The Visitor: Monica's Diary, Tuesday July 4 free porn video

The Visitor Monica's Diary Tuesday, July 4 "Consternation to the enemies of the Republic! God save the United States of America!" This is how Nathan usually greets the holiday, after he has awakened us by firing a blank black-powder charge from a miniature cannon he took in payment for some carpentry work many years ago. He always takes this day off and always uses it to catechize the children on the Declaration of Independence. Hannah has memorized the preamble paragraph, the American philosophy of government paragraph, and the rationale for revolution paragraph. Elizabeth has memorized the 12 charges against George III. Sarah has memorized the 10 charges against Parliament. Mark is working on the 5 final charges against the king, and Josiah is laboring on the first of the final three paragraphs. Once they have recited and explained their memory work to Nathan's satisfaction, it's usually time for lunch. After that Nathan takes his sons to the creek with his .32 caliber flintlock rifle for lessons in gun safety and marksmanship. The girls and I prepare to either hostess a gathering from the church in the late afternoon that will go into the night or begin the necessary cooking and packing of side dishes and desserts for a trip to whichever other family is hosting the Independence Day celebration this year. That's our usual schedule. Today it was different courtesy of the Texas Department of Family and Protective Services, the Potter County Sheriff's Department, and Baptist Saint Anthony Hospital. Each in its own way had managed to sign off by yesterday on whatever forms were necessary to place Timothy into our care and custody today and for the immediate future. Since Brother James and Martha Street had volunteered to host the celebration this summer, the girls and I had done all our cooking and much of our packing last night. After lunch we piled everything and everybody into the Suburban and headed for Amarillo. "Is Timothy going to be memorizing with us?" Hannah asked after we had settled in for the drive. "I'm sure if he's with us by this time next summer, we'll have him do the concluding paragraph," Nathan replied. "That's a big one; he can have it," Josiah said. "Why wouldn't he be with us?" Sarah asked. "Yeah, who would take him away?" Mark echoed. I turned and looked at the children. "We've not been given permission to adopt Timothy," I explained, "only to provide a home for him until he gets things sorted out with his own parents." "He won't be our brother?" Elizabeth asked the question, but her obvious disappointment was reflected in all their faces. I say all. Mark was staring out the window and without missing a beat had added "or sister?" onto Elizabeth's query. "He won't be your brother, exactly, but he is a very special person that God has sent into our lives to love and protect like you would your own brother or sister," I said. "Does that mean he'll go shooting with us, or go cooking with the girls?" Josiah asked. "That will have to be up to Timothy," Nathan stated. I knew what he meant. We all did. The boys went shooting and hunting with their father because they actually enjoyed it. Each of the rest of us had been introduced to shooting and hunting. None of us were afraid of Nathan's guns, and we all knew how to handle and shoot them safely. It wasn't that it wasn't fun, but other things were just more fun and more convenient to do. Hunting, especially, was such a long, complicated, and, for the most part, tedious project, even when game was taken, that it did not for us seem worth all the effort. Maybe it would for Timothy. Like everything else, time would tell. Our first stop was the Potter County Detention Center. Nathan signed for Timothy with the jailer and was then directed to the property room. There he received the grocery bag full of Skyla clothes we had last seen being placed in the trunk of the deputy's vehicle the night he took Timothy away. "And they didn't just hand me the bag," my obviously shaken husband said to me after he'd returned to our vehicle where I was waiting with the kids. "There were two of them. The man was a uniformed jailer, and the woman was dressed normal like she was a clerk or secretary. He would pull an item out of the bag, say what it was, and hand it to me. They would both look at me. I would have to confirm what it was, and then the clerk would check it off her list. I had no idea Timothy was so far into...into that stuff." Try as I might, I could not keep my lips from crinkling into the tiniest of smiles. I remembered how exotic some of Timothy's things had seemed to me. Nathan was still red with embarrassment. "I had no idea," he repeated, taking a deep breath. "This would have killed Major Harp." "Maybe 'thou art come to the kingdom for such a time as this,'" I said softly as I took the bag from his sweaty hand. When Nathan looked at me quizzically, I continued. "Maybe this is why God brought Timothy into your life; you could handle it and the Major couldn't." He shook his head slowly. "I don't know. If anything like this happened to the boys..." He slumped back against the car seat, his head thumping against the rest. He covered his face with his hands and rubbed at his eyes. We both noticed after a few moments that the children had been utterly silent the entire time. Nathan cranked his head around and reached back with one hand. He found Josiah's head and tousled his hair. "You boys okay back there?" "Yeah" they chorused but exchanged frightened looks. Then Hannah reached out and put a hand on her father's arm. "They're fine, daddy. They're both just fine." He shook his head, closed the car door, and started the engine. "I'm assuming you brought him some clothes?" Nathan asked as we pulled out of the parking lot and headed for the hospital. "Yes, everything he will likely need," I replied. "We got some cute things," Sarah said. "Lots of pretty colors." "I don't need to hear cute or pretty." I could see Nathan tighten up on the steering wheel. "But," he said, glancing my way, "what if he wants to wear the stuff in the bag?" "What?" I hadn't considered that. "He might think what you bought him is too tame. He might insist on that getup." I opened the bag and looked inside. "The skirt and top are awfully wrinkled." "And there were tears in both the blouse and the skirt," Hannah added. "Do you think that will stop him?" Nathan asked. "It would certainly stop a girl on her way to a party. Most boys I know don't think twice about torn clothes." The sisters gave knowing looks to their brothers who just rolled their eyes. "I'm thinking we're going to have to take that chance," Nathan said as he turned down the street the hospital was on. "We can't just tell him 'no'?" "He doesn't know the Lord. If his own sinful nature doesn't cause him to rebel, I'm sure the Adversary will be only too ready, willing, eager, and able to plant the thought in his unregenerate mind that we hate him and are trying to ruin his life by making him look freaky in front of everyone." "But he'll look freaky anyway if he wears that to a church picnic," Hannah protested. "That's just the point," Nathan said, glancing briefly her way. "Better for the sake of the gospel that he himself realizes that he looks out of place than we force the issue and give him an excuse to close and bolt his mind against the word of God." "Stinky's going to look awful funny with just one shoe," Josiah commented. I'd forgotten that when we'd found him he'd been missing one of his sandals. "Going to look funny no matter which way he cuts it," Mark added. After pulling into the hospital parking lot and finding a space, Nathan shut off the engine and turned to look at us. "From now on, Timothy is Skyla. Everybody understand?" We all nodded. "He thinks he wants to be a girl. For all I know he may very well think he is a girl. Whatever; just remember we can't change him. Even if we could change him, it wouldn't matter. Millions of people that we would consider perfectly normal die and go to Hell every day. The only change that will matter is the one that God may or may not work in his heart. In the meantime, our job is to love him as Christ would." Nathan paused to study the kids, to see if they understood what he was saying. "Remember the leper that came to Him and said that if He wanted to, Jesus could make him clean?" The kids nodded. "Do you remember what happened?" "Yeah, He healed him," Josiah said. Nathan looked around at the others for a better answer. "First He said; 'I will; be thou clean.'" Hannah quoted. "Before Jesus healed the man, before He said anything to him, He first touched him," Nathan said. "Oh yeah," they chorused. "He did what no one else dared to do. No one was permitted to touch a leper or to touch anything touched by a leper. To do so was to make oneself unclean. An unclean person could not associate with other people, could not go to a synagogue, the temple, or even the market place. Jesus did what no one else was willing to do to change that man's life." "We don't have to hug Stinky do we?" Nathan looked at the recoiling Josiah and smiled. "No, you don't have to hug Skyla, but we all have to reach out to this person." "But what does that mean?" Elizabeth asked. "Well, the Bible says that the Lord's servant must not argue or fight but be gentle to all, to teach when it's appropriate, to be patient, to meekly instruct those who oppose themselves because God just might give them repentance so that they can see reality and escape the snare of the devil who has already captured them." Nathan could see the children still looked confused. "I think it means we treat Skyla like Skyla and pray the Lord saves Timothy before it's too late." With that we all piled out of the Suburban, grabbed several bags, and headed inside. We had to stop by hospital administration first. We went into an actual office this time where we signed and initialed at least six different forms from both the hospital and FPS before a notary and received copies of each. From there we went up to Timothy's room. "Hey, Stinky, ready to go picnicking?" Josiah ran into the room and jumped on Timothy's bed. Timothy let out a little cry and jerked his feet back, bringing his knees up under his chin. "Picnicking?" "Yeah," Nathan said. "It's Independence Day. We've gotten your independence from the detention center, and now you're getting your independence from the hospital. We're celebrating by going to a church picnic." "We have one every 4th of July," Hannah added. "But I haven't anything to wear," Timothy protested. Elizabeth and Sarah broke out into giggles. "Actually, you do," I said, holding up two grocery bags. "But first I'm thinking you probably need a good shower." "And a shampoo;" Hannah held out third bag with shampoo, conditioner, and a hair dryer. Timothy looked frightened again, overwhelmed by all the voices, plans, and people. We looked at the boys, and Nathan decided it was a good time to take them on a hike around the hospital grounds. Once they had left the room, I turned to Timothy again. "I know you weren't able to attend much to yourself in jail and probably weren't physically up to much since you've been in here. So take your time. Do a thorough job. You'll notice we've included a little razor as well." The moment I said that, Timothy's eyes flashed. His face turned red, and his fingers began feeling his chin and upper lip for growth. I couldn't help smiling. "Skyla! She means under your arms." Hannah sounded like she always does when trying to straighten out her younger siblings. "We're going on a picnic. You're going to be outside in a summer top. There can't be any distractions." "Okay," he said, obviously embarrassed. He began to slide out of the hospital bed and stopped. "You got my clothes back from the jail?" "Yes," I said and set the bags on the bed. "Unfortunately, they are not in very good condition." I lifted the pink blouse out of the bag. "As you can see, it's torn and has apparently spent the last several weeks wadded up in this bag." I laid it out before him and removed the little denim skirt. "The skirt is in even worse condition." "And my ..." he began. "Yes," I answered. "Everything is in here." "Oh good, 'cause they didn't give me anything." "We brought everything you'll need." He looked confused, so I reached into the other bag and withdrew a burgundy t-shirt top with an impressionist design on the front, a light khaki-colored skirt, a pair of flip-flops, and a plastic package of underthings. I laid them out on his bed. He looked even more confused, surprised, even shocked. He reached out very tentatively and lightly touched each item with his fingertips. "Did these come from Liv?" "No, silly," Hannah snapped. "They came from us. We went to half-a-dozen little shops and stores." "But . . ." He struggled to keep his facial muscles under control as his eyes began filling with tears. "How? I mean . . ." His voice was choked like someone trying desperately to keep from crying. "We gave them money. They gave us stuff, this stuff. That's how it works. Been on earth long?" Hannah's tone was brisk but not angry. "But first a shower," I said, trying to head off his tears. "Can you get up okay?" "Oh, yeah. Look, no wires or tubes or nothing," he said, showing us his bare arms. "Well then," I said, looking around. "Did they give you a bath robe?" He shook his head 'no'. "All I have is this hospital gown." "Okay, Sarah, fetch us a bath towel. That will have to do." She went for it, and I turned back to Timothy and repeated my admonition. "Take your time and do a thorough job." "Yeah, and wash your hair," Elizabeth had reached out and felt the greasy remnants of auburn that the EMT and the ER had left of his once full head of hair. "And don't forget to use conditioner," Sarah said, laying the towel on the bed. "You do know how to shave under your arms and do your legs, right?" Hannah asked. "I mean without turning your skin into strips of bacon?" Once again, he got that cornered look in his eyes, but shook his head in the affirmative. "I'll figure it out. I'll take my time. Don't worry." "Okay, then," I said as I put his things back into their bags. "Let's give Skyla some privacy." We turned our backs while Timothy got out of bed and wrapped himself in the towel. He grabbed the bags and made his way into the bathroom. It wasn't long before we heard the shower. "Everybody knows we're coming, right?" Sarah asked. "Of course," I answered. "I mean everyone knows about him, you know Skyla?" "Yes. Your father called Pastor Chupco last night, and he began spreading the word to the congregation." "And they know he's coming with us, dressed as a girl?" "Yes. Don't worry. Most of the women have seen him, and I'm sure they told their families what to expect." "But they haven't seen him like that!" Sarah's voice had taken on a higher pitch. Her hands were twisting the bottom of her shirt. I went around the bed and hugged her. "It will be all right. He can't possibly look as bad as he did the day we brought him home. And remember, he's the one walking into a crowd of people he doesn't really know wearing clothes that everyone knows are not appropriate. He's going to be far more nervous than any of us or the congregation are." "I really think Daddy is the one you've got to worry about," Hannah said. When she saw me look up at her and smile, she continued. "You saw how he almost freaked out in the car. He had Mark and Josiah scared to death." "Yes," I said. "I think for most men manhood is a bigger deal than we can imagine." "But why, mama?" Elizabeth asked. "They can't feed themselves, or dress themselves, or even keep themselves clean without a woman to cook or pick out their clothes or throw them in the tub." "And they can't remember anything about anything," Hannah added. She was referring to the fact that I had to remind Nathan not only of each of our children's birthdays and their sizes, favorite colors, and preferences, but the birthdays and anniversaries of his parents, siblings, and in-laws. "They can't see or smell either," Sarah chimed in with a grin. "The boys don't care if what they wear matches or not, is dirty or not, or stinks or not." "Yeah, Mom," said Hannah. "Instead of changing underwear, Josiah just turns it inside out, and I have to scrub both sides." "Well," I said grinning back at them. "At least Mark has become civilized enough not to do that." "No," Hannah blazed. "He just wears one side for as long as Josiah wears both and then throws them under his bed to draw bugs and culture mold." By this time of course we were all laughing. I didn't dare tell them of the lengthy conversations I had had with Nathan's mother on the eve of our wedding wherein Mother Henson had done her best to warn me about her darling baby boy's rude and uncouth barbarities. Nor did I tell them of the many pitched battles that were fought before they were born just to get their father to think about the things that, for the most part, seemed to come naturally to his daughters. At any rate, by the time the shower stopped and the blow drier after that, quite a bit of the tension that none of us had been aware of had dissipated. The bathroom door opened, and we all turned to greet Skyla. What we saw was a picture of fright. He shuffled through the doorway, his hands clenching into fists that gathered handfuls of skirt with each contraction. He looked down at the floor instead of at us. He slouched. His face was crimson. "Skyla, are you sure you want to do this?" I asked. "You don't look very happy." "I don't have any makeup." His voice sounded like a whine. He looked each of us over and then back down at himself, as if to say he knew he could look just like any of us if he had the right cosmetics. "None of us do," I replied. "We're all going to be outside in the middle of summer. No one will be wearing makeup. You'd just sweat it off anyway." "But," he protested, shaking his head, "without makeup I'll just look like a boy in a dress." "Do they look like boys in dresses?" I asked, nodding to my daughters. "Everybody knows them. They know they're girls. They've never seen me but as...as I was." "Then you better learn to stand up straight and quit hulking around. And you'd better cut your toenails," Hannah snapped. "And clean them," added Sarah, kneeling down and poking one of them with a finger. Elizabeth circled behind him and snapped his bra strap. "Mama, why does Skyla get to wear a bra and I don't?" "You don't need one," I answered. "Neither does Skyla," she blazed. Oh for the wisdom of Solomon, which I obviously do not have. "You really can't tell Skyla is wearing a bra. It makes no difference in appearance." "See!" Timothy wailed. The tears began flowing. "Nobody will be able to see me. They'll just see a boy in a dress." And there I stood, caught between an eleven-year old girl jealous of a fifteen-year old boy's bra and a fifteen-year old boy jealous of an eleven-year old girl's body. The Gordian Knot would be easier to unravel. "Skyla, what's the matter with you," Hannah demanded. She sounded loud and angry. Skyla immediately drew back visibly frightened. "You tell each one of us over and over and over 'I'm a girl; I'm a girl; I'm a girl,' and now you say you're a boy in a dress. Which is it? Do you even believe what you say? What are you?" We all froze in place, looking from Timothy to Hannah and back again. Timothy sat down on the floor and began weeping. I sat down beside him, put my arms around him, and held him. What could I say? 'It'll be all right' sounded phony. 'You look beautiful' was a lie. And 'time to cowboy up and be a man' seemed so futile at this point. Turns out it didn't matter that I had nothing to say. Hannah wasn't finished. "Don't you have any makeup in your purse?" I'd forgotten about that too but remembered that none of us had ever actually looked into Timothy's purse. "I had some stuff, but most of it got crushed and spilled and ruined while I was stumbling around in the woods." His face then took on an expression that I can only assume he meant to be forlorn. "Couldn't we maybe stop at a drug store or someplace and get some? Then I could, uh. . . " "Complete your disguise," Hannah finished. "That's mean," Timothy pouted. "Mean? You're the one who said you looked like a boy in a dress. What am I supposed to make of that but that now you want to disguise yourself as a girl?" "That's not fair! You don't understand!" Timothy shouted. "I guess I don't," Hannah answered evenly. "Any one of us could walk into a room full of people we don't know, and they would immediately know we are girls. Doesn't it bother you that you can't." "Of course it bothers me," Timothy said tearfully. "I'm not insane. I can distinguish reality from fantasy. I know better than anyone that I have a male body, but I also know what neither you nor anyone else can possibly know that in my heart the real me is female." "You're saying you have a female soul?" "Yes. That's it exactly." "How platonic." "Huh?" "You know, Plato, the Academy, the Grove of Academe." Timothy looked at Hannah as though she'd lapsed into Farsi. He had no idea what she was talking about. He glanced at me for assistance. "Plato was an ancient Greek philosopher," I said. "He believed that we all have immortal souls imprisoned in corrupt bodies and that our chief labor on earth should be the cleansing liberation of our souls. He also believed that reality lay only within the realm of thoughts and ideas, and by which thoughts and ideas matter is moved." "She said all that?" He was both genuinely shocked and impressed. "She doesn't go to a public school," I said by way of explanation. Timothy blinked once, looked from me to Hannah and back again, and then rose to his feet. "Yes, I guess I am a platonic...ist. My reality is that I am a girl." "Actually, you are probably more of a sophist at this point, but didn't you tell us that you were a Christian?" Hannah asked. "Yeah, well, so?" "Spiritually speaking, 'there is neither male nor female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus'. Your soul as such has no gender or sex, which is why in heaven there is no marriage to each other. We are all the bride of Christ." "That's just your interpretation," Timothy snapped. "I know what I believe." "Okay, fine; I believe you do." Hannah had dropped her argumentative tone. "We still have a picnic to make you presentable for." "Skyla," I said, taking the opportunity of an apparent cease fire. "I'll talk to my husband about the makeup, but that doesn't mean he'll go for it. He doesn't permit his girls to wear any, and he prefers that I don't either. I respect his wishes. We can't make you any shorter, or smaller in any way, but . . ." Here he cut me off. "But you could let me stuff my bra!" "Mom!" Elizabeth wailed. I silenced her with a wave of my hand. "Every woman there would know what you did; before tomorrow their husbands would know too. Is that really what you want?" "I just don't want to look freaky," he protested. "That train's done left the station," Hannah muttered. I pointed at her. She turned away and shut her mouth. "Skyla, I understand. You want to look like a normal 15-year old girl." He nodded. "But you don't have 15 years of experience living as any kind of girl. I know you've spent some time thinking about it and wearing feminine things, but that's about one percent of being a girl, and you haven't even done that for one percent of your life. If you do what you feel you have to do, you may make yourself feel better for a while, but no one who sees you will perceive you to be what you perceive yourself to be." His face turned sullen with disappointment. "All I'm saying," I continued as gently as I could, "no woman ever emerges full bloom on the first day of her life. It takes years of growing up around other girls and women and interacting with them to learn the female world. We could paint you in makeup, stuff your bra, and I suppose even get a wig to replace your missing hair, but it would be nothing more than prepping you to play act. Everyone already knows who and what you are and what you want to become. Now you can either pretend to be a 15-year old hottie..." Here I stopped and looked at the girls. "Is that still a word?" They each rolled their eyes. "Well, you know what I mean, or you can take this opportunity to begin the long, long process of learning what it is to be a girl. It's always all up to you. Do you want reality or theatre?" "I just want to be," he said. And so we began. We had him clean and cut his toenails and fingernails. We checked his ears and the back of his neck and fetched a wash cloth for more scrubbing. We showed him how to file his nails, and while he was busy with that, I began trimming his hair. "You know, Skyla," I said as I held out the various lengths of what remained, "it's going to take a lot of time and not a few trips to someone who knows hair better than I do to finally repair all this. If you were willing to be as you were, a barber could just burr it all down, and you would be good to go. Such is the easy life of a man." Of course, he visibly tensed at that. I guess I knew he would. "But, since that doesn't seem to be the direction you want to go, I suggest a light trim around the long edges and a hat." "A hat?" "That's what we would do for Hannah, if she had been half scalped." "But won't people be able to tell? Wouldn't a wig be better?" "A wig would be hot and obvious. There's no way we could afford the price of a wig the rich color of your hair, even if a wig store were open on the 4th of July. Anything not your color is an instant give- away. And you'd still need a hat for the Texas sun in July. Everyone there will be wearing something. You'll fit right in, and your beautiful hair will look natural." "Really?" His eyes brightened, and an almost smile flitted across his face. "I'll look natural." "As natural as someone can look who's just come out of the hospital after a terrible trauma." He seemed to relax a bit. "Where can we get one?" "I'm sure there's a Toot'n Totum on the way," I answered. "Walgreens is open," Hannah suggested, "and they're bound to have a better selection." "Okay," I said. "I'm sure we can afford Walgreens, but only a hat; no makeup." I had to say that fast because I saw the wheels start to turn in Timothy's eyes as soon as Hannah mentioned the drug store. At the same moment I saw Hannah pantomiming brushing her teeth. "By the way, did the hospital provide you with a toothbrush?" "I don't know. I saw a bag of something somewhere, but I never had much energy to explore." Sarah was closest to Timothy's bedside table and opened the drawer. Sure enough, there was a little bag of toiletries. Nothing had been opened. "You haven't brushed your teeth since you've been in here?" I asked. "They had me all wired and tubed, and I was literally beat," he explained. "Did you brush your teeth in jail?" Hannah asked. "They took my stuff," he protested. "Okay," I said, handing him everything piece by piece. "Brush with the toothpaste, floss, and rinse with the mouth wash." He took everything but picked out the floss and turned it over and over in his hand. He looked up, and I saw that he was debating something in his mind. "You've never flossed your teeth?" I asked. He shook his head. "And that means you probably don't know how to properly brush your teeth either." "That would certainly explain...," but I cut Hannah off with a glance. "Okay, everybody into the bathroom." One sat on the stool and two on the bath tub while I stood beside Timothy and showed him what his mother should have shown him a good ten years ago. But I'm probably being unfair. If Cynthia's experience was at all close to mine, she did show him how to take care of his teeth ten years ago, but her son, like my two, had avoided the toothbrush like a dog avoids a bath. Twenty minutes later we were finished. "Do I have to do that every day?" Timothy asked. There was no small amount of incredulity in his voice. "At least every day," I replied. "And that's only to break the plaque cycle." "But I don't have time for that." "Fine," Hannah burst in. "Let your teeth rot. See how pretty you look then." "God decides if you're going to be beautiful. You decide if you're going to be clean," I said, remembering what my mom had always said. "And don't forget," Hannah said, pulling a tiny deodorant out of the hospital's courtesy bag, "oxen sweat, men perspire, but ladies only glow." We walked out of the bathroom as our men folk came back from their walk. Of course, Nathan had never actually seen Timothy dressed as Skyla. I saw the door to the room open a bit and heard him call out, "Is everyone decent in here?" Elizabeth hurried to the door and pulled it open. She simultaneously curtsied and stretched out an arm. "Presenting Miss Skyla!" She instantly regretted her theatrical levity. The face that greeted us was a picture of the "thousand-yard stare." I think the term originated in the Pacific during World War II. It describes men who have faced unspeakable horror on the battle field, who can only press on into more horror by detaching themselves from the reality of it. Nathan was looking at us, but he wasn't. The boys, each holding him by a hand, looked as somber as I have ever seen them. I realized then that my husband must have used their walk as an opportunity to pray for grace to face Skyla for the first time. The boys must have realized this. They may have heard him praying and may have seen for the very first time just how scary what we were undertaking actually was. Nathan very slowly looked around toward us. We each stepped aside as we came out of the bathroom. Timothy came out last of all. He, too, looked frightened. The two stared at each other for a couple of seconds, and then I could see Nathan visibly relax. He even smiled. "Skyla," he said, his voice sounding genuinely surprised. "It's . . . just . . . you." Then he strode forward, grasped Timothy by his shoulders, and looked him up and down. His smile got larger. "This is great. It's just you." With that he hugged the young man. I don't know why they did it. Perhaps they were simply following their father's lead, but both Mark and Josiah stepped up and joined him in his hug. "Group hug!" Sarah shouted, and she and Elizabeth immediately piled on. I glanced over at Hannah. "Group hug," she said, shrugging her shoulders, and we both joined the scrum. Of course, Timothy cried again, but we were all pretty much used to that by now. In short order, we packed Timothy's handful of belongings and notified the nurse's station that we were ready to depart. Half an hour later an orderly showed up to escort him out. "I'm here for a Timothy Harp," a rather older gentleman in scrubs announced as he wheeled the chair into the room. "Right here," Nathan said gesturing. The orderly stared at Timothy for a second. "Appears you've got big plans, young fellah. You off to some kind of costume party?" Time seemed to freeze in place. How do you explain everything about Timothy, our history with him, and our hearts' desire and prayer to God for him to a perfect stranger you will never meet again? None of us wanted to see him embarrassed, much less hurt, but what could we say. I was a blank and so was Nathan. "Ever heard of Pok?mon?" Hannah asked. "That Japanese card game? Yeah my grandsons are all the time into it." "Well, there's a Pok?mon character named Skyla. She has red hair and blue eyes, kind of like..." and here Hannah gestured to Timothy, once again red in the face and on the verge of tearing up. "Oh yeah! I get it." The orderly became instantly jovial. "Of course, our Skyla can't fly like the Pok?mon character, but with your help, we're at least going to make it to the party." "Well hop right in here, Skyla. Your carriage awaits." With that bomb defused, we got Timothy into the wheelchair, down the hall to the elevator and out to the car. There were a few wide-eyed stares from the nurse's station, but nothing else the rest of the way. Once we were all safely to ourselves in the car, and before Nathan started the engine, we turned to Hannah. "What is Pok?mon?" Nathan asked. "And how did you know all that?" I demanded. "Just like the man said," Hannah explained. "It's a Japanese card game for kids. Each card is a mythical character of some sort with a specific set of abilities or powers. Kids collect them, and they have tournaments and parties where they have battles and trade cards." "And they dress up?" Nathan asked. "I don't know about that," Hannah replied, "but it seemed plausible." "But how did you know about it?" I asked again. "You run into all kinds of kids at the home-school co-op," Hannah replied. "Most home-school parents take it as seriously as you do, but there's always a few that have no talent for it at all and give everything in the world access to their kids just to keep them out of their hair. There's probably half a dozen that talk Pok?mon and nothing else. That's where I must have learned about it, and this must have been the reason why." "Well, thank you," Timothy said. "You got me out of a real jam. I thought I was going to just die right there in front of that old guy." "I did it for Jesus' sake," she stated. "Huh? You lied for me for Jesus' sake?" "I never lied," Hannah snapped. "I asked him if he'd heard of Pok?mon. He had, and he took it from there." "But the party?" Timothy protested. "I said we were going to a party. A church picnic is an outdoor party. He assumed it was a Pok?mon party." "Oh, wow, just wow. Thanks." Timothy said. Once again, he sounded impressed. "You don't have to thank me. Thank the Lord Jesus. I did it for Him." "Meaning what exactly?" "Meaning Jesus loves you, so I do too." Timothy physically jerked, and his mouth fell open. Hannah immediately turned on him. "Not that way, genius; I'm not in love with you. I'm not ready to be a wife, and you certainly aren't ready to be a husband. Pull your skirt down." The car exploded in laughter, including Timothy's, and we were off to the picnic. But first we had to stop by a Walgreens. I filled Nathan in on the hair problem and the solution we had come up with on the way. When we arrived, another problem presented itself. "We'll just be in and out," I said. "Come on Skyla; the rest of you wait here." "No," Timothy protested. He looked frightened. "What's the matter?" I asked. "I can't go out there, not in front of people." "What? Why not?" "No one's ever seen me but Garrett. I don't know how to walk, or talk, or gesture, or anything." "What do you intend to do at the picnic, sit in the car and hide?" Hannah sounded very impatient. "I just need time, you know, for practice, or lessons, you know." Timothy was melting down. Nathan stared out the windshield and said nothing. The boys were punching each other and making faces. Hannah looked ready to slap the poor boy, and her sisters looked rather frightened. "Skyla!" I said rather briskly. "It's okay. I'll go in and get something big enough to cover the damage. While I'm gone I want you to pay attention to what I am about to tell you. Underline this; highlight this; star this; remember and do not forget: women are not effeminate. There is no special way to walk, or talk, or gesture. If you really are what you say you are, everyone will see it. If you aren't, well, you can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear no matter how many lessons you take or how much practice you put into it." I left then and came back in ten minutes with something simple that would do the job. From where we were to the Street's place south of Amarillo would take a good half hour to reach. Each minute that passed brought us a mile closer to an event that until now had been all but hypothetical. Nathan and I had prayed about this. We'd also prayed with the children. Grace Church had been praying about this for several prayer meetings and as individuals and families as well. Still, we were nervous. How would the congregation react? What would people say? I was praying silently as Nathan drove, and I'm sure he was praying too. None of the kids were talking. I don't know if they were praying, but I did know that if I could feel the tension building, so could they. As I was wondering what to say or do, I heard Mark begin humming the tune to the Battle Hymn of the Republic. Odd that he would pick that particular melody, I thought. As I turned to look back at him, I caught a small smile on Nathan's face. "What?" I asked. "You remember how it starts?" Nathan asked, not me but Mark. "Oh yeah!" "Well go ahead, then. I can't think of anything more appropriate." And a slightly off-key Mark began singing. He was just a rookie trooper and he surely shook with fright, He checked all his equipment and made sure his pack was tight; He had to sit and listen to those awful engines roar, "You ain't gonna jump no more!" At first, I was shocked. It was that terrible song that had become popular with American paratroopers facing death in World War II. Nathan had explained to both me and the children that for those who didn't know the LORD, gallows humor was their last resort. When the rest of the kids joined in on the chorus, I began to get the point. Gory, gory, what a terrible way to die, Gory, gory, what a terrible way to die, Gory, gory, what a terrible way to die, He ain't gonna jump no more! Nathan led off with the second verse: "Is everybody happy?" cried the Sergeant looking up, Our Hero feebly answered "Yes," and then they stood him up; He jumped into the icy blast, his static line unhooked, He ain't gonna jump no more. We all sang the chorus, and Hannah sang the third verse: He counted long, he counted loud, he waited for the shock, He felt the wind, he felt the cold, he felt the awful drop, The silk from his reserves spilled out, and wrapped around his legs, He ain't gonna jump no more. By this time Timothy had heard enough of the chorus that he was able to join in as well. Elizabeth picked up the next verse: The risers swung around his neck, connectors cracked his dome, Suspension lines were tied in knots around his skinny bones; The canopy became his shroud; he hurtled to the ground. He ain't gonna jump no more. We all sang the chorus more loudly than before, and then Sarah sang: The days he'd lived and loved and laughed kept running through his mind, He thought about the girl back home, the one he'd left behind; He thought about the medic corps, and wondered what they'd find, He ain't gonna jump no more. After the chorus, Josiah began the next verse, but everyone soon joined in to help him out: The ambulance was on the spot, the jeeps were running wild, The medics jumped and screamed with glee, they rolled their sleeves and smiled, For it had been a week or more since last a 'Chute had failed, He ain't gonna jump no more. We all sang the chorus and then we all sang the next verse: He hit the ground, the sound was "SPLAT", his blood went spurting high; His comrades, they were heard to say, "A terrible way to die!" He lay there, rolling 'round in the welter of his gore, He ain't gonna jump no more. As we all sang the chorus again, Nathan pointed at me. I rolled my eyes but did my part on the very worst verse which was supposed to be sung slowly, solemnly; about half the speed of the other verses: There was blood upon the risers, there were brains upon the chute, Intestines were a-dangling from his paratrooper's suit, He was a mess, they picked him up, and poured him from his boots, He ain't gonna jump no more. Gory, gory, what a terrible way to die, Gory, gory, what a terrible way to die, Gory, gory, what a terrible way to die, He ain't gonna jump no more! We sang it through another time or two, and then the children spent the remainder of our journey teaching the verses to Timothy. By the time we had reached the Street's place, he had the first three verses down. James and Martha lived in a house not too dissimilar from ours. They were not as far out in the boonies as we were, and their house did not have the well-worn patina that only five lively children can give to a home. Brother James was retired, and the last of Martha's three children had left the nest a good ten years ago. In the interim their home had become a showplace of hospitality. Nathan shut off the engine and turned to face Timothy. "Is everybody happy? Skyla, this is it. Are you ready?" Timothy took a deep breath half shrugged half nodded. "Okay, well, lick your lips and pinch your cheeks." Timothy licked his lips and had his hands half way up to his cheeks when Hannah reached out and blocked them with her arm. "Oh, Daddy, for heaven's sake!" Nathan grinned. "Just kidding, pard. But listen to me. We're here for you. You'll be safe with us, and you'll always have a place to come home to. We all love you; right gang?" We all nodded. The girls patted Timothy's arm. Mark slapped him on the back, and Josiah yelled, "Go, Stinky!" As soon as we exited our vehicle, the boys tore off to play with their friends and Nathan joined the men clustered under a tree beside the house. Timothy stood looking confused about which way he should go. "Help us carry our stuff over to the tables," I said. He looked relieved to have some purpose and gladly turned to help. As we approached the serving tables, the women there laying things out glanced our way, stopped what they were doing, and stared. Then they came over. "Is this your new...family member?" Martha, our hostess, asked. Her voice was as kind and friendly as it always is. "Yes," I said, smiling. "Everyone, this is our new friend Skyla." "Did you say Skyla?" Jeanine Duvall, Dr. Henry's wife, asked. "Yes," I replied. "There's a rather exotic story behind it. Perhaps Skyla would like to tell us how it came about." I turned to Timothy to see if he would like to use this as an opportunity to break the ice. I saw fear in his eyes. He licked his lips. They moved, but no sound came out. "It was something about being born in the sky over Los Angeles, wasn't it, Skyla? Your mother giving birth on an airplane?" Hannah intervened. She looked at him and then into the eyes of all the women gathered around on his behalf. He nodded. She turned to some of the daughters and granddaughters that were closing in. "You get it? Sky and Los Angeles, LA; Sky-la?" "That's a wonderful name," Jeanine said, smiling. When Timothy glanced up, he noticed everyone was smiling. "I think that's what they call making lemonade when life hands you a lemon," Carlene Wallace said approvingly. "You were actually born on an airplane?" Paula Hood asked. At this point I could see that Timothy was overwhelmed again. There were just too many faces and too many questions. It was time to get everything out in the open. "It was a made-up name for an imaginary future," I explained. "You were actually born in Austin, weren't you, Skyla?" He nodded. "In a hospital?" He nodded again. I put an arm around his shoulders. "Skyla has been wanting, very desperately wanting, to be, well, one of us for quite some time now, am I right?" I looked over at him and noticed that Hannah and her sisters had gathered on his other side. They had placed their hands on his shoulder touching mine. He was blushing and staring at the ground. He barely nodded. "But Skyla knows what we all know," I said, looking back at the women and girls around us, "that God did not give Skyla the same kind of body He gave us." I saw nods and sympathy on the faces holding my gaze. "We all know that God does not make mistakes, but we also know that we live in a fallen world where nothing--nothing but the Grace of God--really works as it was originally intended. Our family has decided to love Skyla as Skyla and wait upon that grace to manifest itself. We ask that you join us in that love." What happened next is something I have personally experienced with the women of our congregation and something I have seen on several other occasions. When my father died a few years ago, Nathan called Pastor Chupco who came over to the house. His wife notified the rest of the church. I think it was on a Monday. The following Wednesday when we got to the service, I found myself hugging and crying my way through every woman in the congregation. It was the same way with Timothy. The women and girls formed a spontaneous line. Some simply hugged him. Others hugged and patted. A few shed tears. One or two hugged and whispered words into his ear. Timothy was, of course, shedding his own tears. When it was over, Timothy was actually smiling and looking very relieved. It was different with the men. They were not unfriendly, don't get me wrong, but there was no line of hugs, pats, or whispered encouragements. During the course of the evening, individual women would tow their husbands almost to within handshake reach of Timothy. Skyla would be introduced as such, and the man would smile and nod. Some would lean over and briefly touch hands. A few leaned over and gave the fist-to- the-shoulder friendship tap. Timothy tried to smile, but mostly he was embarrassed and could not meet anyone's eyes. The picnic itself went like most of our 4th of July parties do. The boys ran around. The men chatted. The women and girls got the food ready to go. We sat down to eat. Pastor Chupco thanked God for the liberty left to us, and we all ate way too much. Afterwards the little boys continued to run like race cars. The older boys shot baskets on the Streets' family hoop, while most of the girls watched. The men and women clustered in separate groups and talked; the former about politics and sports, the latter about children, grandchildren, aches, pains, diets, and procedures--whether contemplated, scheduled, or remembered. Through all this Hannah and I kept a close eye on Timothy. We weren't really afraid that someone would say something deliberately hurtful to him, but we both knew how frightened and sensitive to slight he was. He listened to all of us. He even seemed attentive. He never said anything. Gradually the daughters and granddaughters of our circle formed their own little group well within earshot of us old ladies but clearly distinct. Both groups kept track of the other's conversations. Timothy looked back and forth between the two but never moved from my side. When it got dark enough, the men began organizing the fireworks. While they were unlimbering the various noisemakers, the very smallest of the congregation's little ones were taken into the house or placed in cars where they could see, but where windows could be raised or lowered to dampen the frightening effects of the explosions on little ears. I sought out Josiah, because I had sat in our car with him last year. This year he gave me a look that said I had better not dare embarrass him with even the suggestion of such an action. Some of the girls did the car sitting duties, freeing the mothers to watch their boys make every effort to set each other on fire or compete for the prize of most explosively injured hand of the night. Other girls gathered with the boys around the men; some to play with sparklers, others to toss a firecracker or two, and others simply to get a close-up view of what was happening. Hannah was in the latter group, but she came over to where Timothy and I were sitting and asked him if he'd like to get closer to the action. He leaned forward and actually looked eager to get in on the fun but began looking around at the crowd. I guess he realized he'd be kind of out in front of people, so he quickly shook his head and slumped back in his lawn chair. "You know you aren't the center of the universe, don't you?" Hannah asked. "What?" Yet again, she had taken him by surprise. "Everyone has seen you. They know what you look like, and they know what you're up to. Now everyone wants to look at the rockets' red glare and hear the bombs bursting in air. Time to get over yourself and have a good time." With that Hannah reached down, took him by his wrists, and pulled him to his feet. Timothy made as if to resist but, in the end, gave in and let her drag him off. He stood away from most of the crowd and just watched for a while. Hannah gave him a sparkler which he moved about in a circular, if desultory, motion. I thought he looked uncomfortable until Josiah ran up to him, lit a firecracker, and tossed it at him. "Catch, Stinky!" He shouted and ran. Timothy instantly dropped his sparkler and did catch it and in a single fluid motion turned and hurled it toward the field. It went off not a yard from his outstretched hand. "I'm going to kill you, Josiah!" Timothy shouted and actually began running after him. Those who had observed this laughed just loudly enough for Timothy to realize he was being seen and heard. He immediately stopped and shuffled over to me and sat down. "You almost had fun," I said. "Yeah, well . . ." And that was all he said. The fireworks never last all that long. We are a frugal bunch at Grace Church. Firearms may be found in most every house, and there are quite a few hunters. Most of the men and boys get their fill of loud noises preparing for and during the hunting seasons. After less than half an hour there remained only the cleanup and one, more or less traditional, event to close the evening. More than the barbecue and more than the fireworks, by far the biggest attraction of the picnic for all the children involved is the one time during the year that their fat-free, sugar-free, gluten-free cooking moms allow them unrestricted access to soda pop. They always vow to drink themselves blind, but most have to give it up midway through the third bottle or can. This means we always have to fish a score or more cans and bottles out of the number 10 wash tubs full of ice. I think it was before Josiah was born that at some point the boys began daring one another to stick their hands into the frigid slurry and see how long they could keep them there. That turned into a contest where the boys would pair off and at a signal would simultaneously dunk a hand and face each other until one would give up. Two new boys would then step up and repeat the process until the field was cut in half. The winners, each with at least one good hand, would go against each other and again the reduce the field. Eventually one boy would emerge "king of the ice". That's what they did until some of the girls began wanting to try. As soon as the girls got involved, the boys decided they had to step up their game, and what emerged was what we have now, what the mothers call "bobbing for brain damage." Instead of taking the time to whittle a large team down to size by hand, a much smaller group of guys would compete head to head, as it were, to see who could hold his head completely under the ice water the longest. I have been told by those who have experienced it that it is much more difficult to hold one's breath in a bent-over position, head under ice-water, than it is while actually swimming submerged. While I don't think anyone really practices for this event, practically the entire congregation gathers around to watch and cheer. First, it's the girls, then the younger boys who do hands only, and then finally the older, dunker boys. Mark participated and managed to last through both of his hands. Timothy was at first aghast. As he watched Mark, he became interested and even cheered for him as he progressed. Later I noticed him clenching his fists and rocking back and forth the way my boys--including Nathan--did, as though itching to get into the fray. When the new ice king had been officially acknowledged--they dumped one of the number 10 wash tubs full of ice water on him--the celebration and our long day finally came to an end. All of us but Nathan, thankfully, fell asleep in the car on our way home. We abandoned everything in the Suburban and went straight to bed. Of course, Nathan had to get up at his usual time, but, darling husband that he is, he let me sleep in.