing with her father on the backyard swing. He would come home from work tired but happy to see her. Standing in the driveway, he would call through the window for her to come out and play for a few minutes before supper. She wished she could see him happy like that again. She wished she could be happy like that again. Where had that closeness and joy gone?

She saw a bit of movement. “Dad? Are you awake? Can you hear me?” Mr. Beckett opened his eyes.

“Hi pumpkin.” It had been a long time since he called her that.

“Hi Dad.”

She bent over to give him a hug and squeeze his free hand. She felt a bit of wetness on his face and realized a tear had leaked out one corner of his left eye.

Ramona felt her own tear trail down over her makeup. “How do you feel?”

“Well, I don’t know. I remember I felt a horrible pain in my chest and then . . . what happened?”

“The doc said you had a heart attack. They are running some tests. I’m so glad you’re still with me.”

“Ramona, I . . . ; you don’t know how much I have been worried about you, leaving the church and all. I don’t want you to go to hell and split up our family.”

“Oh, Dad, I didn’t leave God or my faith. I just was having a hard time following all those rules. I don’t know how you and Mom could follow them but I felt like I had a chain on my ankle. I couldn’t even enjoy life. Do you know how hard it is to snowboard in a dress? Do you know how that made me feel when I was around friends who don’t go to that church? I’m sorry; I shouldn’t bring that stuff up when it’s you in the hospital.”

“It’s ok, pumpkin. Since your mom died, I tried to deal with it by being more involved at church and trying to live more holy. This whole thing about your having a baby just made me see how that trying to keep myself, and you, unspotted from the world is so hard and out of my control. I want to be perfect but I don’t know. I’m kind of confused. Maybe I need to get saved again.”

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September 23, 2014

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Storied Past – 5

“Ramona! What are you doing here?” her father repeated, this time more irritated. “Where have you been? I’ve looked all over for you. I haven’t seen you for two days and I’ve been worried. I called the police this morning after looking for you all last night. Where did you go?”

“I . . . I just had to leave for a while. I needed some space to . . . “

“Well, you coulda’ said something.” He interrupted. “You had me scared. You need to come home right now.” He seemed to be gaining speed, anger and volume all at once.

“Well, I think I am, no I know I’m OK and I will come home soon. I just need some space; to think and figure things out.”

“What’s to figure? You are pregnant, in trouble and in sin. You need to get saved,” he spat out. You’re lucky I haven’t thrown you out. I’m still your father and I say you need to come home.”

“No sir,” she countered. “I am staying with a friend and I will be just fine.”

Becky had observed the interaction from a few aisles away and felt like it had escalated more than necessary. She stepped up to the cash register. “Could you call 911 please? I hope everything will be OK but just in case.”

“Sure,” the cashier said.

As she returned to her previous position a safe distance away she saw Ramona’s father reach out and grab her arm. “I said, you need to come home, right now.” Ramona pulled back so fast she knocked over a display of windshield wiper fluid. A couple of bottles split open spreading bluish liquid over the surrounding area.

“Dad, I said I am just fine. I will be home soon. Now could you just leave me alone for a while? Please don’t cause a scene.”

“Well, I guess you already caused a scene, didn’t you, when you went out, got drunk and got all knocked up from some guy you didn’t even know. You’ve probably been sleeping around, too. You’re a whore and damned for Hell.”

Ramona started. She had never heard her father talk like that. But then the impact of what he had said infuriated her. “I was not sleeping around! I have been your perfect little girl all my life trying to please you and the church and now you call me that? I hate you, I hate you!”

Just then the squawk of a police radio coming in the front door demanded everyone’s attention.

“Hey, Hey,” the officer called out. “Let’s calm down and tell me what’s going on.”

“Nothing, officer,” Ramona’s father replied. “I was just leaving. I’ll see you later little Miss sleep-around. Don’t think this is over.”

“Now wait a minute, mister,” the officer known as Riley demanded. “You are not leaving that soon. I want to talk to you first. Here, step outside for a minute. And you stay here in the store, young lady. I want to talk to you, too.”

Ramona looked over at Becky, her heart in her throat from fear. Where did that talk-back spunk come from? She never talked to her father that way before. She guessed she would be in trouble with him for weeks because of it. If Mom were still alive she would be disappointed but she knew Mom would be at least understanding and loving through all this.

Come to think of it, it started to make some sense. Since Mom died her father seemed to become more harsh and demanding. He went to church more like he was off to war or something. When they came home he was more rigid and mechanical around the house. “Everything has a place and there is a place for everything,” he kept saying, as if he were getting OCD or something. Structure, organization and perfect behavior were the most important values. No time for fun anymore.

Becky had walked over by this time and touched her elbow. “I’m so sorry, Ramona. Are you going to be OK? We can go. I still have a few more days until Saturday to find a scarf.”

“Probably should go. I feel weak in the knees. But the cop wants to talk to me first.”

After a short conversation with Officer Riley they headed back to Becky’s apartment. It was still cold out and Ramona clutched her coat closer. She did need to go home and get some clothes to wear. She really hadn’t planned on being gone long when she left yesterday. Now, with her father’s behavior, it made things more complicated. Should she just go on back home or stay with Becky a couple more days?

Turning to Becky she said, “If it’s OK with you Becky, I think I may need to stay with you a little longer but I need to get a change of clothes. Could you go with me? I’m not sure how my father will act when I get there.”

“Of course, Ramona. And yes, you may hang out with me until you get things straightened out with your dad.”

They caught a bus for the ride over to Ramona’s neighborhood. These colder days would eventually give way to the warm spring season but winter seemed to refuse to let go of its grip. Gray, cloudy skies and the accompanying rain squalls were the norm now and this afternoon was no exception. They seemed to overshadow Ramona and eerily prophesy that dark forces were in control of her destiny. The awful dream from last night stole back into her memory in an effort to confirm a hopeless feeling that had nagged her subconscious recently. Why had all this happened to her? What good could possibly await in her future now? What a mess this was.

The bus stopped at East Granite Street where she and Becky got off. Walking two blocks up brought them to a crème colored bungalow with chocolate brown trim where Ramona’s family lived; that is to say, where she and her father lived. Since mom died it hadn’t seemed much like a home. Oh, the place was clean and decently appointed, as it had always been but the warmth of her mother’s graceful spirit was missing, replaced by the drab clamminess of legalistic rule minding imposed by her father.

She turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open. She invited Becky to go in first. Suddenly a strange feeling came over her when she crossed the threshold. What was it? Walking through the living room into the kitchen she nearly tripped over her father’s shoe. Then a horrified scream vaulted past her brain and out of her mouth.

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September 9, 2014

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Storied Past – 3

Ramona eased herself into the well-worn but comfortable sofa as Becky went into the little kitchen. Ramona looked around at the sparse but comfortable surroundings. There was a small table covered with a plaid tablecloth and two chairs. Family photos occupied three wooden frames on the wall above the table. A floor lamp and end table with some unopened mail completed the furnishings. To the left, past the half open window she could see the door to the bedroom. Becky lived much more simply than Ramona was used to. By this time Phredy had settled down on his pillow next to the kitchen door. Just then Becky returned with some hot water, honey and lemon.

“Here. This should help you feel better. It’s what I have whenever my stomach gets grouchy, which is pretty often since I . . . well, I don’t need to talk anymore right now. I’ll get some blankets. You can sleep right there on the couch.”

“That sounds good. I guess I am exhausted. I do have to ask you something, though. Are you one of those . . . Christians? Are you being nice to me just to win some goodie, two shoes points?”

Becky smiled. “I have heard about that kind of Christian, in fact, I used to be one. Now I guess I see being a follower of Jesus a little differently. It’s not about doing good stuff to impress Him and other people. For me, it’s about being real and loving all of God’s creation, no matter how badly they have messed up. I don’t mean “let it all hang out real” but I mean genuine and truthful real. It is hard to do but that’s why I have to let Jesus help me be real and help me love people. Does that make any sense?”

Ramona’s forehead wrinkled up. “I need to think about . . . to process this, I guess. Most all the Christians I know seem to have a Sunday face or one they use around other Christians but they really aren’t very accepting of people who don’t go to their church.” Ramona realized she had raised the volume of her voice a little too much for the time of night. She continued more quietly but more intense. “They act pretty content to have Holy Club meetings when just across the street are some broken and messed up people. Why can’t they just walk outside and use some of their righteousness to fix the neighborhood?”

“Wow,” Becky exclaimed. “There was a bunch of hurt right there on the surface, wasn’t there my friend?”

Ramona laid back against the sofa. “I’m sorry, I’ve just been so angry for years that I just don’t buy it when Christians talk a good line about living perfect like Jesus but don’t do what Jesus did in the Bible. Am I wrong? Didn’t he go out and heal people and teach on the mountains and cast out demons and stuff?” Ramona shuddered at the visual that came into her mind of the naked guy in the Bible with demons hanging all over him. He probably got a group discount everywhere he went. But, she recalled, the next chapter in his life brought a huge, wonderful change that the whole town recognized.

Becky answered in a soft, confident voice that calmed Ramona down. “No, you are not wrong about that. I believe Jesus wants us to be like he was and is and be His hands and feet to all we meet. That mission might start in the church community but it really has to be carried out in the local, social contexts where we live, work and play.”

“That sounds different than how I was raised,” Ramona reflected. “I really did mean it when I said, Thank you. I’m sorry I raised my voice. It wasn’t against you.”

“I know. It’s OK. I should really let you get some rest. We can talk more tomorrow before I go to work. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” Ramona laid her head back. How different this evening had turned out. Could she dare hope to think that God would have had anything to do with it? Wasn’t God angry with her? After all, she went to that bar. God had nothing to do with that. She agreed to go with Paul, or whatever his name really was. She drank whatever it was that knocked her out and she got knocked up. It was all her fault, all her bad choices. God would be right to be angry. He had warned her plenty and now she was simply reaping what she had sown. Justice. She got what she deserved. It was no one else’s fault but hers.

She dreamed fitfully; dreams of demons dancing all over her pregnant tummy. They were laughing and screaming epithets and curses, telling her it was over, she might as well die, kill the baby and die. God hated her because he hated sin with a perfect hatred and she had sinned, therefore He hated her. Twisted dark demons with sulfur smells and glowing fingernails tried to tear at her body, all the while yelling foul words. She tried to run but her feet were rooted in the mucky mud and she sensed they were sinking, sinking and being pulled down by a senior demon with an upside down face of Pastor Marlowe. Then the ground started to move, slowly at first, then a full-scale earthquake moving.

“Wake up, Ramona, wake up. You were screaming in your sleep.” Ramona jerked awake realizing it was Becky shaking her that seemed like an earthquake.

“Wha-a-at?”

“You were screaming. What in the world were you dreaming?”

“That’s just it,” Ramona retorted, “It wasn’t in this world.” She related what she remembered about the dream to Becky.

“That’s awful, Ramona, just awful. But the truth is, there are spiritual forces out there that are against you. They want you to be so discouraged that you give up; maybe even kill yourself. But you need to know that Jesus has good news for you. He loves you and wants to be part of your life.”

“I know that religious talk! Church has been most of my life all of my life,” Ramona said. “I was there all the time, every time they had church and music practice and I even got stuck cleaning the church with my dad way too often. I’m sick of church. Why do you think I’m in this mess? I’ll tell you, because I had to get away from all the church, church, church stuff. You can’t tell me Jesus loves me when he took so much of my life and forced me to run away from His rules and let me make choices that wound up with a baby I didn’t want. That’s not good news!”

Becky didn’t answer right away. She knew Ramona had to get it off her chest. Years of anger, pain, rules and her recent wrong choices had left her with hurts that deserved more than a hasty defense.

“I can’t possibly know how you feel, Ramona but I think I understand where your anger comes from. Life has taken a hard left turn for you after such disappointment from people you didn’t expect to hurt you so much. Maybe you can rest a little before morning.”

Dawn stole into the room. Ramona dressed quickly and waited for Becky to come into the room. A few minutes later she entered carrying her coat.

“Come with me,” Becky said cheerfully. “I have something I want to show you and then we can have some breakfast.”