Nancy s summer diary june
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The Visitor: Monica's Diary, Monday June 26 free porn video
The Visitor
Monica's Diary
Monday, June 26
Finally, I got some sleep. What has always been a day of rest for me and
mine began close to 1 a.m. and did not end until 11:00 last night. I had
of course prayed that Grace would vote to let us take Timothy and that
Family and Protective Services would approve us as foster parents, but I
had hoped that Nathan and the children would be present when we informed
our new family member.
To be honest, I had hoped that Nathan would be the one to do the actual
talking. I was discovering what other mothers, of older boys, had
mentioned to me in the past to be true. When they become teenagers, they
take on the nature of wild stallions. They openly and directly challenge
and question and test every limit. For all of Timothy's protestations of
femininity, his actions were those of Mark and Josiah writ large, or at
least larger. Nathan had the inborn nature of a father to rein that in.
I didn't. That's why I was fearful when Timothy overheard me talking to
Nathan about all that God had brought to pass that day. I was, quite
simply, afraid of another long drawn out argument.
"Ever since we found you in the creek that day, my husband and I have
felt that God had directed your steps south instead of east for a
purpose." Timothy looked at the bruises he could see, the bandages, the
tubes, and the wires.
"What purpose?"
"We think that God wanted you in our lives."
"So, you threw me in jail instead. What a couple of Jonahs you are!"
Ever been slapped in the face? You can't help wincing and you can't help
tearing up. He saw my reaction and continued.
"I begged you to let me stay. I begged you not to turn me in. I told you
they would hurt me. But no! You didn't want to get your hands dirty. You
wanted to protect your precious Hannah, and the rest of them, from being
defiled by someone like me. You're just a hypocrite!"
Of course, the moment he dragged my children into it, he provoked a rage
in me so great I could have killed him and presented my arm for the
lethal injection without the slightest hesitation. But in the next
moment the Lord opened my eyes to what I was actually seeing. Here was a
soul in pain. He was weeping, wailing, and gnashing his teeth. His pain
was not just physical, but the emotional, spiritual pain of one being
consumed alive by the worms of a desire that would never be satisfied
and would never die. This would be his existence forever unless God
interrupted his life.
I walked over to his bed and sat down in the chair beside it. "You're
right of course. All too often I say one thing and do another. I pretend
to be something that I am not. This is a besetting sin, and I confess it
daily."
Timothy stared at me but said nothing.
"My husband and I have been given permission by the State of Texas to
take you out of jail and home with us. Once you have recovered enough to
leave the hospital, you do not have to go back to the detention center."
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He turned his head and stared
hard out the window. His eyes blinked rapidly and then closed again. He
turned his face to the wall. I couldn't see his expressions at all. The
air conditioner cycled off. I could hear the clock on the wall. Still
facing the wall, he finally spoke.
"And all I have to do in exchange for my life is play the all-American
boy and go to church with you every time the door is open."
"Didn't you tell me yourself that you are a Christian?" I asked softly.
"Yeah, but they kind of beat that sort of thing out of you in jail. You
beg God for help, but nothing changes, so you learn to adapt."
"No one is going to beat anything out of you in our home."
"Yeah? What about me?"
"What about you?"
"Is your husband going to beat me out of me?"
At this point I leaned over and placed my hand on Timothy's arm. "Skyla,
no one will try to change you into anything you are not. You be whom you
feel you must be, and we and ours will love you."
I could feel his body go rigid.
"But last night you said you didn't love me. You said I was scary."
"Yes. We were scared of you, but God, as only God can, has changed our
minds. We do love you. We're on your side now."
His body went limp then. He turned to face me, and I hugged him. Neither
one of us was seeing any too clearly at that point. And that is pretty
much how Nathan and the kids found us when they arrived from church.
"Hey look, Stinky's awake!"
"Josiah!" I admonished.
"He knows that's what I call him; right, Stinky?"
"I guess," Timothy answered.
The boys moved to the side of the bed opposite me. Mark pushed the
button to elevate the head of the bed to a sitting position. The girls
came to me for a group hug. Nathan stood grinning at the foot of the
bed.
"Looks like somebody has already gotten the good news."
"Yes," I answered, patting Timothy's arm. "Skyla is very happy to be
joining us.
"How did you pick that name, anyway?" Josiah asked. "It doesn't sound
like any kind of name I've ever heard of."
Skyla looked embarrassed for a moment but then did something I'd not yet
seen him do, ever. He smiled. It was a weak smile, but it was a smile.
"I thought, well, you know, when I was out on my own, you know--single
and ready to mingle--that it would be kind of cute to tell people that my
mom had named me that because I had been born in the sky over L.A."
"A lie! You're just going to lie?" Hannah sounded genuinely shocked.
"Han," her father remonstrated. "Skyla hasn't actually said that to
anyone, and is not likely to for many, many years. It hasn't actually
happened, so it's probably not yet a sin. Okay?"
"Okay," she said warily.
The children soon gathered around and retold the flying toady story
again to the now conscious Timothy while Nathan and I got me packed up
and ready to go home.
"Skyla," Nathan said. "We're going home now and call your mom and give
her the news that you won't be going back to jail. Are you going to be
okay by yourself tonight?"
"I think so," he said.
"Remember," I said. "Don't turn off this overhead light."
"I won't."
The girls chorused a "bye, Skyla." Mark gave a small hand wave, and
Josiah reached out and punched Timothy in the arm. "Bye, Stinky."
"Don't be surprised," Nathan continued, "if a number of women from our
church come in from time to time to sit with you until you're all healed
up."
"What?" Timothy looked startled.
"It'll be fine," I said. "They would do the same thing if any of our
children were in the hospital. Besides, they've heard so much about you
they will be wanting to get to know you."
He didn't say anything, but the worry was still in his face. I came back
to his bed and took his hand.
"If you're going to enter the world of women," I said to him softly,
"you will have to meet us on our terms."
"Okay," was all he said.
On the way home, I anticipated a lot of talk about Timothy, and maybe
there was, but for some reason I fell asleep and heard none of it. I
didn't actually wake up until we pulled up in front of the house.
Once home and unpacked, I set out our supper of cold cuts, while Hannah
chopped fruit and Elizabeth and Sarah set the table.
"Mama, is Timothy going to be helping us in the kitchen when he gets
here?" Hannah asked. The other two girls immediately stopped and looked
up.
"The kitchen, the bathroom, the laundry, the sweeping, the dusting, the
mopping, the gardening, the sewing, the ironing--you name it--and Skyla
will be doing it." I couldn't help but smile.
"Like Cinderella?" Sarah asked. She is always wistful that one.
"Do I look like an evil stepmother?" I asked, making a face.
"No!" they chorused.
"And you don't look like mean step-sisters." I paused until they stopped
giggling. "No. Skyla will just do what we all do."
"Does he know how to do anything?" Hannah asked.
"I'm guessing not, but this will be an opportunity for each of you to
pass along not only your great learning but also your wisdom in the ways
of running a household." I paused again. They laughed. And then we
called the other half of our world in for supper.
After supper and the family devotion that followed that, each of us
separated to our individual pursuits. There was only one real rule on
the Lord's Day, no loudness. Nathan usually studied. The boys wandered
in the woods. Hannah always had some kind of project going on, and
Elizabeth always attended to it with her. Sarah seemed always to be
reading. I decided now would be the time to give Cynthia the good news.
"Harps." The voice that answered my call was very male.
"Oh, Mr. Harp, this is Monica Henson; I was wondering if I might speak
to Cynthia."
"She's at church." He said this in a tone that conveyed the emotional
message that whatever I had intended should be forgotten forthwith; I
should hang up the phone and leave him in peace. This rather panicked
me, which immediately plunged me into babble mode.
"Oh, my yes, look at the clock. It's well after 7:00 pm. Of course, she
would be at church on a Sunday night. Just because our church meets at
10:00, 11:00, and 2:00 doesn't mean every church does. What was I
thinking?" I paused, but if I was expecting a response, I was
disappointed. Mr. Harp said nothing. "I could call back later, but this
is such good news you will want to hear it yourself and pass it on to
your wife. Then she could call me back, or I could call her; either
way."
"What." It was not a question. It was a demand, the impatience of which
could have been cut with a large pair of scissors.
"Timothy doesn't have to go back to the detention center. Isn't that
wonderful!"
"Where's he going?"
You know what it's like when you're busy with a thousand and one things
that have to be done yesterday and one of your little ones wants to tell
you about a phenomenon he has just observed in his universe. Mark once
saw two rabbits out in the scrub. One was feeding while the other kept
watch by jumping straight up and down in an upright position. With every
jump it rotated until it completed a full 360 degrees. It was truly
remarkable, and I would have loved to have seen it myself, but I just
didn't have time for it. I asked only the most perfunctory of questions
and made such bland comments that at some point, which I didn't even
notice at the time, he simply stopped talking and left. That's how Mr.
Harp made me feel just then, that he was merely making conversation
about a topic that was to him a matter of complete indifference.
"Once he's healed up, he's coming home with us."
"And you are?"
"We're the Henson's. We're the family that found Timothy after he ran
away from the boys' ranch."
"Oh, yeah, the wife did say something about that I think. I'll pass the
word along when she gets home."
"Wait!" I said that louder than I intended, and my voice broke at the
same time. I felt my eyes begin to burn. "Mr. Harp, this is your son
we're talking about, your little boy. Please!" At this point Nathan came
into the living room from where he had been studying at the kitchen
table and took my free hand. He looked at me with a combination of shock
and curiosity. Almost immediately he bowed his head. I could see that he
was praying silently.
"Madam," a word as cold as ice, "My initial reaction to your emotional
outburst is to tell you to 'mind your own business' and hang up the
phone. Since you have, however, for reasons that are none of my concern,
seen fit to involve yourself in the life of Timothy, I shall state my
unequivocal position this once, for all time."
"No, wait! We didn't involve ourselves. If we hadn't found him, he would
have died out there."
"Merely the culmination of a series of decisions made by him in
rebellion against me."
Suddenly I felt very, very calm. My feelings ceased to hurt. I had no
argument to win.
"Yes, of course you're right," I said. "We told him much the same
thing."
"Oh?" That one word conveyed total surprise, as though Major Harp having
armed and nerved himself for battle, the enemy had simply capitulated.
"Yes. My husband and I and our pastor have each pointed out to him that
by running away from the boys' ranch he was breaking the commandment to
honor his father and mother and was thereby shortening his days upon the
earth." I heard a deep sigh at the other end of the line.
"I can assure you that his flight from the ranch was only the latest in
a train, a very long train, of actions he has taken to dishonor me."
"Yes, Cynthia has told me that you have been battling Timothy's
effeminacy since, well I guess since he was about the age my boys are
now."
"You have sons?"
"Yes, ages six and nine, and they're nothing like my three older girls."
"Couple of little hellions, are they?" I was amazed at how his tone had
gone from frigid to friendly.
"Oh definitely. If it weren't for Nathan--that's my husband--I don't know
how I would control them."
"Consider yourself blessed."
"Oh, I'm very thankful for my husband." I glanced over at him. He was
still praying.
"No, I mean your boys"
"How so?" Once again, I heard a sigh on the other end of the line and
then a pause.
"There are all different kinds of boys. Some are quiet or shy or
sensitive or soft spoken; some are articulate or artistic; some are
leaders; some are fearless and self-sacrificing. All these different
kinds of boys grow into different kinds of men. As a battalion commander
I've seen all kinds of them under the best and under the worst possible
conditions. They all have one thing in common; each seeks to distinguish
himself in some way. It may be in some tiny, ridiculous, or even crazy
way, but each seeks to place his unique stamp upon his manhood."
"Really?" I'd not heard this before.
"As soon as a boy realizes that he is not like his sister or his mom, he
tries to become as different from them as he possibly can. And as he
gets older, he tries with the same fervor to be as different from his
old man as he can."
"And Timothy wasn't that way?"
"One hundred percent phlegmatic, a total slug."
"What?"
"At first, he seemed like a normal enough little guy, but at some point,
very early on, he just stopped caring. He no longer expressed any
preferences; he ceased to be interested in anything on his own. If I was
with him, he would do whatever activity we were involved in, but if I
wasn't, he didn't. It was the same with school work, sports, scouts,
making model airplanes, you name it. If I weren't there standing on him,
he did nothing."
"When did he start acting out as a girl?" I asked.
"Apparently at about the same time. I didn't know it. Being off in Iraq
and Afghanistan, I missed a lot his growing up. I first noticed it when
he was ten or eleven. I remember we were at church. Sunday School was
over. I was in the church coffee shop with Cynthia getting a snack when
I happened to glance around and see Timothy swishing down the hallway
with a group of girls. The way he walked and gestured--his entire body
language--screamed effeminacy. He looked the very stereotype of a
homosexual. I turned to Cynthia. She had seen him as well. She looked as
frightened as I felt. I've since learned that he had started acting this
way about five or six years earlier."
"When did you give up on him?"
"When he made it official."
"I don't understand."
"I guess it was after you all rescued him. He told the police he was
transgender. They called the state, and he is now legally on file as
wanting to be a girl. The state took him away from us, and there is
nothing we can do. That Norfleet person told us that if we tried to talk
him out of it, she could have us brought up on charges for child abuse."
"I'm sorry," I said.
"It's like he committed suicide on YouTube, or we found him dead from a
drug overdose in church." He paused, and the silence that followed was a
bitter one, full of pain. "You know I hated my old man too."
"Oh?" was all that I could think of to say.
"Yeah. He was a Marine Corps gunnery sergeant in Vietnam, spent thirty
years in the corps, hard as nails. According to him, if you weren't a
Marine, you were nothing. If you were an officer, you were an idiot. So
naturally I joined the Army after college and went into OCS."
"OCS?"
"Officer Candidate School. He barely spoke to me for two years after
that, not until after they med-evacked me out of Falujah with shrapnel
in both legs. I wanted to prove something to him, but I never wanted to
humiliate him in public."
"Is that the worst thing?"
"What?"
"You're being humiliated in public; is that the worst thing about all
this?" I tried to keep my tone neutral. I didn't want him to feel
cornered.
"No," he admitted. "Truth be told I've done a fair job of humiliating
myself over the years, even before Timothy came along."
"So, what is it that makes this so impossible to deal with?"
"My son is dead, and he died for nothing." I made no reply. What could I
say? 'People die senseless deaths every day. Deal with it!' That was no
comfort. "I've seen people die horrible deaths," he continued. "My own
father was two years dying of cancer. When I was a kid, one of the
doctors our family went to on the base found out he had some kind of
brain cancer and killed himself. He knew what the treatment was like and
he knew there was no cure. But Timothy is just putting himself out of
existence for no reason. He's just giving up on life without a fight.
Maybe that's the greatest humiliation, to realize that my son, my own
son is a coward."
"But," I said, wondering where this was coming from "what if 'this
sickness is not unto death, but for the glory of God'?"
"What?"
"Remember the story of Jesus and Lazarus in the Bible? Jesus waited
until after Lazarus had died before He came to Bethany, and then He
raised him from the dead."
"Meaning what, exactly?"
"Nothing is impossible with God. And remember the father of the prodigal
son? Just like you as far as he was concerned his son was dead. But when
he came to himself--and that's what the Bible says, 'when he came to
himself'--he returned to his father, and his father said, 'this my son
was dead, and is alive again, he was lost, and is found.'"
"But why would God let something like this happen in the first place?"
His voice was bitter.
"Perhaps he therefore departed for a season, that thou shouldest receive
him forever. . .. a brother beloved, specially to me, but how much more
unto thee, both in the flesh and in the Lord." I quoted, wondering when
I had ever memorized that.
"Where's it say that?"
"It's in the letter the Apostle Paul wrote to Philemon, who had a
problem with a runaway. When Onesimus, the runaway, came to know the
Lord, Paul had him return to Philemon."
"So, you're saying this is all part of some bigger plan that God has for
Timothy's life?"
"I cannot possibly know what God has in mind for Timothy, but I do know
that He works all things after the counsel of His own will and shall not
the Judge of all the earth do right. Nathan and I think God loves
Timothy, and because He does, we must. You probably did not personally
explain every detail of the military operations you commanded to every
enlisted man in your battalion. You told the officers under you who told
the sergeants under them who told the men. We don't know every
detail..."
"But we are expected to follow our general orders and the chain of
command."
"Yes," I said.
"Thank you, Mrs. Henson. You have given me much to think about, and not
a little comfort and hope."
"So, you'll pass the news on to Cynthia."
"With pleasure," he said, and that's how our conversation ended. I
recounted everything to Nathan, gathered all the children up and put
them in motion toward bed, did this little scribbling and collapsed as
well.
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