I was at Stephen�s parents� this weekend.

After church on Sunday, there was a luncheon for newcomers at the church his parents are thinking of making their home church. There were a lot of interesting people there. There was a woman who had 9 kids, and the man she was with had only been with her for a year. I wish I knew the rest of the story. Her kids looked really sweet and she looked very nice as well, if more conservative than most (she wore a long skirt). Her oldest was 15 and her two youngest were babies. Her husband�s (?) younger brother also lives with them, and he�s 16. The woman didn�t look very old. Somehow she looked okay though.

There was a 10-year-old girl who was very cute and reminded me more of myself at that age than anybody I�ve ever met. The pastor of the church, Patrick, picked her out to talk about her family, and all she could do was look stricken and giggle like crazy. She was adorable. Her older sister was there, and her mom. Her mom and dad were divorced, and the older sister had just come over from the East Coast to live with her mom. Her dad was in the military.

There was a man there who was fairly newly married, it seemed. His bride was over on the East Coast too. He was a military engineer, in Seattle to do work. But he�s getting deployed soon, I guess? And he wants his bride to have Seattle to establish as her home, which is why he came to UPPC.

There was a woman there with two kids who were twins, a girl and a boy. They looked about 14. I knew upon looking at the woman that she was angry and hurt in a lot of ways. I wasn�t wrong. She divorced her husband, also military and deployed in Iraq, 4 years ago. Her husband had been Catholic, and she had grown up in a home without religion, so she had easily converted to Catholicism while they were married. But when her husband and she divorced, the Catholic Church would no longer let her take Communion. That day at UPPC was the first time she�d been able to take Communion in 4 years.

She said it was moving, to be able to take Communion, and the people at the luncheon all made soft noises of wonder, but I saw way past all that. Her face had anger and pain written all over it, despite the fa�ade of �just-another-gal-like-you.� The way she darted her head when everybody made soft noises made her seem startled or uncomfortable. And the way she rambled on about her husband in Iraq after the luncheon was over just emphasized her fa�ade even more. I watched her daughter, too. The son looked okay�he was still a goofy, fun-loving boy�but the daughter, at fourteen, wore black eyeliner and mascara without a touch of any other make-up. The blackness around her eyes stood out in stark contrast to the pale blondeness of her hair and eyebrows. Her expression mimicked that of her mother�s: unsmiling, angry, sad.

Looking at them�especially the mother�made me want to cry. The kids are still young and may have more positive influences on their life as they grow older, but it was heartbreaking to see the lines of pain in the mother�s face, and the dark make-up contrasting with the blonde hair. I wished I could say something to her, anything, but everything I thought of sounded tinny and hollow, or else too forward. I didn�t even know this woman.

All the same, after the luncheon I stared at her, trying to think of something, anything to say that would magically heal the lines and make her happy. She needs someone to take care of her, was all I could think.

Stephen noticed my quiet staring. He�s gotten very good at reading me lately, and he could tell I wanted to talk to her. I knew I couldn�t, so instead I ended up talking to him. In the process, I nearly convinced myself to at least go to the pastor and tell him, �Make sure that woman is taken care of� with all the conviction I could muster. But Stephen only said, �I�m sure they will,� which whipped my conviction to act out from under me. I cried a lot. Her daughter saw me. When she saw me, I wished I could convey in a look everything my heart was dying to say. I wonder if it made any difference.

So I prayed for them. Hard. I prayed that the woman wouldn�t be scared off from the church like my mom was. I prayed that the girl�s heart would stay soft. I prayed that God would bring a male role model into the boy's life. Most of all, I prayed that the woman would be taken care of. My heart felt, but didn�t put in words, �Please give her a husband who loves her.� I think God would hear that too. I hope so. The rest of my day was shot. I was exhausted from crying, and still aching for the whole entire world, encompassed, in my sight, in that one woman�s family. I�d go on about the rest of the day, but I�m worn out just remembering this part. Steve and I talked in Cari�s bedroom through half of the Super Bowl. I was a little upset that he had to miss the good commercials, and a little upset that I was missing the good plays and the good commercials, but I felt so messed up that I couldn�t just step out of it and go watch the game. Especially not in front of Stephen�s whole family, with my eyes red from crying and my whole being exhausted from the emotional train wreck.

Today I woke up feeling vaguely messed up�like maybe there are still a couple pieces lying on the ground from the train wreck. But the sun is shining again, and I had a good night�s rest, I�m not at Steve�s parents� anymore, and there are things for me to do this week, purpose-givers to my life. So there�s a lot of hope in this week, and I need that.

-Stephanie

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