Silent Cry (27 page)

One evening I had dinner with my friend Rayne. She said to me, “Dorothy, I see you
reach out to a lot of people. You have helped me through a very difficult time in
my life, but I don't feel like I know anything about you.”

I froze. I hadn't expected this.

“How do I get to know you?” she asked. “You never share anything about yourself.
How can I find out more about you? Can you be open and honest with me? I want to
have a transparent relationship so I'll know what you need as much as you know what
I need.”

Rayne and I had been friends for a long time, and her observation surprised me.
I was also touched that she was offering this kind of close friendship to me and
felt overwhelmed by her generosity of spirit.

“I feel stuck,” I began, pausing, not sure if I should continue. “Right now, things
are very strange in my life. There are things I believe I need to talk to someone
about, but it is really hard for me to trust people. It isn't that I don't love you
. . .”

“You hurt me when you won't let me help you.” Rayne said. “You are always giving,
but you are not willing to receive. You won't let me in. Quite a few people have
noticed that you have a wall built around you. As nice as you are, as giving as you
are, you won't let anybody inside your space.”

“It's hard for me to trust,” I said. “But I want to. Will you be patient with me?
I need time to figure things out.”

After my conversation with Rayne, I thought about my cousin Scarlette. Until Hurricane
Katrina, she was the only family who lived near me in Texas. She was a single mom
who was raising two girls, Ariel and Whittney, on her own. I couldn't remember a
single time she had asked for my help. She was an incredibly strong woman. She went
back to school and got her degree while raising her daughters by herself. I was proud
of her. Though I felt close to her, and I would have been privileged and pleased
to help her with the girls, she had never reached out to me for assistance. Maybe
this difficulty — this inability to ask for help — was part of our family's culture.

As I thought about it more, I realized that my desire to never be a burden to anyone
had led me to close myself off, which ultimately made it difficult to seek support,
even when I needed it most. I knew I needed to learn how to receive. I needed to
learn that asking for help is not a sign of weakness, but it's a way to give others
an opportunity to be a blessing. For the first time, I considered that the ability
to receive from others was not somehow of less value than the ability to give to
them.

CHAPTER 29

Perfect Love

Greater love has no one than this, than to lay down one's life for his friends.

John 15:13 NKJV

D
uring Tré's senior year of high school, I had often visited Gateway Church in Southlake,
Texas.
I
loved hearing Pastor Robert Morris preach. I would attend Saturday night services
at Gateway and then attend our church on Sunday mornings. I was drawn to Gateway,
but as long as Tré was at home, I didn't want to disrupt things for him. Now that
he was in college, I felt like I had a green light to begin attending Gateway regularly.

At the time, Gateway Church was much smaller than it is now, and Pastor Robert always
mingled with the congregation after services. One Sunday, I was visiting with Arnita
and Mike Taylor, who were friends of Pastor Robert. He came over to where we were
standing and introduced himself to me. Nate had told me a few days previously that
he'd had a conversation with Pastor Morris, so I said, “It is so good to meet you.
Just last week, Nate mentioned he had seen you and had a chance to visit.”

“Oh,” he said, “so you're Dorothy, Nate Newton's ex-wife? My wife, Debbie, would
love to meet you.”

“I'll give Dorothy's number to Debbie,” Arnita offered.

The next day, Debbie Morris called, and we set a lunch date. This began a series
of lunch dates a few times a year. We didn't get to visit together very often, but
when we did, it was an extra-special time for me. Debbie was soft-spoken, tender,
kindhearted, gentle — a beautiful example of a godly woman. The church was growing
rapidly, and her schedule was very
full, so I was careful to respect her time. We
texted each other often and managed to stay in touch.

I always assumed the reason we were friends was that she needed a safe place. By
now, Pastor Robert was well-known nationally and internationally, and I knew what
it was like to be the wife of a famous husband. I figured Debbie had reached out
to me because she needed a friend who was interested in her for herself, not because
of who she was married to. I knew all too well what that was like, and I wanted to
be a good friend to her, whatever that looked like. Trusting people is very difficult
when you've got a famous husband.

It was the end of February 2008, and Debbie and I were enjoying one of our first
lunches together in the new year. We had visited for nearly two hours when she said,
“Dorothy, I know you're involved in a lot of things, but what is your passion?”

I paused for a moment, wondering if I should share what was going on inside of me.
“Well,” I began, “as of January, I decided to completely erase my calendar. I have
been involved in so many things, and I just don't want to do them anymore.” I took
a sip of tea. My stomach felt like it had butterflies inside.

“I feel stuck, Debbie,” I continued. “The place I am in right now feels foreign to
me. From the time I was a little girl, I felt close to God — like I could always
feel him hugging me, and I was hugging him back. It was always personal and intimate.
Now, for the first time in my life, I can't feel him.” I looked across the table
at her, and her attention was completely focused on me.

“I have never felt so stuck spiritually, like I can't grow. For the first time, I
don't want to lead a Bible study. I don't want to feed the homeless. I don't even
want to go to lunch or spend time with friends. I have no desire to meet their spiritual
needs or pray for them. To answer your question,
people
have always
been my passion,
and now I no longer have a desire to reach out to them. I just feel numb.”

Debbie sat there quietly, not interrupting, keeping a steady, loving gaze on my face.
She smiled, encouraging me to continue, without saying a word.

“I've always looked forward to opportunities to minister. I have ministered to so
many people in the past. Many of them mentioned that they sought professional help.
Maybe I need a counselor . . . I don't know. I'm not sure. I think right now I'm
just going to be still and wait. God will reveal it to me.”

“Well, Dorothy, if you want to see somebody,” she offered, “I have someone I trust
that I think you would enjoy knowing and visiting with.” I looked at her, knowing
she was sincere.

“I don't know, Debbie,” I said, suddenly feeling cautious. “I'll be honest with you,
I have some trust issues. The life I've lived — it's hard for me to know who I can
trust.” The faces of all the people I had trusted and then been betrayed by flashed
across my mind. I had been disappointed too many times.

“Actually, the worst in my life is over,” I said, trying to strike a more hopeful
note. “It is in my past. I don't really think I need to talk to anybody. I was just
thinking about it, that's all. I haven't really decided to do that. I'm fine.”

“Let's pray about it,” Debbie suggested. “I have someone in mind you would really
enjoy talking to. Her name is Rebecca. I love her, and I trust her. I believe she
can help you, Dorothy.”

She smiled again. Everything about her reflected the peace
and love of God.

“So, I guess that explains what your passion is,” she said.

“Right,” I said. “Nothing. Nothing is my passion right now.”

“Think about it,” she said, sipping her tea. “I believe the Lord has a lot planned
for you. This would be something good for you.”

“Are you gonna be there with me?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said, “if that's what you want, I'll be there with you. If you decide
you want to see her, I'll come with you.”

Lunch was over. I always enjoyed lunch with Debbie, but we didn't do it often. I
knew it would be months before I saw her again. We would send text messages and stay
in touch, but I was thinking,
Yeah, right. Debbie doesn't have time to check into
this. She has a million things to do. She travels with Pastor Robert. She's not going
to check into this.

Remember
, I said to myself,
this is not about you. You are here for her; you're not
here to be needy.
In truth, I cared about her very much. I wanted her to have a friend
she could lean on and trust. The last thing I wanted was to be someone else she needed
to expend energy on. I felt somewhat remorseful for even sharing my problem with
her.

Thirty minutes after leaving the restaurant, my phone rang. I pulled it from my purse
and looked at the screen — it was Debbie.

“Dorothy,” she said, “I checked with Rebecca, and she has three dates open.” She
listed all the dates and times. “Which one is good for you?”

“Debbie,” I said, “I'm surprised you called, but . . . wait . . .”

“I'll hold on while you decide,” she said, not giving me a chance to back out. The
excitement in her voice was unmistakable. Quiet, sweet Debbie was bubbling on the
other end of the line.

“Okay, let me look,” I said.

“If you still want me there, I'll be there,” she reassured me. “What day is best
for you?”

Pink Impact, Gateway's annual conference for women, was just a few weeks away. I
checked my calendar and picked a date after the conference.

I can't believe this
, I thought to myself after I hung up.
I just
can't believe it.
Debbie took the time to ask me what I was passionate about. She was genuinely interested
in me. I wanted to be there for her, and here she asked about me, getting me to open
up to her and share what was going on in my life.

I couldn't wrap my head around the fact that she had followed through that very
same day — just thirty minutes later. I thought about the excitement in her voice
and how authentic and real her attention to me had been.

The next time I saw my friend Lynn Martin, I told her, “I think I need to see a counselor,
Lynn. I just feel stuck.”

Lynn is a strong woman who loves God. Any time I went to her feeling down or dejected,
she would look at me and say, “Snap out of it, Dot.” Then she would remind me of
how strong I was and tell me I was not a quitter — that I could get through this.
This was often exactly what I needed. She was the “tough love” person in my life.

When I told her I was thinking about seeing a counselor, she said, “You don't need
a counselor. All you need is God, the One you have been depending on your whole life.
Who brought you through everything you've been through? God, right? Why do you need
a counselor now?”

“I don't know, Lynn,” I answered. “I've just been thinking about it, that's all.”

Now I was wavering a little, not sure if I wanted to go through with the appointment,
but not wanting to back out after Debbie had gone to so much trouble to pave the
way.

A few days later, I saw Ingrid. When I told her I was thinking about seeing a counselor,
without hesitation she said, “That's a very good thing. I always believed you should
be able to talk to somebody. You've been through an awful lot. It will help.”

On the day of my appointment, I was scared to death. I sat in my car, trying to talk
myself into going inside to Rebecca's office.
Why did I agree to this?
I thought.
You know why
, I answered myself. I had prayed a great deal about this since my conversation
with Debbie. I knew for sure I was supposed to do it, but I was nervous. I didn't
know what to expect or what was expected of me. I had never seen a real counselor
before — Nate and I saw one once for two sessions, but I never really counted that.
I wasn't sure how I was supposed to act or what I was supposed to say.