Chapter 1 “Loving the Unlovable” Uniquely and Wonderfully Made

I've shared my testimony of "Loving the Unlovable" several times when I traveled the world speaking in various churches. Still, the most unforgettable was when He led me to share it using an interpreter in Hamamatsu, Japan. Interestingly, it was a Portuguese-speaking church, and I was invited to speak at the request of the woman who translated the RYM book. Sandra asked me to come, and while driving me from the airport, I explained that on the bullet train, the Lord told me not to accept any money (after she told me it was customary for visiting speakers to have an offering taken up on their behalf).

When I began to speak as Sandra translated what I'd said in English to Portuguese, the pastor (sitting in the front row) began to cry and soon began to weep. Because I was allowing Him to speak through me, without even knowing what topic, story, or testimony He'd have me share (as I always did), it didn't affect me as it usually does when "I" share this particular story. Just this weekend, for example, I shared only a portion of "loving the unlovable" on a podcast when my voice broke, causing the host to cry. So, as the podcast host suggested, you may need to grab your tissues...

This story began soon after my husband left me a single mother again, but this time, instead of four small children, I was left with six children (still living at home) as well as my teenage niece, Laurel, who came to live with us from Japan (read Salvation Stories, Chapter 10, "Teen Suicide Prevented). That morning, I got a phone call that quickly turned volatile. After saying "Hello," I immediately heard, "I've had it!! I can't take any more of this! She's all packed, and I've bought her a plane ticket. It's your turn to take her!"

The phone call was from my older sister, Margaret, and the "she" in the conversation was about our sister, Pat, the second of seven children. Pat was what we now call "special." Back when we were growing up, other labels that were less than kind were used, but like most families like ours, Pat's "differences" or uniqueness were ignored and never, ever discussed. 

Pat moved back and began living with our parents again days after she was found sleeping on a bench in California, homeless. Our brother, Damian, had called me (read Salvation Stories, Chapter 2, "My Brother is Dying") to ask if Pat could come live with our parents. And the reason he called me (and not our parents) was because he knew I'd basically been caring for our elderly parents for quite a few years. We moved them to a nearby apartment and not with our family of eight since there was no room in our small home. Besides, like most elderly adults, my parents wanted to have their independence—even though quite a few of their needs needed to be met by me. Since I was responsible for making and delivering their meals and doing their laundry, having my sister, Pat, would clearly add not just another person but a whole lot more to deal with.

Hearing Damian's pleading voice, unsure why he hadn't just taken her home to live with him, I didn't stop to think and said, "Of course." He thanked me and then bought her a cross-country bus ticket. However, when I mentioned this to my husband, he voiced a bit of what I began thinking after I'd said yes. Why didn't Damian and Esther take "her" to live with them? Why not my oldest brother? "Both your brothers are very 'well off' financially," he said, "And both of them are empty nesters!" My husband went on to ask about my youngest sister, who was single. "Anyone else but us," meaning living with my parents because he also knew living with my parents meant I'd be caring for my sister, too.

Little did I know that at that moment in time, we were witnessing the beginning of a new chapter in our family's history. It was the beginning of my sister Pat's legacy. The very sister we'd always pretended didn't exist. God was setting her up to one day become our family's hero. This hostile phone call from Margaret happened about a few years after my mother passed away, even after my sister Pat had performed her heroic deeds for both our parents. Nevertheless, God decided to turn my sister's heart against Pat and would soon turn my heart towards her, but only after He knew my heart would need to be broken.

Margaret only agreed to "take" my sister, Pat, because Pat was part of the package deal. Pat was coming along with my mother, who then (after the agreement was made) sadly passed away while we were packing for their move to the East Coast of Florida from the Gulf. After five years, Margaret packed Pat's stuff into one battered cardboard box and bought her a one-way plane ticket to Kansas City, Missouri. Thankfully, as God had planned it, I just so happened to be flying into the same airport that was three hours north of where we lived.

When I tried to object about taking her (unlike quickly agreeing as I'd done when she was homeless), Margaret screamed at me, "And you call yourself a Christian?!?!?" I wisely didn't mention she also called herself a Christian (you can read her Salvation Story, Chapter 4, "I Want What You Have) because she was a new believer and didn't understand that to "have what I had" meant traveling through down through a good amount of valleys, in order to mature spiritually. Thankfully, I was able to explain why I couldn't take her after she stopped yelling.

Quickly, I explained my current living situation, not to mention that I was currently traveling around the country to provide for my family, which amounted to eighty-eight flights in one year. When she asked why I didn't call her the moment he'd left and filed for divorce, I said calmly and kindly, "To be honest, I never thought about you. I was too busy thinking about how this would affect my children and ministry. You never entered my mind." And though she began to scream again, she got it, or maybe because after I explained, I quickly agreed and said, "Yes, go ahead and send Pat. I have a flight landing just a few minutes after she arrives."

Knowing my sister, Pat, I made sure that Margaret told her to stay at the same gate when she arrived and not to go anywhere until I came to get her. I even contacted the airport to explain my sister's need for supervision. Unfortunately (which was also part of His plan and how He was writing the epistle of Pat's life and mine), when I landed, Pat was nowhere to be found. After searching for an hour, there was announced made over the airport, and several security officers were dispatched to try to find her. It wasn't until I asked my Best Friend where she was, and of course, there she was.

I'll never forget Pat standing there alone, with her back to me, watching her box filled with all her possessions go round and round on the luggage carousel for an hour. But I'm getting ahead of myself. First, I need to tell you about my tearful conversation with my Heavenly Father, the One you go to who you know will understand and Who will "fix" your problem.

As I was flying home from a speaking engagement, I had just literally cried out to the Lord on the flight, explaining all the reasons why I could not be the one to take her. I even cited huge reasons why— like the safety of my young children as number one. He'd already graciously saved the life of the first of my restoration babies, Tara, from drowning because it's easy to forget that Pat was not an adult and should not be allowed to take an infant into the pool. Yet, instead of sparing me this new challenge in my life, on top of all the other impossibilities I was living through, He challenged me and asked,

"Erin, what side of the street will you walk on?" Will you cross and walk on the other side like the priest?"

Then, He went on to say,

"Erin, what would it be like not to be wanted by anyone?"

Hearing this broke my heart! Can you imagine having people, your family, feel that about you all your life? And whether my sister fully understood it—we can't dismiss that she may have. You can't dismiss that she may have sensed it. No "expert" can say if a person who does need extra specialized support can or can't discern something. Who knows? God knows!

Weeping, I knew by the grace of God He was asking me to be the Good Samaritan.

"A priest happened to be going down the same road, and when he saw the man, he passed by on the other side. So, too, a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. But a Samaritan, as he traveled, came where the man was, and when he saw him, he took pity on him. He went to him and bandaged his wounds, pouring on oil and wine. Then he put the man on his own donkey, brought him to an inn, and paid to take care of him."

My Father even pointed out that last part to me. The Samaritan didn't take the man home to his house. Instead, he brought him to wear the man would be comfortable and paid for him to be cared for, "‘Look after him,’ he said, ‘and when I return, I will reimburse you for any extra expense you may have.’"

So that's what ended up happening. Pat only stayed one night with us, and then Damian found her a wonderful place to live, a brand new facility less than a mile from the megachurch we attended. Very soon, Pat became a celebrity to everyone we knew and introduced her to because He changed my heart on that plane. My conversation with my Father concluded with me asking Him, tears streaming down my cheeks,

"Show me how to love her."

He did.

That day, everything changed, and that’s when Pat became a celebrity at our home and at the Assisted Living home, where she ultimately went to live the day after she arrived in Missouri. No longer ignored, we would all come over to visit her, and everyone followed suit as I treated her like a celebrity and our family's hero. Because of how I treated her, my children began to look at her differently, as did everyone else who met her.

So, having had this revelation about never being wanted, and who I was really (the priest or the Good Samaritan), and how my attitude would teach my children and niece and later my siblings (and strangers) by how He showed me I needed to “set the stage differently,” to change how she was perceived and treated, and how we just started having fun having her around, how my teens and twenties children would even bring their friends to come over and see her at our home—no longer hidden.

Was adding this to my already full plate difficult? “And He has said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for power is perfected in weakness.’ Most gladly, therefore, I will rather boast about my weaknesses so that His power may dwell in me. Therefore, I am well content with weaknesses, with insults, with distresses, with persecutions, with difficulties, for His sake; for when I am weak, then I am strong.” But the story, you may have noticed, is missing how Pat became our family's hero.

Soon after Pat moved in, my father had a series of strokes. The final stroke left him lodged behind his bedroom door, and after being rushed to the emergency room, we were told he wouldn't live through the night. This in itself is a powerful salvation story, which I probably should take the time to write, but more to the point. My father lived that night, the next night, and after the third night of "not dying," we took him home "to die," and this is where Pat stepped up to do what she was called to do, "for such a time as this."

Pat being unique and not "normal" meant that she could not keep any job for very long. At one point, Pat lived across the street from Saint Joseph’s Hospital, where I was born. My parents found her an “efficiency” apartment that was basically one room with a curtain to hide the single bed, with a tiny kitchen and bath. It was perfect for Pat because she could walk out her front door, cross the street, and be early for work (as she always was). As a nurse’s assistant, Pat took on the tasks she would later need when caring for my father and, later, my mother. Instead of living in a nursing home, my father was able to finish living his life at home surrounded by his family. The nine months my father lived allowed each of my siblings the opportunity to come to say final goodbyes, and some, for the first time, heard my father say, "I love you," something his generation didn't say but simply lived.

Since I have failed to make this first chapter "Fun & Entertaining" as the cover says or let you meet our Pat pictured on the cover, I will do my best in chapter 2 to bring you to laughing tears to help you recover from the tear-stained experience this chapter has left you with.