Authors: Gayle Roper
Clay ran his hand over her hair. “Cleanliness may be next to godliness,” he said, “but the baby is more important at the moment.” He placed his hand gently over her tummy and was kicked for his efforts.
“Hmm.” She rubbed her aching side. “It seems Theodore is making a statement of some kind.”
Candy laid her head on Leigh. “My baby.”
“Hey, Candy Cane,” Bill said as he entered the room, drumsticks in hand. To his great disgust, at fourteen he looked much as he had at ten, just a tad taller. The only thing that kept him from despair was the memory of Grandpa Will’s height and the constant sight of his father’s. “You’ve got to share the baby with me,” he said as he stuffed the drumsticks in his back pocket.
“Bill!” The little girl shrieked in delight and threw herself at her big brother. He lifted her over his head and gave her a raspberry on her tummy. She giggled and demanded, “Again.”
“Anybody home?” came a call from the kitchen.
“Grandma Jule,” yelled Candy. “Come here.”
Clay smiled at his cherub of a daughter. “Little dictator,” he said proudly. “Just like her mother.”
Leigh gave him the evil eye as she held out her empty glass to him. He took it with a wink and set it on the end table next to the silver chest with the glorious flowers. There was a large dent in one side of the chest where it had struck one of the great jetty rocks when Bill threw it away from Ernie Molino. Neither Clay nor Leigh wanted the imperfection pounded out. It was a constant reminder of God’s grace during that season of miracles—the reconciliation of the brothers, the acknowledgment of Bill’s paternity, and the declaration of their love. Leigh had only to look at it, and her eyes misted. Clay had only to look at it and he remembered going into the cold, cold water at low tide to retrieve it.
Julia and David walked into the living room of the house that had once been Julia’s home. They were holding hands.
“Clay,” Julia had said when she and David married a month after the Molino fiasco, “if you and Leigh want this house, it’s yours. David and I want a house that’s ours, not mine or his. This would have been yours someday anyway. I’m just offering it a bit early.”
Now Julia and David lived three blocks away. Julia smiled and bent to smother Candy in kisses. “How’s Grandma’s sweetheart?”
“Did you bring cake?” Candy asked.
“She’s got you pegged,” David said, laughing. He bent to Candy. “How does angel food sound, my little angel?”
“Wif strawberries and whip cream?”
At David’s nod, she ran for the kitchen to see for herself. “We gots angel food, Daddy,” she cried as she raced back to the living room. David bent and captured her as she raced by. He lifted her, and she wrapped her little arms around his neck. “I love you, Grampa David,” she said. “Thank you for the angel food.”
Leigh could see him melt.
“How are you feeling, Leigh?” Julia asked.
“Fat.” Leigh smiled at her mother-in-law. The baby would be good for Julia. Another Ted. She knew Julia still had times of deep grieving over Ted, and it was soon to be the fourth anniversary of his death. They had had Ted in relatively good health for three months after the Good Friday miracle. He and Clay reestablished their friendship during that time, and he had been able to stand as Clay’s best man when Clay and Leigh married in June at the close of the school year.
“You know,” he said to Clay one night at dinner just before the wedding, “if you can admit to me that you were wrong, I guess I can admit the same thing. Out loud, I mean. I admitted it to God back at Easter. I know what God asked of me, and I know what I did in defiance of Him. I was wrong.” He smiled crookedly. “What with the examples of Dad, Matt, and you, how can I possibly hold on to my excuses?”
Then his decline had been swift and inevitable. When they returned from their honeymoon, he was barely alive.
“You should have called us,” Clay told his mother and David.
“I wouldn’t let them,” Ted whispered. “But I hung on to tell you two that I love you.”
Two days later he slipped into a coma. Two days after that, he was gone.
From her position on the sofa, Leigh looked at Candy and Bill, felt Baby Ted kicking about inside. She couldn’t begin to imagine the never ending pain of losing a child. If Baby Ted could help assuage Julia’s pain in any way, it was worth the discomfort and uncertainty of the past few months.
“Let’s eat in here,” Clay suggested. “Then Leigh won’t be left out.” He moved to get up.
“Stay,” Leigh said, putting a hand on his chest. “Stay with me.”
As Bill and David set up TV trays and Julia took Candy to the kitchen to “help” unpack the meal she’d brought with her, Clay looked at his wife. The love in his eyes brought tears to Leigh’s.
“I’ll stay with you, love,” he whispered as he dropped a kiss on her forehead. “I’ll stay with you always and forever.”
Dear Reader,
Over the last thirty years as I’ve spoken to women’s groups all across the country, I have often talked with women touched in some way by AIDS.
“My husband has AIDS,” one told me tearfully, “and I can’t tell anyone I know. Even though he contracted it by transfusion, he—we—would be ostracized in our community and our church if people knew. We’ve carried this information alone since he first learned he was HIV positive. I’m talking to you because I’ll never see you again, and I just have to talk to someone.”
In contrast was the pastor’s wife who said, “My brother is dying of AIDS back on the East Coast. Our little congregation has been so supportive. It’s like he’s our church project. They pray for him and my family all the time, and they’ve flown me back to spend time with him twice already. They’re gathering funds for a third trip next month.”
One of my junior girls’ novels,
The Secret of the Poison Pen
, was based on the true experience of friends who took in a foster baby with HIV. Someone in the congregation wrote anonymous notes saying, “Get that kid out of our church!” Our friends persevered, the nursery workers learned universal care procedures, and that baby is now a bright and charming ten-year-old girl who still hasn’t contracted AIDS, and most important, has trusted Christ as her Savior.
There is no denying that AIDS is a terrible condition, all the more scary because it is contagious. However as believers we have a higher calling than avoiding illness and those who might infect us (though they shouldn’t with proper care taken). We have a call to bind up the wounds of the world, to offer Christ to the lost, to urge repentance on the fallen. I find it terribly sad that committed health-care professionals and social workers often do a better job at the first responsibility than the church of Christ. And the church is the only organization to offer the spiritual relief of the latter two. If we fail here, eternity feels the impact.
Surely not all of us will be called to foster HIV babies or to care for AIDS patients, but all of us can have a godly mind-set that allows us to hurt for the victims, their pain, their spiritual needs. We must remember that any life cut short is a thing of sorrow. A life cut short while still at enmity with God is truly tragic.