Lundyn Bridges

a novel by

Patrice Wade-Johnson

Lundyn Bridges
Copyright © 2007 by Patrice Wade-Johnson
Words with Wings Publishing Company
PO Box 17141 Pittsburgh, PA 15235

www.patricewadejohnson.com

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and
incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are
used fictitiously.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or
reproduced without written permission except in the case of brief
quotations embodied in reviews or articles.

Scripture taken from the
HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®.
Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984
International Bible Society.
Used by permission of Zondervan.
All rights reserved.

ISBN 978-0-9773464-1-7
Printed in the United States of America
Library of Congress Control Number 2007923030
1. African American
2. Fiction General/Christian Contemporary

I am overwhelmed by the blessings and favor of God.
"Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find;
knock and the door will be opened to you.
For everyone who asks receives; he who seeks finds;
and to him who knocks the door will be opened." Matthew 7:7-8

Mom & Dad
– merely saying thank you is inadequate. I love you.

Sanctuary of Praise
– The divine hand of God united me with a
spiritual family who continues to pray, encourage and support.

There are a few people that I must individually acknowledge
because they were instrumental in the completion of this novel:

My Reading Circle –
Minister Faithe Bryant, Psalmist Denise
Butler, Elder Maureen Dobson, and Elder Sima King
I appreciate you!

Rhonda Lynn Fleming
– Thanks for sharing your expertise.
You are making a difference in the lives you touch.

The Editors –
Maureen Anderson, Claudia Harper Eaglin
& Elder Phyllis Nelson

The Book Cover Artist:
Kendrah Foster

The Photographer –
Elder Cynthia D. Flood

The Models:
Brandin Adams, Tyonya Brown, Dominique Dobson,
Michaela Flood, Nasia Flood, Candice Johnson, Ray Johnson,
Shae Proctor, Aisha Robinson and M. Romon Washington, II.

 

 

This book is dedicated to everyone who has ever stood in the gap praying on behalf of someone who was in need of salvation, deliverance or healing. Even if you never get to see the fruit, know that your labor was not in vain.

Heart Strings

Can you hear the chiming
of my heart strings?

Just listen to the twinkling,
or could it be the rhyming,
although sometimes there's no timing,
when life blows through my
heart strings.

We don't ever know what this life will bring,
how the wind will blow or if the chill will sting!

But amidst the joy and laughter,
even when tears follow after,
I can always hear the ringing
of the melody my heart is singing.

Just listen to the chiming
of my heart strings..

 

 

Almost ten years had passed since the last time I saw the twins. So much had happened, and so many things had changed. This reunion would be good for all of us. I checked my watch several times as I stood in line to get a boarding pass. Afreeka was meeting me at the airport in Baltimore, and Romen was driving down with his family on Saturday. They would miss the graduation but would arrive in time for the graduation party.

Our mother left us wounded, angry and broken. Most of my life had been spent struggling with issues of abandonment, but God was healing and mending me. Although my journey toward being whole had been daunting, I now realized how God's hand had guided my life. All of my experiences were lessons in love and forgiveness I was only now beginning to fully comprehend. God's word is true,
"Lean not to thine own understanding and He will direct your path."
During my childhood, my outlook on life had been bleak, at best, but my first client, unknowingly, helped me come to terms with my reality. I had broken all the rules. I had digressed. I had had major issues with transference. But, those experiences were crucial to my healing. I
now felt empowered to impart this healing to my siblings.

When the pilot turned off the seat belt light, I reclined and thought about the lesson from my Bible study group – the power to change people lies with God and not with man. It is the believer's obligation to have faith in God's ability to give the increase after the seed of His word is planted. I closed my eyes and quietly hummed one of my favorite hymns, “Lift Him Up.”

How to reach the masses, men of every birth
For an answer Jesus gave the key
If I, if I be lifted up from the earth
I'll draw all men unto me.

I began to thank God, in faith, that something about the Savior's grace and mercy would burrow into the hearts of my siblings. “I'm just a sower,” I whispered to myself, “planting the seeds of hope and healing to the hurting.”

I stared out the window wondering if I would get a glimpse of the University Psychiatric Hospital – the place where I encountered Francine, my first client. The place that forced me to deal with the pain of my past and freed me to move on to my future. I couldn't see the university because the brightness of the sun was almost blinding. Although my beginnings typically started with gray skies and rain, and ended with me searching for the rainbow, the rays of sun cascading through the airplane window were a good sign that great things were ahead.

 

 

Walking up the front steps of the hospital on that humid Monday morning I had no idea how my life would change and how much my job would impact my future. My first day of work was an overcast morning in June of 2004. I had accepted a position as a Clinical Social Work Intern at the University Psychiatric Hospital. It was a twelve month demonstration grant, and I was hoping the experience would provide direction and insight about career possibilities. Anxiety began to set in as I waited for the elevator, and I pulled the mirror from my purse to check my lipstick. I wondered if my slip was hanging. Was I too early? Would I stumble over my words? I tried to remember the scripture from Rev. Morgan's sermon on Sunday –
“God has not given us a spirit of fear.”
I was nervous and angry because my mind was blank. My Bible was in the bottom of my briefcase, and it would have been awkward trying to get it out.

Growing up I never dreamed of being a Social Worker. In fact, I never thought of helping other people because, in my life, I was the one who needed help. My choice to work with women in recovery was almost an oxymoron. I wish I could say I had an epiphany, but I didn't – it was more like being drawn into something.
After enrolling in the graduate program, I rationalized if I could help women then I would be helping children, too. My heart still ached for the children. My heart still ached for me. I had had so much pain and far too many questions remained locked up somewhere inside me. Prayer became a new solace. God was my only hope – no one else understood and nothing else had ever really consoled me.

The sincerity of my conversations with God was a major hurdle I had overcome. When I was a little girl I heard He answered prayers, so I did my best at praying for the things my family needed. Eventually, the prayers for my mother became ritualistic. I would beg God to make my mother stop loving drugs. It seemed the more I prayed, the more she used. For most of my childhood, I didn't think God liked me since He never seemed to answer.

Mrs. Woodard, my foster mother, spent two weeks encouraging me about my new job, but something always made me doubt my own ability. I always seemed to anticipate someone being smarter, prettier or more popular. I still struggled with my own self-worth so I felt I understood people who exhibited self-defeating behaviors.

My desire to help people, especially women with addiction issues, had become a driving force since my first sociology class in high school. The drug epidemic had far reaching consequences which had yet to be identified by textbooks. My sisters, brothers and I, and the thousands of kids who had grown up with a mother on drugs, were the outcomes. The complexity of our tears, our pain and our struggles were what sociologists should have been trying to understand. I was still angry because someone should have been able to help my
mother, and no one did – no other child should have to experience abandonment and rejection.

My career goals were purely selfish – I needed to be healed. I was at a point in my life where helping others seemed to be the most logical way to heal my heart and the hurt I couldn't seem to escape. Years of vacillating between anger and denial left me easily convinced that helping just one woman love her children instead of heroin or crack would free me from my pain. My yearning to be free to move on with my life intensified as I matured.

The elevator doors opened and the crowd moved me to the back. “Seven, please,” I said out loud to no one in particular. I watched each button light up – two, three, four. The elevator stopped, but no one exited. Five –a few people got off. Six, seven – I was the only one who exited.

“Good luck,” a nurse, who was the only other woman, smiled as I stepped off the elevator. “The orientation is in the conference room to your left.”

“Thanks,” I nervously replied.

During the thirty-second walk to the room I took several deep breaths. Before reaching for the door handle, I closed my eyes and exhaled slowly. I was thirty-five minutes early and didn't want to appear over-anxious. “Good morning,” I said to the man and woman talking in front of the table. “I'm Lundyn Bridges.”

The woman was beautiful and her white jacket seemed out of place over her tangerine linen dress. Her skin was flawless, and her smile was radiant and welcoming. Her three-inch heels made her tower over the gentleman who had to look up when speaking to her. The older gentleman was portly and his plaid suit jacket
struggled to stay closed. He wore silver wire framed glasses that almost matched the silver in his hair.

The woman smiled and extended her right hand. “I'm Dr. Solis and this is Dr. Cohen.”

“My pleasure to meet you.” I tried not smiling so hard as I shook their hands.

“Dr. Cohen is the Director of Medical Research and I am the Chief Psychiatrist for this grant. We're happy to have you on board.” Dr. Solis paused before continuing. “Tell me what you know about the grant.”

I had almost memorized the grant abstract, but now my mouth was dry, and my tongue felt like lead. I cleared my throat and tried to swallow. “Through the Division of Epidemiological Studies, you have been funded for a twelve month demonstration grant to assess the feasibility of an intensive outpatient therapeutic model on female patients being discharged with a dual diagnosis of addiction and depression. The goal of the program is to stabilize the women using a combination of medication and outpatient therapy and to provide job readiness to facilitate their personal sustainability, as well as their ability to live substance free.”

Dr. Cohen smiled. “You're thorough – I like that. You took the time to read the grant.”

“Yes,” I smiled with some relief. “The project piqued my interest. I'm honored that I was selected. I'm excited about working with both of you.”