EPILOGUE
I had come back to Illinois with the full intention of staying only a month or two, and then heading back to California to my old job and to John.
As the weeks passed, I realized things at home had never been better. The extent of the change surprised even me, and before long I knew my folks realized I'd changed, too. They acted a little wary of my constant Bible quoting and my out-loud prayers, but they obviously felt as good as I did about our new family harmony. I began to consider a longer stay — if I could find a job that would give me reason to stay in Chicago.
One day, on a lark, I decided to drop by the high school just to say hello to some of my old teachers. The first one I found was Mr. Rioni, who was now an assistant principal. I asked him if he wanted to check my purse for cigarettes, and we both laughed. He acted genuinely glad to see me, so when he asked me to tell him what had been happening in my life, I gave him the whole story — that I'd dropped out of college, moved to California, gotten a good job, but had become an alcoholic. I told him about my spiritual rebirth and how I'd come home to show my parents that I'd changed. I told him I was thinking about staying in Chicago if I could find a job — maybe something working with teenagers. "I want to do something to help keep kids from making the same mistakes I made," I concluded.
"I'm glad things are starting to work out for you," he said. "But about this idea of looking for a job to help kids — that sounds to me like maybe you're on a guilt trip." Then seeing the serious look on my face, he laughed and added, "But then again, maybe a guilt trip's good for you."
And I laughed.
After I'd said good-bye to Mr. Rioni, I looked in on my favorite school secretary, Mrs. Hughes. I hadn't seen her in four years, so I was a little surprised she remembered me. She listened with real interest as I told my story once again.
When I told her I was interested in working with kids, she told me about a national organization called Youth for Christ, which had local chapters called Campus Life Clubs in several Chicago area schools. "They meet every week to talk about kids' problems and what the Bible has to say about those problems," she explained. "The guy who heads it up is a school guidance counselor named Roger Tirabassi. I've got his number right here if you want to use my phone and give him a call."
So I called right from Mrs. Hughes's office and for the third time that day told my story. Roger then told me about his organization. He explained that the purpose of Campus Life was to help high school kids understand that to live a healthy, balanced life they had to include the spiritual along with their social, intellectual, and physical lives. In addition to regular meetings to talk about problems and the Bible, the group did things like take trips to Florida and Colorado. I could hardly believe such an organization existed. When Roger said they were always looking for volunteer staff people I was ready to sign on. All that remained was to find a paying job so I could stay in Chicago and volunteer with Campus Life.
I had barely hung up after agreeing to stop and meet Roger sometime soon, when another former teacher, Mr. Bradford, stopped in the office. Once more I told my story and shared my desire to do something to help young people.
This man also listened with interest and when I finished he said, "I just heard about a new position the school board is trying to fill. It's a social work job to help high school kids with drug and alcohol problems."
My hopes were rising so fast I wasn't even deterred when Mr. Bradford added, "But I'm sure they're looking for someone with experience and a college degree in social work."
"It sounds perfect," I exclaimed. "Where can I apply?"
"Well," he said, "you can call Mr. Adams over at the school board office."
"Mr. Jack Adams?" I asked.
"Yes. Why? Do you know him?"
"He was an assistant principal when I was in junior high school," I informed him.
"Well, his office is doing the hiring for this position. I suppose it would at least be worth a call."
"So again I used Mrs. Hughes's phone. Mr. Adams remembered me and I told him my story. When I finished I said, "Because of my own personal experience with drugs and alcohol, I think I'd be a good candidate for that new job you have."
"I'm sorry, Becky," he said. "But one of the requirements is a four-year college degree."
"But couldn't I at least apply?"
"Well," he hesitated, "you can apply if you want, I guess. Do you have any local references?"
My local reputation wasn't exactly what I needed to win this job. I needed someone who believed in me, who understood what had happened to me. "I've been away for several years," I said. Then I had a thought. "There is one person: he's a guidance counselor in the school system, Roger Tirabassi."
"Okay, that's a start," Mr. Adams said. "You can come by and fill out an application if you like, but I certainly can't promise anything."
That afternoon visit to my old high school became another turning point in my life — almost as significant as the day of my deposition back in August. Several things happened as a result of the contacts made in Mrs. Hughes's office.
Incredibly, after numerous interviews and repeating my story to school board officials and other community leaders, I got the social work job. When they waived their requirement of a college degree and offered me the position, I sent my apology and resignation to Mrs. Felton. It wasn't easy giving up the success I'd found in California.
However, I soon discovered greater satisfaction and a higher victory in my new job. It was especially heartening to realize that God was using all those wasted years and all those wasted opportunities. Those experiences became my passport, my credibility as I tried to steer other teenagers away from my mistakes. It was a marvelous thing to have the chance to make a positive difference in other peoples' lives.
But more than a job came out of that afternoon. I soon met Roger Tirabassi face to face and immediately got involved as a volunteer with Campus Life. This additional attempt to help others ended up helping me most of all. The Campus Life staff quickly filled all my needs for friendship and acceptance. They also became my spiritual mentors as we worked together, studied the Bible, and developed strategies for sharing our faith with high school kids.
As I continued to grow stronger in my faith, my parents became more and more impressed with the changes in me. Mom began going to a Wednesday evening prayer meeting and Bible study with me at a church in a nearby town. Then one Saturday morning, as we sat together at our kitchen table, she prayed and asked God to take control of her life in the same way he had done for me. As Mom began to change, Dad became curious and started going with us on Wednesdays. One evening he went forward and prayed to ask God to take control of his life as well, and our family life changed forever.
Through all this time I kept hoping and praying that John would decide to make the same commitment to God that I had made. At the end of the year I flew back to California for a few days to see my old friends and to show John how much I still cared about him. But the chasm between us seemed to be growing wider and wider.
During the months that followed we kept writing — and I kept praying. That next summer he came east to see me, and we went out together every night. While he'd drink beer, I'd sip on a soft drink, and we'd go over and over our differences.
The next to the last night of his visit we took a midnight canoe ride on a nearby lake. The night felt so warm and romantic that we set our paddles down and just drifted in the silvery, shimmering light of the full summer moon, gentle waves lapping softly against the hull. We were silent for a long time before John spoke the words I had longed to hear him say.
"Becky, I want to ask you to marry me. But . . ."
We both knew there was a but.
He continued. "But if I married you, there'd be something I couldn't give you that you want in a husband. I can't believe what you believe."
We argued for a while, but I think we both knew it was no use. Finally we paddled back to shore with nothing resolved.
The next night, John's last before he planned to fly back to California, we went out to eat again. This time, though, when John ordered something to drink, so did I. When he ordered a second, so did I. Before long I was rip-roaring drunk and very angry at John for letting me get drunk — and at myself for not being stronger.
I cried myself to sleep that night and awakened the next morning feeling very weak, betrayed, and alone. I wasn't strong enough to stand alone, and the man I loved didn't care enough about me, didn't respect me enough not to drink around me, even though he knew I was an alcoholic. Realizing both those things, I also realized there was no hope for us. Our relationship was over. But it still hurt.
The next morning we made a quiet trip to the airport and said a somber good-bye. I never saw John again.
But just as God had replaced my California job with a more fulfilling one and had given me a whole new set of Christian friendships, he provided someone to take John's place. A little over a year after that eventful afternoon in Mrs. Hughes's office when I'd made the contacts that led to a new career, new friendships, and a new family, one more life-changing event resulted: Roger Tirabassi asked me to marry him.
A lot has happened since then. Roger and I did get married, and we now have a beautiful son. I worked part-time for several years leading a Campus Life Club in the very high school I attended as a teenager. Ironically, though I wasn't a member of the Central High School faculty, I even served for several years as the school's cheerleading coach.
Today I'm still devoting my life to working with young people who struggle as I did with issues of popularity, peer pressure, self-image, and family tensions. I want others to understand that drug and alcohol abuse don't solve any of those things; they only complicate them and make everything worse.
The answer I found, the only answer to my problems, was turning my life over to Christ — not that he somehow waves a celestial wand and life becomes instantly perfect, but he gives the strength, hope, and help one needs to cope with the problems.
I'll always be an alcoholic. But God gives me the strength never to drink. And that, for me, is a life-changing victory.