by J. J. Murray
Write the vision. Write it down. So ... I did. It took a long time to write and wasn’t going anywhere until I used Pastor Reed’s outline of visualization, anticipation, and manifestation. Pastor Reed likes to rhyme. That e-mail has been sitting in Joe’s in-box for ... geez, fifteen hours now. I wonder if he’s responded.
49
Joe
I sit down to write to Shawna, and there’s already a message from her in my inbox.
And it warms my heart.
Dear Joe:
Habakkuk 2:1 says, “Write the vision, and make it plain upon the tables, that he may run that readeth it.”
Here is my vision: We are in our house. At the foot of our bed is a crib containing our child. Your arms are around me. The baby wakes, and we both get up to tend to him. I’m convinced we’ll have us a boy. We bring him to lay between us, and we compare this miracle baby to each other. He has your nose and ears and my scary eyebrows ... Get the picture?
Joe, I can see us growing old together. You’re in my thoughts, my dreams, my heart, my soul. My hands and feet can’t keep still. I believe with every part of my being that we are meant to be married. I want to make our love public for all the world to see.
Can you see my vision? Can you feel my anticipation? Do you still want to marry me?
I await your decision.
Love,
Shawna
And now, I’m supposed to run with this since I have readeth it ...
Dear Shawna,
I can see us together. You always make me smile. Our child is golden. SHE has your eyes. You are in my prayers, my thoughts, my daydreams, my sleepless nights. Your smiles are a part of my bones. I hear your voice. I can see your hand in mine. I can feel your body next to mine. Yes, I want to marry you because
Because ... why? There are so many reasons, but the main reason has to be:
God brought us together.
Thank You, Father, for doing that.
Shawna, I need to see you. I’ve only just realized that peace begins with your smile.
I love you.
Joe
I send the message, and then I runneth up the street to wait for Shawna to come home from work. I need to see her smile. I need to feel that absolute peace.
And when she arrives, her smile lights up the night, I start to cry, I run to her—just like those silly romantic movies.
“You read my vision,” she whispers once I’ve stopped kissing those tender lips of hers.
“Yes.”
“Did you write a reply?”
I hold her face in my hands. “I wrote something, but you can read it later. I want you to read this first.”
And then I kiss her again, and in a few milliseconds, I feel peace wash all over me. All the worries about having five kids in the house and financing all that tuition—gone. All my doubts and fears about everyone getting along under one roof—gone.
Shawna pulls away first. “You, um, write very well, Mr. Murphy.”
“Thank you,” I say.
“Are you absolutely sure, one hundred percent, no doubts?”
“Yes.” And I am.
“Okay.” She smiles, and I get another shot of peace. “On the way here I got to thinking.”
“You did?”
“I did.” She smiles again. “I do that sometimes. I got to thinking how we can we live together before we live together.”
50
Shawna
Joe’s eyebrows wrinkle up. “Live together ... before we live together.”
“Right. And you know what I came up with?” I ask.
“What?”
“We need to go on a family vacation.”
“Really?” Joe asks.
“Really.”
“Think about it, Joe: Six sets of knees and elbows touching each other for miles on end, and I said six because Crystal will go. We’ll be sharing our funk, sharing our stale breath—it will be perfect.”
“Oh, yes,” he says, nibbling on my left ear so gently. “It sounds more than perfect.”
I don’t think he believes me. “C’mon, Joe. A vacation is exactly what we need. A long family vacation in the van to meet my people and your people.”
He blinks. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope.”
He sighs. “It’s nine hundred miles round-trip to Atlanta at least, and it’s sixteen hundred miles round-trip to visit my parents in Canada. At sixty miles an hour—”
“Yes,” I interrupt, “it’s a long time to spend knocking knees.”
“Not to mention the cost of gas, the cost of meals on the road, the cost of at least two hotel stays, the cost of—”
I growl. “The cost of us not bonding is going to be more expensive, Joe. Besides, I haven’t had a vacation in more than ten years. I deserve to get away.” And I get to ride in front with all that leg room while the kids fend off each other’s feet. “If that doesn’t break us or make us, nothing will.”
“Are you sure?”
I nod.
“Shouldn’t we be making plans for the wedding?”
“I like how you think, Mr. Murphy, but we’re old pros at weddings. We could probably plan a wedding in our sleep.” I have already planned it out in excruciating detail on five full legal pads during our little “separation,” and in August I will share all one hundred and fifty-seven items on my wedding checklist with Joe. But until then, we are going on a vacation.
“But can we afford a vacation and a wedding?”
It’s always about money with Joe. It is with me, too, but this is a unique situation. “God will provide a way. And once we get to Atlanta and Canada, we’ll have a free place to stay, right?”
“Right.”
I can’t wait to get up to Canada. Joe has said it’s where God takes a vacation, and I want to be sure.
He sighs. “Yeah, once we get to my folks’ house, they’ll take care of us. They always have. Um, will Crystal go? I mean, will she really go?”
Crystal is certainly enjoying her freedom. She and LaTonya have done a nice job decorating their little two-bedroom apartment over near Valley View Mall. “Oh, she’ll go. Two weeks is all I’m asking. JCPenney can do without her for two weeks.”
“But ...”
He’s so negative sometimes. “But what?” I ask.
“We’ll be traveling over twenty-five hundred miles in two weeks. Unless we drive straight through to Canada, we’ll be on the road for six of those fourteen days.”
I hadn’t thought of that. “Then, my sweet man, we will drive straight through. We have, what, six eligible drivers?”
He closes his eyes. “Don’t remind me ...”
I rub the back of his neck. “You worry too much, Joe. There will be no problems on this trip, none whatsoever.”
Later that night, after at least a half-hour “kiss good night” outside the apartment door, however, there’s a big problem.
“Mama, I can’t possibly take two weeks off,” Crystal tells me from her new cell phone while she’s driving around town with LaTonya in my Sentra wasting gas I paid for. “Especially in August with all the back-to-school sales. I can’t go. I need those paychecks to pay for the rent, my phone, my car insurance, and my food. It wouldn’t make sense for me to go.”
Though I love to hear her talk “reality,” I want her to know that she has to go. “Look, don’t worry about the money end of things. Joe has agreed to cover it.” Well, he will. I’ll just have to buy some more grapes for us.
“But what if they fire me? I’ve only worked there a couple months. And I have to have six months’ service before any of the benefits kick in.”
Lord, how You can change a person so fast! I have trouble believing that this is the child who couldn’t remember the days of the week when she was in first grade. “Tell your manager that it’s a family emergency, that you can’t help it, that you have to go, that it’s a matter of life and death—that sort of thing. Then tell your manager that you’ll work double shifts when
you get back.”
She laughs. “But, Mama, isn’t it supposed to be a vacation?”
“So ... it’s an emergency family vacation. You understand why we’re going, right?”
She scowls. “So we’ll have some people to come to your wedding to give you wedding gifts.”
Well ... it is kind of true. Sad, but true. “That’s not the real reason, Crystal, and you know it. We all need to bond, to go through something together that we will all have in common. It will give us strength. I mean, we’ve been doing a lot of family things, and I’m grateful you’ve at least come to church. It does my heart endless good when you attend church with us.”
“You know I wouldn’t miss going to Pilgrim, Mama.”
Pilgrim is where she and her daddy would hold hands during the service. Now, however, it’s some thugged-up “friend” named Tony and his tattoos, ripped abs, attitude, and silence. He’s friendly enough, even polite around me, but he’s so standoffish and cold—not like her daddy at all, at least from what I’ve seen.
“Just do this one thing for me, just two weeks of your life,” I plead.
“Family emergency, huh?”
“Yes.”
“When do I tell my manager?”
I almost say, “Don’t tell her until we’re on the road,” but that wouldn’t be very Christian. “I suggest ... that you tell her the day before we leave. That way, when she calls to check up on your story, you won’t be there.”
“And you and Joe will pay for whatever LaTonya and I can’t pay for?”
Say what? “Who said anything about LaTonya? You’re our child. Her own people have to take care of her.”
“I’m your child, Mama.”
“See? That’s why this vacation is an emergency. Y’all have to see that Joe is your father, too.”
“I’ll never see that, Mama. I’m not even going to try.”
This conversation is taking a bad turn. I need to steer her back. “At least go with us down to Atlanta to see your grandparents and cousins. It will only be a few days, and you haven’t seen them in years.”
“I can drive down and see them myself whenever I want to, can’t I?”
Shoot. I keep forgetting that she’s an adult, but she’s driving my car! “You’d drive over four hundred miles alone?”
“LaTonya would go with me.”
LaTonya, the child who can barely pay her rent and still sleeps with her teddy bear, has a license? “That’s not the point. That’s my car you’d be driving.”
“And?”
I don’t have an answer for that one! Grrrr. I’m not thinking clearly today. Should I try reverse psychology? “Okay. Don’t go. I wouldn’t want you along on the ride anyway. Good-bye.”
And then I hang up.
And wait.
And wait.
She’s very stubborn, but I know I’ve made her mad.
I wait some more.
The moon is rising outside.
Did I mention that she’s stubborn?
My phone rings. I check the caller ID. It’s Crystal. I let it ring five times before answering. “Hello?”
“Mama, were you serious?”
“I’m really sleepy, girl. Is this important? Can’t it wait until morning?”
“Mama, were you serious?” she repeats.
“About what?”
“About you not wanting me to go.”
“Yep.” I fake a yawn. “That will give everyone more room. Your brothers and sisters will love you for giving them more space. It will be a much more enjoyable ride. And anyway, why go where you don’t want to go? You go on and work, and we’ll go have us a vacation. I’ll tell your grandma and your grandpa that you were too busy working at a mall to come see them.”
C’mon, guilt trip. Work your magic.
“You wouldn’t tell them that!”
“Yes, I would.” And I would. Crystal knows my family well, and she knows we talk about folks who don’t show up when they should. “And I’d also tell them that you plan to drive all the way down there one day, though I don’t know when, what with your busy, busy schedule, and you’ll be bringing LaTonya, who doesn’t have a penny for gas money, who still sucks her thumb—”
“She does not!”
It was just a guess. “My mistake.” I let her stew a few moments. “What could it hurt for you to go with us? What are you afraid of?”
“I’m not afraid.”
I think I have her. Please, Lord, let this work! “Sure you are. You’re afraid you’re going to like Joe.”
“What?”
“Yep. That’s what I think. You know what else I think? I think you’re not only afraid of liking Joe, but I think you’re also afraid of everything about Joe.”
“I am not!”
It’s working! “Joe scares the bejeesus out of you, doesn’t he?”
“He doesn’t! I’m not afraid of him!”
We could go back and forth like this for hours, but I decide to cut to the chase. “Prove it.”
“Prove it? How?”
“Come down to Atlanta with us. And if you want to hate him or talk bad about him the entire time you’re down there, go on ahead and do it.”
“And what will that prove?”
“That you aren’t afraid of him.” And she graduated a few months ago? Hmm. Diplomas must not guarantee logical thinking anymore.
“Okay then, Mama. I’ll go with y’all to Atlanta, but I promise you this: I will not have a good time where Joe is concerned, and I will badmouth Joe with my every waking breath. I’ll even talk bad in my sleep about him.”
She’s going! Yes! “Okay then.”
“Good-bye, Mama.”
“Good-bye.”
It’s not exactly what I was hoping for, but at least it’s a step in the right direction.
51
Joe
The mechanics at Tire Centers Incorporated have assured me that the van will last at least another three thousand miles.
This does not give me a feeling of confidence. “Did you check all the hoses?”
They did.
“All the belts?”
They did.
“All the rivets and welds?”
They hadn’t, but they had seen no rust.
“What about the starter?”
Fine.
“The battery?”
In the “good” range. A little corrosion, not to worry.
“Why isn’t it in the excellent range?”
Because their gauge doesn’t have an “excellent range” on it.
“It’s trip-ready, Mr. Murphy,” they tell me.
But is it kids-riding-for-twenty-five-hundred-miles-knees-touching ready?
“Where you headed?” they ask.
“Atlanta, then about two hundred miles northeast of Toronto to Aylen Lake.”
That’s when they look at each other with raised eyebrows and make little Os with their mouths.
I make them do another courtesy check, just to be sure.
Nothing, and I mean, nothing can go wrong with this van. We cannot break down, and we cannot have a flat because I am going to be with the kids for forty hours of travel. I love them all, don’t get me wrong, but I doubt there’d be a lot of love in the air if we were stuck on the side of the road, say, during a heavy thunderstorm in the Pennsylvania mountains.
And with my luck, we’d be exactly halfway to Canada when it happened.
The idea of this trip is sound. We are going to throw together our kids in close quarters for two weeks to get them to bond. We’re trying to give them all a common mind about something. They have made some wonderful connections. The boys call themselves “brothers from another mother,” or something like that, but the girls ... They just haven’t clicked. Shawna thinks it has to do with their age difference, their life experience differences, the fact that Crystal is so beautiful, Toni is cute, and Rose ... Rose is beautiful, but she won’t let anyone see that anymore. And actually Crystal isn’t beautiful—s
he’s stunning. The child stops traffic. Rose is in her shadow. Well, Rose is in her own shadow, too. Rose just needs to come out in the sun, and I’m hoping she’ll at least get some freckles up in Canada.
The fact that Crystal doesn’t live at home anymore and won’t join us when we finally blend it all together is a problem. The fact that Toni has no one her age to play with is a problem. She plays with me, and I don’t mind, but I don’t know if I’ll have enough time to push a swing or to deal with “Watch this, Joe!” every day. We’re hoping she’ll play some rec league basketball this fall, just to give us an hour or two of peace every once in a while.
Since it will be hot, we are packing light for Atlanta. On our way back through Virginia, the idea is to drop by the house, exchange the Atlanta luggage for the Canadian luggage stacked in the hallway, and continue nonstop until we get to Aylen Lake, the Murphy family homestead. Shawna thinks I’m overplanning everything, but I have to. The van has only so many square feet, and the kids’ feet are huge!
Yesterday, I handed her a list of what her kids should bring up to the lake, and she blinked at it.
“This is all they’ll need?” she asked.
It is a very short list. “They’ll be in their bathing suits for most of the time.”
“As cold as it is up there?”
“Shawna, I keep telling you that it’s not that cold, especially in August.”
She rolls her neck, a sign that I’m wrong and she’s right. “Seventy degrees is cold to me, Joe. And that lake will be colder than that, won’t it?”
“It’s refreshing.” In, well, an Arctic sort of way.
“Well, you go on overplanning. I’ll just have to over-pack.”
