Blaine M. Yorgason - One Tattered Angel: A Touching True Story of the Power of Love

Introduction

I have thought about this book for a long time: ten years, to beexact. For most of that time I never expected to write the whole thing. Itseemed too close, too personal. That I am now doing so amazes me. It alsoamazes me that the idea of not writingit suddenly seems selfish and maybe even unkind.

Why?Because I have been forever blessed by a tiny but incredible slice of eternitythat God has given mean experience that I can no longer, in goodconscience, hold to myself.

Somenames and scenes will be changed and dialogue reconstructed, but what followswill be as true an account as I am able to make. Almost in fear and trembling,therefore, yet with hopeful anticipation, I present Charitys story.

An Unusual Warning

Honey, Kathy whispered urgently, are you awake?

Mmmph, I replied groggily as I rolled over. I... am now.

I just had the most wonderful dream! Wake up so I can tell you aboutit.

Itwas the fall of 1983, so early that the light was barely showing outside ourwindow, and I was not in a joyful mood. In fact, I remember dampening Kathysexcitement a little by telling her that anything dreamed that early in themorning sounded more like a nightmare. She remained convinced, however, thatthe dream was significant. And she wanted me to know of it.

Ishould state here a fact that has become more and more clear to me through theyears: I am one of those fortunate few who somehow managed, through eitherremarkable luck or the direct intervention of heaven, to entice a woman of vastspiritual superiority to spend her life with me. Where I believe inrighteousness and steadfastness and courage, she embodies them. Where I givelip service to the principles of love and compassion, she reaches out to othersin a way I cannot even begin to comprehend. And when I bring suffering uponmyself or others because of my own foolishness, she is always there, liftingme, forgiving me, loving me.

Allright, I finally grumbled, leaning on my elbow and trying to focus my eyes inthe early-morning gloom, tell me your nightmare.

Itwas a wonderful dream, she began, staring up at the ceiling with a soft smileon her face. I dreamed we were going to have another babya littlegirl.

Yep,I breathed, collapsing back onto my pillow with an exaggerated sigh. Soundslike a nightmare, all right.

Blaine!

Recoveringfrom Kathys light blow, I grinned. Im sorry, hon. Ill be serious.

Yeah,right, you will.

Imean it. Ill try. Now, lets hear about this little girl were supposed tohave that we both know we cant have.

Iwas only partly teasing, for indeed we both knew Kathy could never give birthto another child. A ruptured uterus during labor and an emergency hysterectomyfollowing the birth of our sixth child, Michelle, had rendered her physicallyincapable. Yet here she was, eight years later, all excited about another baby.Baby hungry was a term she often used when holding other womens children,and that was obviously her problem now. About all I could do, therefore, wassmile and listen and wait for her hunger to pass.

Gazingat my sweetheart in the dim light of dawn, I could see the hint of gray in herhair, the wrinkles beginning to appear on her face, and the sagging signs ofexhaustion both in and beneath her lovely eyes (no doubt due to the trauma ofrearing one stubborn husband and a stampeding horde of teenage and sub-teenagechildren). Had it really been nineteen years, I wondered, since I had firstseen her coming through the doorway of that store and known, instantly and withabsolute certainty, that she and I were supposed to be one? It seemed such ashort time ago that, frightened beyond belief, I had approached her with myhand outstretched, introduced myself, and asked her for a date.

Demonstratingwhat some would consider great wisdom, she had turned me down flat. Knowingwhat I knew of our future, however, kept me going, and two weeks later wewere engaged. Six weeks after that we were married. (Dont you ever do this!I have warned our children since. After all, it took us two years just to getour names straight!) And for nineteen years we had together enjoyed thehappiness and weathered the vicissitudes of life. Mostly, though, we had beenhappy. Our six children, though a handful, were maturing (more or less) intowonderful young adults, and I sort of expected that Kathy and I were aboutready for some years of peace and freedom.

Butnow she had been given this troublesome dream.

Shewas a newly born baby, honey, very tiny and so cute. I had her in an infantseat, but she had on no clothing but a diaper and a thin receiving blanket, andI was worried about her getting cold. Though she looked perfectly normal andhealthy, I was trying desperately to get her to a hospital for care. But forsome reason I kept falling down, getting the baby all wet and cold. Yet shenever cried or complained. She just smiled and loved me.

Anotherthing was that people kept stopping me to see her and tell me how beautiful shewas. And she was beautiful, Blaine! She had dark hair, dark eyes, a beautifulcomplexion, and an incredible smileshe was so perfect, and I was soproud of her. But I had to get her to that hospital

Why?I asked, trying not to sound too interested.

Idont know. She looked perfect, but she seemed to have a health problem Icouldnt see.

Soundslike a strange dream, Kath. Like I said, a nightmare, something we dont wantanything to do with.

Youdidnt feel that way in the dream.

Theresmore? I groaned, realizing she hadnt yet mentioned any part I had played inher dream.

Kathysmiled at my hammed-up distress. A little. When I finally got to the hospital,you were there waiting for me. You took our little girl from me, hon, and toldme that everything was going to be just fine. You absolutely loved her! I havenever seen such a look of pure happiness on your face as when you held her.

Idoubt that, I said, once again dropping back onto the bed.

Why?

BecauseI hate hospitals! I dont like even being around sick people. You can bet Iwouldnt be happy there.

Itwasnt the hospital that made you happy, silly. It was our little daughter. Youloved her more than I can say, and that love glowed all over you just like alight.

Idoubt that, too, I declared, feeling a little less jovial. Think about it,Kath. For us to get a little girl means we would have to adopt her.Occasionally Ive thought about adoption, and, to tell you the truth, I dontthink I could love someone elses child the way I love my own.

Sureyou could.

NoI couldnt, I declared, warming to the subject. But theres another problem,a much larger one. Weve already had our family. Theyre all growing up now,finally giving us the freedom to go off by ourselves, without worry, to enjoylife. Besides, my books are doing well, very well. Doubleday has accepted Massacreat Salt Creek for publication, and thestage play based on