By HEATHER CATHLEEN COX
Special to the NEWS
For anyone just now joining the story, or for anyone who would like a recap, be invited to visit www.troubleandasoldier.com before reading.
For everyone else…
In the damp heat of a late-August Texas morning, Trouble and his big Dodge pick-up truck arrived at my apartment. I was wearing my swimsuit, my favorite multi-colored sundress, my Coppertone and had a bag full of essentials such as water bottles, towels and a camera.
This was not Trouble’s and my first trip to an amusement park, but this trip had been entirely Trouble’s idea. He and I hadn’t talked much since we broke up and I answered the call of God on my life. Trouble didn’t really understand what that entailed. I’m not sure if I did, either.
We hadn’t been at the park long before Trouble started complaining that some man, somewhere looked in my direction. Then, Trouble was thirsty and very upset that the water bottles were stashed away in a locker. We couldn’t get our caricatures painted by the graffiti artist guy because caricatures were “dumb,” but Trouble could blow $50 to “show off” at the basketball game.
I wanted to ride the Ferris wheel, which Trouble also thought was “dumb.” We couldn’t catch a show because those were apparently as “dumb” as everything else that was not basketball.
I had had all I could take of Trouble’s less-than-sunshiny demeanor, and I decided to drown him out while making my way to my favorite roller coaster, the Superman coaster. Right before an amusement park closes, the line for any ride is virtually nonexistent.
We must’ve ridden that ride 15 times. We rode until the park closed and our legs were like jelly.
On the way out, we observed our silly faces on a monitor that captures your image in case you want to purchase the memory. We didn’t buy a photo, but the tone of the day did change completely. Trouble and I talked – really talked – for the first time in months. He apologized for acting like a jerk and asked me to take him back.
I did.
Trouble knew my sublease was coming to a close as of September 14, roughly three weeks, and he wanted me to move to Austin to be closer to him.
I had other plans. I had been scouring the web for job listings, careful to seek “Christian” positions because I felt led to enter the ministry.
An orphanage in the Texas Hill Country was hiring live-in houseparents for a residential treatment facility. The facility itself was a private Christian operation, though the children were wards of the state. The job entailed caring for children (ages 7-18) who had been removed from homes where abuse and/or neglect had occurred.
Most of the children at this residence suffered from emotional distress and had been prescribed psychotropic medications by physicians and psychiatrists. As a result, these kids were fairly ill-behaved (violent, runaway risks, sexually deviant, etc.) at least some of the time.
The job didn’t pay much and required me to attend a month-long training program on their campus with no promise of actually being hired at the end of the 30-day period. I would also have to live with the children full-time. During my down time, i.e. when the kids were at school, I would be expected to wash laundry, file paperwork with the state and perform miscellaneous tasks as required. The facility was understaffed, so I was informed that whether or not I was scheduled for a day off, if no replacement houseparent was available, I would be required to stay and work.
I do not have brothers or sisters, nor do I have children of my own. I never even babysat, so I didn’t know the first thing about being a house “parent.” To be frank, it was all I could do to make sure I had food to eat and clean clothes to wear.
After praying over this job description, which had been provided to me by a lady named Allison who boldly stated this line of work “wasn’t for everyone,” I graciously declined her offer to interview.
I was thoughtful and courteous in my response, and I mentioned to Allison that I’d made the issue a matter of prayer. I explained to her that I was not equipped for such a heavy responsibility. I quoted Scriptures from the Bible which state that the Lord considers the care of widows and orphans to be serious work (James 1:27). While I wanted to do God’s work, I told Allison that these kids had already been through enough and deserved someone who knew how to care for them.
Throughout the remainder of August, I continued applying for work, really hoping to hear back from a couple of churches where I’d applied to be a secretary or youth leader. I was also looking for potential roommates because I knew I couldn’t afford to live alone with a limited income.
After nearly a month of diligently seeking work, I was no closer to obtaining a job than I’d been when I started looking.
I wrote a lot of music during college and throughout my time in San Antonio. In fact, two weeks before my car wreck in March, I’d just finished recording some original music and had been invited to play main stage at a female singer-songwriter music festival in Austin.
I was part of a duo, and my guitarist and I had been playing together for around a year when I moved to San Antonio. He and his girlfriend broke-up while Trouble and I were separated. I never thought of my guitarist as more than a friend and musician, a really good musician might I add, so I was not only completely floored when he made a very forward verbal advance, I also felt immensely uncomfortable.
Because I respected our working relationship, I invited him to lunch the next day. I wanted to salvage the duo, but he didn’t say much. That July day at a San Antonio deli would be the last I’d see him, at least intentionally.
Nonetheless, I was excited to have recorded my original 5-song acoustic EP (demo) and wanted to submit it to a record company. While I’d been looking for work, I had also been trying to find producers that accepted musical solicitations, which is not as easy as it sounds.
Music, time with God and writing were still filling my days, but nothing was filling my bank account. It seemed like every door was closed, dead bolted and otherwise lacking keys, and Trouble was waiting in the lurches for me to say: I need you to come save me and take me to Austin.
One Thursday, I logged in to my e-mail account in hopes I’d heard something from one of the music publishers to whom I’d solicited my EP. Instead, the only item I remember opening was a reply from Allison. I hadn’t heard from her in weeks.
Allison’s letter began with an acknowledgement that I had declined her initial offer to interview yet she continued. She said, “I normally don’t do this, but the Lord placed you on my mind. We could really use someone like you at the ranch. Call me as soon as possible if you’ll reconsider. I have an opening to interview on Monday morning for a training that starts on September 14.”
Well, looks like I’m out of space again. Thanks for joining me this week. Maybe I’ll see you back next time for more of the story. Until then, feel free to check the website for updates.
Read this story in the Dec. 30 edition of the San Benito News, or subscribe to our E-Edition by clicking here.
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