“Because I don’t feel like it. I’m tired, and I want to sleep.” To emphasize my point, I closed my eyes and leaned against the doorjamb.
“You’ve been sleeping an awful lot lately. It will do you good to get out and do something fun for a change.”
“I really don’t feel like it. You guys go on ahead. I don’t want to go.”
“Well, you’ve been cooped up in this house for months, just sleeping. It’s time you got out and had some fun.” Her eyes pleaded as much as her words.
“Don’t you get it? I want to stay here and sleep.”
“Well, you really need to get out and do something. I’ll wait while you get ready.”
I stared at my friend. I was sure she meant well, but she was starting to tick me off. “Look, I don’t want to go! I don’t feel like doing anything! I’m not fun to be around, and I don’t want to bring everyone else down by showing up. Thanks for what you’re trying to do, but I’m going back to bed.” I turned to go back inside.
Kelli grabbed my arm and pulled me back to face her. “No. You aren’t going back to bed, Keturah. You’re coming with us.”
I yanked my arm free. “No. I’m not!”
“Go get dressed.” Kelli extended her entire arm and pointed into the house.
“I’m not going. I’m in my pajamas, and I’m staying here. See you later.” I started to shut the door.
“Keturah.” Kelli said my name in an authoritative tone I’d never heard her use before —ever. “You are coming with us. Go get dressed, or I’m dragging you to the concert in your pajamas. You don’t have a choice here. Go. Get. Dressed. Now. I’m not leaving without you, you can be sure of that. Now go.”
My entire body sagged in defeat. “Fine. I’ll go get dressed. But you’re going to regret this. I’m not a lot of fun to be around these days.”
Undeterred, Kelli offered a parting shot as I went back inside. “And pack a pair of jeans. We have off-campus passes for tonight, and a bunch of us are going to West End and Reunion Tower after the concert.” Jeans were forbidden at our conservative Christian college, and so were the post-concert activities they had planned for us.
I hardly remember the concert itself, but afterward my friends insisted on moving forward with their plans as Kelli, our friends Debbie and Becky, and I entered the parking garage. “Girls, we’re going to change into our jeans in the backseat of the car. We can take turns watching out for other people.”
Modest me was grateful for the cover of darkness the garage provided, but the possibility of getting caught invigorated me, the first time I’d felt like that in months. Anna, the rule follower, chose to break all the rules that night, and the accompanying adrenaline rush let me know I was still alive. I hadn’t died along with Lillian back in January.
In the same way I’d accepted that I would never feel happy again, I realized that any feeling whatsoever —even happiness —was possible. That rush of adrenaline broke through the deadness I’d been experiencing for so long. I felt as though a doctor had yelled, “Clear!” and used shock paddles to jump-start my heart. I felt alive again. That night showed me I had the potential for happiness and joy on the horizon and that I would go on to live a full life.
I woke the next morning still feeling the rush of the night before. Breaking the rules had brought me back to life. It dawned on me that my Savior had done the same thing. When Jesus walked the earth, He broke the rules that the Jewish leaders had established for God’s people, and they hated Him for it.
I remembered the Bible story of Jesus healing a paralyzed man after the man’s friends lowered him through the roof into the crowded room where Jesus was teaching. I viewed my rescue in much the same way. My friend Kelli’s persistence and rule-breaking initiated the healing process in my life. Jesus didn’t follow the status quo, and He paid the ultimate price for it when He was crucified. Many times, my friends and I paid the price for breaking the rules at the Institute, getting “campused” for our infractions. We regularly got into trouble for not adhering to the rules and restrictions the administration imposed on us —rules that we had agreed to follow when we’d enrolled. But rules and regulations, laws and teachings, didn’t save my life that day; breaking the rules set me free from the bondage of depression. Sometimes breaking the rules is necessary.
BOB AND PHYLLIS CARPUS had just become empty nesters when they became the legal guardians of Mark and Lillian’s six children. In January of 1990, the family moved from Houston to Lewisville, Texas. In an act of selflessness, the Carpuses sold or gave away most of their home’s furnishings and packed up Mark and Lillian’s furniture and décor items for the new address. They wanted their house to feel as much like home to the children as possible. I was touched by their thoughtfulness.
Once the family was settled, I moved in with them as well, to be a source of stability and comfort to the children. Still, the grieving, which was raw and real for all of us, continued.
I was thankful for my boyfriend back in Houston, David, who regularly wrote to me. His words made me feel accepted and worthy. But our relationship had been a roller-coaster ride since high school. David and I developed an unhealthy pattern of “going together” and breaking up. We would spat over various things —sometimes silly or inconsequential, but more than a few times over more serious matters. Several adults warned me not to consider marriage yet, saying I was too young and inexperienced with male-female relationships to make such a commitment. And others pointed out that the off-again times in my relationship with David were warning signs. “You need more emotional healing from all of the trauma in your life first” was their advice. To be perfectly honest, neither of us was ready to get married.
But I was so in love. When David and I were together, I couldn’t see past my feelings for him. And yet when we were apart, I wrestled with doubt and insecurity. Would marrying him be a mistake? Would anyone ever love me as much as David said he did?
David’s presence in my life had become familiar and comfortable. I fantasized again about the kind of life we could have together. As proof that I’d broken free from my childhood chains of polygamy, I would be David’s one and only wife. I wouldn’t have to share him with anyone. And we would have lots of kids.