Silent Cry (10 page)
I came to town on Sunday, got a job on Monday, and found a place to live on Tuesday.
It couldn't have been more obvious to me that God's hand was on the move to Dallas.
All that remained was for me to find a good church home. Although Sheila believed
in God, she had not committed her life to him
at the time. She was very respectful
of my faith and open to Bible study. Knowing how important it was to me, she had
compiled a list of churches for me to check out. On her list was Highland Oaks Church
of Christ. It was a forty-mile drive from Valley Ranch, but it turned out to be well
worth the trek. There we were on a Wednesday night, sitting together at this church
far from our home, but it somehow felt like home. I could tell that Sheila enjoyed
the service too, and this was just one more confirmation to me that this was where
we should attend.
My first two weeks in Dallas flew by. I had found a job, an apartment, roommates,
and a church home without the tiniest struggle. Everything in my life was falling
into place, and I constantly offered praise and thanksgiving to God for his goodness.
I kept the lines of communication open back home with friends and family and gave
them cheerful updates on my new life in Dallas.
My new job was in health care administration, which was very different from accounting,
but I enjoyed it immensely. I found great favor with my coworkers and was easily
forming friendships. Janet, a single mother with two children, decided to take me
under her wing. She went the extra mile to train me, showing me love, patience, and
kindness as I learned to do my job. In just three short months, I was promoted from
supervisor to manager. I was overjoyed.
I became more and more involved at Highland Oaks and was active in church events
and ministry. Sheila and Bug, along with another friend, started attending with me
on a regular basis. It was a long drive, but we visited together during the commute
and enjoyed the services immensely. Within two months, Sheila gave her life to Jesus
Christ. The day she was baptized was one of the happiest days of my life. We had
been best friends for seven years, and I loved her like family.
We rejoiced together
in sweet celebration of this new chapter in her life.
We continued at Highland Oaks Church of Christ, and while I knew it was an important
time in Sheila's spiritual development, I began to pray that God would guide us to
a church closer to home where we could be more involved.
One day, to our surprise, a couple knocked on our door. We rarely had guests, and
if we did, they were expected, so the knock startled us. We lived on the third floor,
so if someone had put in enough energy to climb all those stairs, we knew it must
be important. We opened the door to meet Kevin and Sandra Moses. They smiled warmly
and invited us to attend a Church of Christ, which was just starting up in Coppell
in a nearby office building. The congregation was small but filled with sincere people
who loved God. There weren't many ministers there, and few activities, but we were
eager to assist in building this new ministry. For a season, we attended both Highland
Oaks Church of Christ and the Coppell Church of Christ, but finally decided to put
all our energies into the new church. Once again, a new beginning called for a necessary
ending.
Falling in love consists merely of uncorking the imagination and bottling the common sense.
Helen Rowland
M
y life settled into a nice routine. I was happy. I was content. I was filled with
God's
joy,
growing in his Word, enjoying my roommates, thriving at my job, and excited to wake
up every morning to greet a new day.
Enter a mysterious stranger.
It was December 1986, and I had been living in Dallas for about four months. I was
on my way out of town for the weekend and needed to make a quick stop at my insurance
agent's office and the bank, both of which were conveniently located in the same
building. I went first to see my agent and from there to the bank. At the bank, I
noticed a man staring at me, and it wasn't the first time. In fact, it seemed like
nearly every time I visited the bank or the agent, he was there, staring at me. I
immediately left the line at the bank, feeling nervous and uncomfortable. I went
back to my insurance agent's office to wait, hoping the man would leave so I could
go back and conduct my bank business in peace. The stranger's gaze was too much for
me. Whatever advances he planned on making, I wasn't interested.
Once inside the insurance office, the agent wondered what was wrong and asked if
I was okay. When I explained the situation, the agent asked me if I knew who this
man was. I acknowledged that I had, in fact, seen him a few times on television and
knew who he was, but I wasn't interested.
“You know he's a professional athlete, right?” the agent asked.
“Not interested,” I said and gave him a smile. “I just want to
finish my business
and hit the road for Louisiana. Tomorrow is my birthday, and I feel like going home!”
“Wow, happy birthday!” he said, and then added, “To tell you the truth, this guy
has been asking around about you. He really wants to meet you.”
Here I had been thinking this guy kept showing up by chance, and now it was obvious
it had been intentional. It unnerved me.
“Forget it,” I said, sweeping out of the insurance office. “I'll stop by the bank
some other time.” I headed for my car, never looking back. But when I got to the
parking lot, there he was, draped across my car and smiling from ear to ear.
“Hi,” he said casually, “my name is Nathaniel, but most people just call me Nate.
Would you join me for dinner?”
“No, thank you,” I said forcefully. “I don't care who you are. I'm in a hurry, and
I need to get down the road.”
“Where you going in such a hurry?” he replied, still smiling.
I let out an irritated sigh. “I'm on my way to visit my family in Louisiana if you
must know,” I answered.
“Well, can I have your phone number at least? I'd like to call you sometime.”
I squared my shoulders and faced him. Politely, yet sternly I replied, “I don't give
my number to strangers.”
“Well, I'm not exactly a stranger, now, am I?” Undaunted, he flashed another smile
attempting to disarm me.
“I'll tell you what,” he said cheerfully. “How 'bout I give you my number and you
can give me a call when you have a little more time? Would that be alright?” He looked
hopeful.
I said nothing. I stared at the ground and wondered how to escape this uncomfortable
situation. This big man was blocking me from entering my car.
“Now me â I'm from Orlando, Florida,” he said, taking a
different approach. “That's
quite a drive from Dallas, let me tell you. How long of a drive is it for you to
get to New Orleans?”
My curt responses never disheartened him. He easily moved from one topic to the next,
as if our conversation was a natural exchange between two longtime friends. He seemed
totally unaffected by how chilly and closed I was to his advances.
“What's the weather like in New Orleans?” he asked, trying yet another approach.
“Okay,” I said, “if I take your number and call you, I can answer all your questions
then.” I had no intention of calling him, but I thought taking his number might get
him to finally let me leave.
He looked at me intently, then his features softened once more into a relaxed gaze.
“Please, just one more question,” he said. “If you answer it, I promise not to take
up any more of your time.”
I stared at him in disbelief. How could he still want to talk to me after I'd so
clearly rejected him?
“Why won't you talk to me after I've made so many attempts?” he asked.
“Look,” I said in exasperation, “I know who you are. I know you play football for
the Dallas Cowboys. I'm just not interested in getting to know you. Why is that such
a big deal?” Not even this put him off. He held me captive there for at least another
thirty minutes talking about anything and everything.
At last I interrupted him. “Listen, if I don't leave now I'll be late for my birthday
celebration back home. Please let me go.”
“Is it really your birthday?” he said with new excitement.
“Tomorrow. Saturday. The twentieth,” I said matter-of-factly.
He started laughing uncontrollably. “This is definitely meant to happen on this day,”
he said. “I can't believe it. I just can't believe it!”
“What are you talking about?” I said, annoyed, but now a bit intrigued.
“Tomorrow is my birthday too!” he said.
I must have looked very skeptical because he immediately pulled out his wallet to
show me his driver's license as proof. His birthday was, in fact, the very next day
â the same day, the same year as mine.
This inspired yet another thirty minutes of conversation. I looked him over carefully
and handed back his phone number. He looked surprised.
“If you really want to contact me, call this,” I said, writing my number on a slip
of paper and handing it to him.
“I will do that!” he said, grinning broadly. I got in my car, giving him a smile
and a wave as I drove off, heading home for the weekend.
The truth was that there would be no birthday celebration for me at home. Since
my mother had become a Jehovah's Witness, there were no more birthday celebrations.
Still, I wanted to be near my family on my birthday. On the trip home, I kept replaying
the odd exchange between Nate and myself but then dismissed it.
That's probably the
last time I'll ever see him
, I thought.
When I returned to Dallas late Sunday night and checked my answering machine, there
were several messages from Nate. He was just as persistent with his phone calls as
he had been with our face-to-face conversation. We soon became faithful telephone
friends and sometimes spent hours talking to each other. After several weeks of talking
only on the phone, Nate persisted in asking me out for a date. At first I refused,
but I was eventually softened by his many attempts. I finally told him I'd be happy
to go on a date with him, as long as it was on my terms.
By this time, I was playing recreational volleyball. I decided my volleyball tournament
that Saturday would be our first official “date.” After the game he said he'd enjoyed
watching me play, but he didn't understand why this had to be our first date. I told
him I wanted him to see me when I was hot and sweaty â without any makeup. Then,
if he still wanted to take me out on a date, I would go. He laughed that charming
laugh, and I melted. I really did like him. We left the game and ate burgers and
talked with each other for a long time. I spent our whole first date wearing my sweaty
clothes from the game. From that point on, we began spending a lot of time together.
When I met Nate, he was a free agent playing left guard for the Dallas Cowboys. This
was during the time that William “The Refrigerator” Perry achieved fame playing for
the Chicago Bears. Nate was even larger than Perry, and so he was nicknamed “The
Kitchen.” Nate explained that because he was a free agent, he would have to try out
with the Cowboys each season, and not one season was guaranteed to the next. He also
told me he had left his previous team, the Washington Redskins, by his own volition,
when in reality he'd been cut from the team. Immediately following his dismissal,
he was in a car accident, which had been plastered across the media headlines as
an alleged suicide attempt.
Many of our conversations revolved around our difficult life experiences and the
type of people we had become as a result. I learned that Nate's birth mother was
an alcoholic and that he had been raised by his father. The woman Nate called Mom
was his father's second wife. Nate also told me about playing football for Florida
A&M, but he acknowledged that his time in college was not something he was proud
of. During this current
season in his life, he said he wanted to put his old life
behind him. I thought I had experienced a lot of struggles during my childhood, but
I soon realized that Nate was no stranger to trials and tribulations. We were both
carrying baggage.