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Smiley Faces
by Roy Borges
Rita sat in the lobby of her doctor’s office
looking through an inspirational
magazine. The picture of two men in a prison cell caught her attention.
The
story told her about an obstinate cellmate that God used to teach me a
lesson
on obedience and love. It also told her I had a daughter named Rita.
Prison fences separated me from my daughter
most of her life; I longed to
establish a relationship with her. Rita was touched by the story, not
just
because her name was Rita, but because she, too, had been separated from
her daughter for many years. The court had finally granted her custody.
Now
she and her 12-year-old daughter were together. Their love for each other
was
growing daily.
Then the doctors told Rita she had cancer.
The prognosis was not good, but
she reached out to me with understanding because she knew how it felt to
long
for a relationship with your child. She was more concerned about my
sorrows
than her own and hoped I would write her back.
It was easy to tell when I had a letter from
Rita. The envelopes were
impossible to miss. She covered them from front to back with smiley faces
of
all sizes and colors. They were everywhere. Sometimes she even put them
on
the letters inside the envelope. "She must spend all her time decorating
envelopes," said one of the guards who worked in the mailroom.
Rita wanted to know everything about me. Her
letters were long and frequent.
She wrote every day. One time, I received six letters in one day. They
all had
smiley faces painted on them in orange, yellow, blue and green.
Rita didn’t see her cancer as a tragedy but
as an opportunity to reach out to
others and tell them about Christ. She was full of life and energy. She
refused
to allow this killing disease to get her down. When she started her
chemotherapy, she wrote, "My hair is shedding like a dog’s. Don’t be
surprised if you find hair in my letters. Next time you write, you can
call me
‘Baldy.’"
I addressed my next letter to her, "Dear
Rita, a.k.a. Baldy." I put a smiley
face next to it.
I always promptly answer anyone who writes
me back. I know what it feels
like to have letters go unanswered. Still, I couldn’t keep up with Rita.
The same
was true with her questions. The more questions I answered, the more she
asked. Sometimes I didn’t know what else to write. What more could I say
to
someone who was dying of cancer?
Anyway, I had to deal with my own
catastrophe—a 45-year sentence for
robbery that I may never live to complete. I didn’t see any future.
However,
Rita was persistent and didn’t complain when I failed to answer all her
questions or respond right away. Instead, she would put a self-addressed,
stamped envelope in her letter. When I didn’t answer all her questions,
she’d
highlight them with a marker. Or she’d write a categorized list of
questions on a
separate piece of paper and title it, "List of Questions for Roy to
Answer." She
knew how to get what she wanted.
The irony of it all struck me. A woman with
the same name as my
daughter’s, a total stranger, wrote me every day. Yet, my daughter, Rita,
from
whom I longed to hear, remained silent and refused to answer my letters.
What
are You trying to teach me with this, Lord?
According to the doctors, life for Rita Doe
was going to be very short. At
35, she wasn’t going to be around to see her daughter graduate or walk
down
the aisle.
Nevertheless, for Rita, every day was a
blessing. Every day she saw
something beautiful to appreciate, such as reading bedtime stories with
her
daughter curled up beside her and tickling her when she was mad to make
her
smile. Every day they grew closer. She took one day at a time, cherishing
every
moment. She enjoyed every day to the fullest.
One part of me warned not to get involved;
it would only lead to more pain.
Another part reminded me not to fear pain. God has been able to teach me
the
most through the things I have suffered.
I began to open up to Rita in ways I hadn’t
done with anyone for a long time.
We shared our deepest feelings, regrets, hopes and dreams.
In spite of myself, I began looking forward
to Rita’s letters. The loneliness of
prison and the loneliness of cancer drew us to one another. We both grew
closer to God as we shared our lives with each other. Being Christians
didn’t
give us a ticket free from the pains of life. Instead, as our pain
intensified, we
drew closer to Him. He understands our greatest need. He knows our
anguish,
hurt and pain. The sorrows of life will come, but He has a plan. It’s
that hope
that makes the bitter tears of today bearable.
Rita seldom complained about the cancer or
the pain. She was full of
encouragement, as if what I was facing was worse. She told me to think of
others first: "Be a light in the dark, Roy, and God will bless you. Let
others see
how you handle your circumstances. By your life, become an ambassador for
Christ."
Nine months after we began writing each
other, Rita wrote that the
chemotherapy wasn’t working. The cancer was spreading rapidly to other
parts of her body. The doctors said they’d have to operate. It didn’t
sound
good, but Rita didn’t give up hope. The smiley faces kept coming. "If
Jesus
doesn’t heal me, I’ll be waiting for you in heaven," she wrote.
Before the operation, I asked several of the
Christian brothers in my
dormitory to pray with me for her. We gathered round my bunk. Men who
didn’t know Rita prayed for her. Many wanted to encourage her and let her
know they were praying for her. So we all signed a get-well-soon card and
I
mailed it to her. One of the guys drew smiley faces all over the card and
envelope.
After the operation, Rita wrote it had been
a wonderful surprise to find the
card waiting for her. "Nothing could have made me happier," she wrote.
She
promised to write every one of them back…but she wasn’t able to keep that
promise.
I should have known something was wrong when
I didn’t get any mail from
her for a week. Finally, Rita’s sister wrote to tell me she was back in
the
hospital.
The familiar smiley faces stopped coming; I
had taken them for granted.
Now it dawned on me, like waking up in the middle of a nightmare, that
she
might die. No more smiley faces. "Lord, please don’t let her die," I
prayed. I
knew God could perform the impossible; after all, He had changed me.
Yet, the impossible wasn’t going to happen
for Rita. I knew it before I even
read the words in her sister’s next letter. "Rita went to be with the
Lord May
16th," it said. Her words were like an arrow piercing my heart. Later in
my
bunk, alone in the dark, the tears flowed on my pillow. No more smiley
faces.
Rita was gone. We had only known each other a year, but it seemed like a
lifetime.
As I reminisce about Rita, I remember how
she signed her letters, "Agape,
Rita." She told me it meant she had unconditional love for me. To some
degree
it was a reflection of God’s love.
Prison, like cancer, can become an
indescribable fear. It can dominate,
cripple and make my life useless to God, or it can draw me closer to Him.
Rita
taught me that life’s circumstances are not the problem; the problem is
not
trusting God.
Two days before Father’s Day, I received a
card from my daughter, Rita.
My prayers were answered. She wanted me to become a part of her life. The
best part was the way she signed off, "Love, Rita."
Later, as I walked the track, alone with my
thoughts, I thought about my
friend, Rita. I pictured Rita on her knees, praying for me. I missed her.
Suddenly, it began to rain. The rain poured
down like giant teardrops.
Everyone ran for cover.
I stood there getting drenched, but I didn’t
care. The rain mixed with tears in
my eyes.
Just as suddenly as it had begun, the rain
stopped. I looked at the blue sky
and saw a beautiful multi-colored rainbow. It reminded me of what Rita
once
wrote: "Like rainbows, dreams come true. Stay on your knees, and remember
that the God Who makes rainbows appear makes dreams come true."
A smile crossed my face as I thought of her
up there, somewhere over the
rainbow, waiting for me with a smiley face.
Roy Borges lives in Florida.
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