Chapter One
A Day in a Boundaryless Life6:00 A.M.
The alarm jangled. Bleary-eyed from too little sleep,
Sherrie shut off the noisy intruder, turned on the
bedside lamp, and sat up in bed. Looking blankly at the wall,
she tried to get her bearings.
Why am I dreading this day? Lord, didn't you promise
me a life of joy?
Then, as the cobwebs left her mind, Sherrie remembered
the reason for her dread: the four-o'clock meeting with
Todd's third-grade teacher. The phone call returned to her
memory: "Sherrie, this is Jean Russell. I wonder if we could
meet about Todd's performance and his . behavior."
Todd couldn't keep still and listen to his teachers. He
didn't even listen to Sherrie and Walt. Todd was such a
strong-willed child, and she didn't want to quench his spirit.
Wasn't that more important?
"Well, no time to worry about all that," Sherrie said to
herself, raising her thirty-five-year-old body off the bed and
padding to the shower. "I've got enough troubles to keep me
busy all day."
Under the shower, Sherrie's mind moved out of first gear.
She began mentally ticking off the day's schedule. Todd,
nine, and Amy, six, would have been a handful even if sheweren't a working mother.
"Let's see . fix breakfast, pack two lunches, and finish
sewing Amy's costume for the school play. That will be a
trick-finishing sewing the costume before the car pool
picks her up at 7:45 A.M."
Sherrie thought regretfully about last night. She'd
planned to work on Amy's costume then, using her talents to
make a special day for her little girl. But her mother had
dropped over unexpectedly. Good manners dictated that she
play hostess, and another evening was shot. The memories of
her attempts to salvage the time weren't pretty.
Trying to be diplomatic, Sherrie artfully told her mother,
"You can't imagine how much I enjoy your surprise visits,
Mom! But I was wondering, would you mind if I sew Amy's
costume while we talk?" Sherrie cringed inwardly, correctly
anticipating her mother's response.
"Sherrie, you know I'd be the last to intrude on your time
with your family." Sherrie's mother, widowed for twelve
years, had elevated her widowhood to the status of martyrdom.
"I mean, since your father died, it's been such an
empty time. I still miss our family. How could I deprive you
of that for yourself?"
I'll bet I find out how, Sherrie thought to herself.
"That's why I can understand why you don't bring Walt
and the children to see me much anymore. How could I be
entertaining? I'm just a lonely old lady who gave her entire
life to her children. Who would want to spend any time with
me?"
"No, Mom, no, no, no!" Sherrie quickly joined the
emotional minuet she and her mom had been dancing for
decades. "That's not what I meant at all! I mean, it's so
special having you over. Goodness knows, with our schedule,
we'd like to visit more, but we just haven't been able to.
That's why I'm so glad you took the initiative!" Lord, don't
strike me dead for this little lie, she prayed silently.
"In fact, I can do the costume any old time," Sherrie said.Forgive me for this lie, too. "Now, why don't I make us some
coffee?"
Her mother sighed. "All right, if you insist. But I'd just
hate to think I'm intruding."
The visit lasted well into the night. By the time her
mother left, Sherrie felt absolutely crazy, but she justified it
to herself. At least I've helped make her lonely day a little
brighter. Then a pesky voice piped up. If you helped so
much, why was she still talking about her loneliness when
she left? Trying to ignore the thought, Sherrie went to bed.
6:45 A.M.
Sherrie returned to the present. "No use crying over spilt
time, I guess," she mumbled to herself as she struggled to
close the zipper of her black linen skirt. Her favorite suit had
become, as many others had, too tight. Middle-age spread so
soon? she thought. This week, I really have to go on a diet
and start exercising.
The next hour was, as usual, a disaster. The kids whined
about getting out of bed, and Walt complained, "Can't you
get the kids to the table on time?"
7.45 A.M.
Miraculously, the kids made it to their rides, Walt left for
work in his car, and Sherrie went out and locked the front
door after her. Taking a deep breath, she prayed silently,
Lord, I'm not looking forward to this day. Give me something
to hope for. In her car on the freeway, she finished
applying her makeup. Thank the Lord for traffic jams.
8:45 A.M.
Rushing into McAllister Enterprises where she worked
as a fashion consultant, Sherrie glanced at her watch. Only a
few minutes late. Maybe by now her colleagues understood
that being late was a way of life for her and did not expect
her to be on time.
She was wrong. They'd started the weekly executive
meeting without her. Sherrie tried to tiptoe in without being
noticed, but every eye was on her as she struggled into her
seat. Glancing around, she gave a fleeting smile and muttered
something about "that crazy traffic."
11:59 A.M.
The rest of Sherrie's morning proceeded fairly well. A
talented fashion designer, Sherrie had an unerring eye for
attractive clothing and was a valuable asset to McAllister.
The only hitch came just before lunch.
Her extension rang. "Sherrie Phillips."
"Sherrie, thank goodness you're there! I don't know what
I'd have done if you'd been at lunch!" There was no
mistaking this voice. Sherrie had known Lois Thompson
since grade school. A high-strung woman, Lois was always in
crisis. Sherrie had always tried to make herself available to
Lois, to "be there for her." But Lois never asked Sherrie how
she was doing, and when Sherrie mentioned her struggles,
Lois either changed the subject or had to leave.
Sherrie genuinely loved Lois and was concerned about
her problems, but Lois seemed more like a client than a
friend. Sherrie resented the imbalance in their friendship. As
always, Sherrie felt guilty when she thought about her anger
at Lois. As a Christian, she knew the value the Bible placed
on loving and helping others. There I go again, she would
say to herself. Thinking of myself before others. Please,
Lord, let me give to Lois freely and not be so self-centered.
Sherrie asked, "What's the matter, Lois?"
"It's horrible, just horrible," Lois said. "Anne was sent
home from school today, Tom was denied his promotion, and
my car gave out on the freeway!"
This is what my life's like every day! Sherrie thought to
herself, feeling the resentment rising. However, she merely
said, "Lois, you poor thing! How are you coping with all of
this?"
Lois was happy to answer Sherrie's question in great
detail-so much detail that Sherrie missed half her lunch
break consoling her friend. Well, she thought, fast food's
better than no food.
Sitting at the drive-through waiting for her chicken
burger, Sherrie thought about Lois. If all my listening,
consoling, and advice had made any difference over the
years, maybe it would be worth it. But Lois makes the same
mistakes now that she made twenty years ago. Why do I do
this to myself?
4:00 P.M.
Sherrie's afternoon passed uneventfully. She was on the
way out of the office to the teacher's meeting when her boss,
Jeff Moreland, flagged her down.
"Glad I caught up with you, Sherrie," he said. A
successful figure at MacAllister Enterprises, Jeff made things
happen. Trouble was, Jeff often used other people to "make
things happen." Sherrie could sense the hundredth verse of
the same old song tuning up again. "Listen, I'm in a time
crunch," he said, handing her a large sheaf of papers. "This
is the data for the final recommendations for the Kimbrough
account. All it needs is a little writing and editing. And it's
due tomorrow. But I'm sure it'll be no problem for you." He
smiled ingratiatingly.
Sherrie panicked. Jeff's "editing" needs were legendary.
Hefting the papers in her hands, Sherrie saw a minimum of
five hours' work. I had this data in to him three weeks ago!
she thought furiously. Where does this man get off having
me save his face for his deadline?
Quickly she composed herself. "Sure, Jeff. It's no problem
at all. Glad I can help. What time do you need it?"
"Nine o'clock would be fine. And . thanks, Sherrie. I
always think of you first when I'm in a jam. You're so
dependable." Jeff strolled away.
Dependable . faithful . reliable, Sherrie thought.I've always been described this way by people who wanted
something from me. Sounds like a description of a good
mule. Suddenly the guilt hit again. There I am, getting
resentful again. Lord, help me "bloom where I'm planted."
But secretly she found herself wishing she could be transplanted
to another flowerpot.
4:30 P.M.
Jean Russell was a competent teacher, one of many in the
profession who understood the complex factors beneath a
child's problem behavior. The meeting with Todd's teacher
began as so many before, minus Walt. Todd's father hadn't
been able to get off work, so the two women talked alone.
"He's not a bad child, Sherrie," Mrs. Russell reassured
her. "Todd is a bright, energetic boy. When he minds, he's
one of the most enjoyable kids in the class."
Sherrie waited for the ax to fall. Just get to the point,
Jean. I have a "problem child," don t I. What's new? I have
a "problem life" to go with it.
Sensing Sherrie's discomfort, the teacher pressed ahead.
"The problem is that Todd doesn't respond well to limits.
For example, during our task period, when children work on
assignments, Todd has great difficulty. He gets up from his
desk, pesters other kids, and won't stop talking. When I
mention to him that his behavior is inappropriate, he
becomes enraged and obstinate."
Sherrie felt defensive about her only son. "Maybe Todd
has an attention-deficit problem, or he's hyperactive?"
Mrs. Russell shook her head. "When Todd's second-grade
teacher wondered about that last year, psychological
testing ruled that out. Todd stays on task very well when he's
interested in the subject. I'm no therapist, but it seems to me
that he's just not used to responding to rules."
Now Sherrie's defensiveness turned from Todd to herself.
"Are you saying this is some sort of home problem?"
Mrs. Russell looked uncomfortable. "As I said, I'm not a
counselor. I just know that in third grade, most children
resist rules. But Todd is off the scale. Any time I tell him to
do something he doesn't want to it's World War III. And
since all his intellectual and cognitive testing comes out
normal, I was just wondering how things were at home?"
Sherrie no longer tried to hold back the tears. She buried
her head in her hands and wept convulsively for a few
minutes, feeling overwhelmed with everything.
Eventually, her crying subsided. "I'm sorry . I guess
this just hit on a bad day'" Sherrie rummaged in her purse for
a tissue. "No, no, it's more than that. Jean, I need to be
honest with you. Your problems with him are the same as
mine. Walt and I have a real struggle making Todd mind at
home. When we're playing or talking, Todd is the most
wonderful son I could imagine. But any time I have to
discipline him, the tantrums are more than I can handle. So I
guess I don't have any solutions for you."
Jean nodded her head slowly. "It really helps me,
Sherrie, to know that Todd's behavior is a problem at home,
too. At least now we can put our heads together on a
solution."
5:15 P.M.
Sherrie felt strangely grateful for the afternoon rush-hour
traffic. At least there's no one tugging on me here, she
thought. She used the time to plan around her next crises:
kids, dinner, Jeff's project, church, . and Walt.
6:30 P.M.
"For the fourth and last time, dinner's ready!" Sherrie
hated to scream, but what else worked? The kids and Walt
always seemed to shuffle in whenever they felt like it. More
often than not, dinner was cold by the time everyone was
assembled.
Sherrie had no clue what the problem was. She knew it
wasn't the food, because she was a good cook. Besides, once
they got to the table, everyone inhaled it in seconds.
Everyone but Amy. Watching her daughter sit silently,
picking distractedly at her food, Sherrie again felt uneasy.
Amy was such a loveable, sensitive child. Why was she so
reserved? Amy had never been outgoing. She preferred to
spend her time reading, painting, or just sitting in her
bedroom "thinking about stuff."
"Honey, what kind of stuff?" Sherrie would probe.
"Just stuff," would be the usual reply. Sherrie felt shut
out of her daughter's life. She dreamed of mother-daughter
talks, conversations for "just us girls," shopping trips. But
Amy had a secret place deep inside where no one was ever
invited. This unreachable part of her daughter's heart
Sherrie ached to touch.
7:00 P.M.
Halfway through dinner, the phone rang. We really need
to get an answering machine to handle calls during dinner,
Sherrie thought. There's precious little time for us to be
together as a family anymore. Then, as if on cue, another
familiar thought struck her. It might be someone who needs
me.
As always, Sherrie listened to the second voice in her
head and jumped up from the table to answer the phone. Her
heart sank as she recognized the voice on the other end.
"Hope I'm not disturbing anything," said Phyllis Renfrow,
the women's ministries leader at church.
"Certainly you aren't disturbing anything," Sherrie lied
again.
"Sherrie, I'm in deep water," Phyllis said. "Margie was
going to be our activities coordinator at the retreat, and now
she's cancelled. Something about "priorities at home." Any
way you can pitch in?"
The retreat. Sherrie had almost forgotten that the annual
gathering of church women was this weekend. She had
actually been looking forward to leaving the kids and Walt
behind and strolling around the beautiful mountainous area
for two days, just herself and the Lord. In fact, the possibility
of solitude felt better to her than the planned group
activities. Taking on Margie's activities coordinator position
would mean giving up her precious alone time. No, it
wouldn't work. Sherrie would just have to say .
Automatically, the second thought pattern intervened.What a privilege to serve God and these women, Sherrie! By
giving up a little portion of your life, by letting go of your
selfishness, you can make a big difference in some lives.
Think it over.
Sherrie didn't have to think it over.
Continues.
