Except for my mother, no one seems upset about my father’s departure. My brothers nearly have a party when they find out he isn’t coming back, except all their energy is focused on the new wave of teen girls. Even troublemaker Josh is starting to shape up now that he’s in a relationship with quiet, pretty, pale Laura.
I can’t say I miss my father, exactly, but I do miss his adventures. Our close-knit family has unraveled, but I barely notice because I’m too busy watching the toddlers, keeping up with the teens, taking care of Jondy, and trying to attract anyone who isn’t Eddie.
I’m rocking a fussy Jondy to put him down for a nap when my mother calls me into her room.
“Faithy,” she says slowly. “I have some news.”
I’m about to ask what it is, but she rushes on in a tumble of words.
“I’ve been invited to go to WS to work on the Words. It’s a great honor, something I’ve wanted to do for years.”
I stare at her. “What about us?”
She shakes her head slowly. “I can’t take you kids with me. They only want me. You’ll have to stay here. But don’t worry,” she says with forced cheer. “You’ll have lots of people to watch out for you. Esther takes care of Nina so much anyway, and you’re both busy in your groups.”
“What about Jondy?” He’s only four months old.
“You’ve been doing a great job with him. He’ll be at the nursery, but I want you to keep an eye on him. He’s going to be your responsibility.”
I sit in shock. Seeing the explosion, but not yet feeling the impact. “How long will you be gone?”
“I don’t know, honey,” she says, brushing a piece of hair out of my face. “It could be awhile. I’m moving there.”
I try hard to push down the rising panic. Why? Why you? Why now? What about Jondy and Nina? I dare not say, “What about me?” I’m old enough to be left. As hard as I try to act older and fit in with the teens, deep down I am just an eleven-year-old kid who is losing her mother. At least Esther is still here, even though she rarely leaves her room most days.
I start to feel pressure behind my eyeballs and will myself not to cry. After all, this isn’t the first time my mother has left me. I don’t remember it, but I was told she left me when I was just a few months old. Aunt Faithy sent her to the Philippines to break her pride, and when she returned a couple of months later, apparently, I was so angry with her I refused to nurse from her ever again.
“Where are you going?” I force myself to ask.
“You know I can’t tell you,” she says, kissing my forehead. “All WS homes and their locations are Selah.”
Of course I know this. I’d just hoped I might be able to picture where she is and how far away, instead of dropping into nothingness.
“It’s God’s will,” she says.
My mother always wanted to be important to the Word. And since the Word is Grandpa, she’s tried to get as close to him as possible. Marrying Grandpa’s son, being a secretary to my father and Aunt Faithy, then continuing to work on the Mo Letters, even out at the Farm. A few years ago, she had written to Mama Maria, asking to be sent to WS. That was the pinnacle of discipleship. But now, with Jondy just born, she’s not so sure. She says, it’s strange that after so many years of ambition, dreaming, and asking to go to WS, now, when she has given up that dream and doesn’t really want to go, she is called. That’s how God works.
Still, she knows such an offer will never come again. To refuse it would seal her forever as not being a strong, dedicated disciple, willing to give up everything, including children and husband, for God.
I can’t picture exactly what WS is like. A Family Home, where no one witnesses, where you can’t have a stream of Family members as visitors or go to area Fellowships, where you live in constant secrecy even from the rest of the Family, where people work in small, dim rooms on their computers, typing prophecies. Although you probably get to see Grandpa. I think my mother hopes she will be with Grandpa again.
The next week, as she prepares to go to the airport, a few of us gather to say goodbye. I sit on her bed as she packs the last items into her suitcase. There is not much to say. She hugs me and puts Jondy into my arms. She gives three-year-old Nina a teary squeeze and passes her back to Esther.
“I’ll watch out for them,” Esther says.
Then my mother is gone.
She promises to call, but we both know that’s a lie. Long-distance phone calls are rare to nonexistent, and anyway, we’re bound to the three-minute rule. No one in the Family is allowed to speak on the phone for more than three minutes, because the longer someone is on the phone, the more likely it is they’ll say something they shouldn’t, which could be overheard by government forces tapping our phones.
My heart flaps around in my chest like a wounded bird. I go back to my group and my routine. It doesn’t change, but there is an anchor missing, an empty space I try to ignore. I don’t know where in the world she is, and I don’t know how to contact her. I pick up a crying Jondy and start walking back and forth across the nursery, bouncing him rhythmically. “Shh, shh, shh,” I soothe.
I’m not angry at my mother for leaving, at least not consciously.
How can I be angry at her? She must obey God’s will, as we all must.
Time passes slowly in my mother’s absence. I spend every afternoon, after our morning Devotions and classes, working in the nursery so I can be with Jondy. There are six babies in the nursery, but only Jondy stays there full-time. I help take care of all of them, but Jondy is mine. I quickly become an expert at diaper rash, sterilizing bottles, and soothing cranky teethers.
During these long, exhausting months filled with work, infrequent boring classes, taking care of Jondy, and missing my mother, I have one bright spot: I’m in love!
It snuck up on me. One day while we were having Get Out together in the field, I was looking for someone to play badminton with (Grandpa says we should call it “goodminton,” because we don’t want to be negative about exercise, which is good for us), and Michael, one of the new teen boys who just arrived from India, smiled and offered to play with me. I didn’t think much of him at first, with his straight brown hair and eyeglasses. But as we played, he laughed and chatted with me, his eyes twinkling. By the end of the hour, I thought he was the most handsome boy at the Farm. Even his glasses looked cute. I’m enjoying his company, and even more than that, he makes me feel noticed.
At the teen dance night a couple weeks later, all my self-consciousness and inadequacies bubble up. I am pretending so hard that I fit in, but the whole time I’m watching the teen girls, comparing myself to them. As I make my way along the wall, Michael walks up and asks me to dance. He dances four dances with me! And tells me how pretty I look! Just like that, I fall in love.
Walking alone the short distance back to my house after the dance, I can’t feel my feet on the concrete. My heart is soaring up out of my chest. I stretch my fingers toward the stars, skipping and spinning all the way. Heaven!