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    The Desire (The Restoration Series Book #3): A Novel
    The Desire (The Restoration Series Book #3): A Novel
    The Desire (The Restoration Series Book #3): A Novel
    Ebook336 pages6 hours

    The Desire (The Restoration Series Book #3): A Novel

    By Gary Smalley and Dan Walsh

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    About this ebook

    For two years, Allan and Michele have been trying to have a baby. For Michele, it has become an obsession. But Allan seems content to spend his time--and their money--saving orphans in Africa. As Michele researches their options for fertility treatments, she begins to resent Allen's divided attention. And yet, God has a plan for Allan and Michele that they could never have imagined. All it takes to set it in motion is a change of heart . . .

    With a keen eye toward the give-and-take of the marriage relationship, along with the ability to weave an engaging story, Dan Walsh and Gary Smalley show readers what it is to have godly desire and show selfless love. Fans will love this heartwarming story.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBaker Publishing Group
    Release dateAug 26, 2014
    ISBN9781441219589
    The Desire (The Restoration Series Book #3): A Novel
    Author

    Gary Smalley

    Gary Smalley was one of the country’s best-known authors and speakers on family relationships. In addition to writing The Blessing and The Two Sides of Love with John Trent, their book The Language of Love (newly revised and updated) won the Angel Award as the best contribution to family life. His national infomercial, Hidden Keys to Loving Relationships, has been viewed by television audiences all over the world.

    Read more from Gary Smalley

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    Reviews for The Desire (The Restoration Series Book #3)

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    • 4/5
      This book tells of one couples's struggles in their marriage due to infertility and the differences in opinion as how to deal with it. The husband is more concerned with saving orphans overseas and wants to put their money to use that way, while the wife wants to look more into fertility treatments.This is an interesting book covering how they come together and how God has a plan for it all to come together.I received this book free from the publisher to review.

    Book preview

    The Desire (The Restoration Series Book #3) - Gary Smalley

    Cover

    1

    Michele didn’t know why she’d come here, why she tortured herself this way. The place stirred all kinds of emotions inside her. None of them good.

    They were just children playing on a playground. They were just moms chatting on a bench under a tree.

    Watch, Mommy, watch!

    Michele walked along the sidewalk in one of the many shaded playgrounds in River Oaks. It was Friday afternoon. A little boy, maybe three years old, stood at the top of a yellow kiddy slide, facing the moms on the bench. But Mommy didn’t watch. None of the women did. They just kept yakking away.

    Mommy, watch me! He stood there a few moments more.

    One of the women glanced his way. Long enough to say, Great, Sammy, then back to her little group.

    Sammy looked at her, waited, then went down the slide.

    How could she do that? What could she possibly be talking about that mattered more than her son? Some new sale at the mall? Some new coupon deal on the internet? Michele watched Sammy land softly on his rear end, stand up, and brush the sand off his pants, then run around to the ladder again. Sure enough, when he got to the top: Mommy, watch!

    This time, his mother only looked, then offered a dismissive wave. Back to her friends, who received the fullest measure of her attention.

    I would watch you. If you were mine, I would watch every single time. And listen to every word you said, whether it mattered or made no sense at all.

    As Michele reached a picnic table at the other end of the playground, the little boy went down the slide again and looked over at his mom when he stood. He registered no disappointment, none that she could see. It was amazing how resilient and forgiving children were at that age, and even older. At the school where she taught kindergarten and first grade, she saw that resilience all the time. Due to cutbacks and having almost no seniority, she could only work part-time, which left her afternoons free.

    She counted five children on the playground. Three boys, two girls. All preschool age. Two babies in strollers over by the moms. So many kids for three ladies. Aren’t they the lucky ones? They looked to be her age, maybe a few years older. Must have married young like she had. Probably waited a year then started popping babies out at will, one right after the other.

    How nice for them.

    And look, they brought them to the playground to play. Such good mothers. But how good were they really if they could blot their kids out of their consciousness so completely?

    Her anger stirred. That’s what happens when things come too easily. They don’t mean as much. Like the way her younger brother Doug treated his little red Mazda, the car her parents had bought for him when he got his license. He’d been back from college this past weekend, and the car, as usual, was a mess. And Doug, as usual, was oblivious to it. She and Tom, her older brother, never had a car handed to them like that. They had to work for their beat-up used cars all through high school, come up with the money for their gas and insurance by themselves.

    Mommy, come push me. Another little boy stood on a tire swing, trying to shift his body weight back and forth. He didn’t weigh enough to generate any motion. Mommy? he cried out again.

    I can’t right now, honey, one of the other women said. Ask your sister.

    She’s not big enough.

    Michele waited for the mother’s reply, as did the little boy on the swing. She didn’t answer. She did laugh extra hard at something the woman at the far end of the bench said. Michele wanted to scream, or at least say something. Really, she wanted to walk out to the playground and push the little boy herself.

    Wouldn’t that get their attention?

    Her cell phone rang. She lifted it out of her purse. It was her mom. Should she answer it? Generally, she enjoyed talking with her mom, but they weren’t on the same page about this issue. Her mom tended to side with Michele’s husband, Allan. Their opinion was simple: not getting pregnant after a year of trying wasn’t that big of a deal.

    But it was a big deal to Michele, a very big deal.

    What if her mom asked Michele where she was or what she was doing? Should she lie? That wouldn’t be right. She answered on the third ring. Hi, Mom, what are you up to?

    Hey, Michele, I’m just doing some shopping for our big Sunday dinner. Doug will be coming back from school, and of course—

    Two weekends in a row? Isn’t that some kind of record?

    I know, her mom said. Of course, Tom and Jean and the kids will be here, and so will Charlotte. Even Audrey Windsor is coming.

    Mrs. Windsor? Haven’t seen her in a little while. How is she doing?

    I’m not sure. I think she’s okay. Your father talked to her. She called a few days ago saying she had something important to talk to him about, so he invited her to the dinner.

    I wonder what it is, Michele said.

    I have no idea. I’m just calling to make sure you’re still coming.

    I am. But remember, Allan’s not home yet from his mission trip to Africa.

    When does he get home?

    Tuesday night. He’s flying in to the Orlando airport.

    We’ll miss him. We’ll have you guys over some night soon after he settles in to hear all about it.

    That sounds good. So should I come right after church on Sunday?

    About an hour after. But not much later than that. You know how your father is. He wants to eat as soon as we sing the closing song.

    Michele laughed.

    Well, I better go. Talk to you soon.

    Michele put her phone back in her purse and turned to face the children on the playground again. The situation was the same. The children playing and laughing, occasionally calling out to their moms for attention; the moms’ attention still mostly focused on each other.

    It was sad.

    But as upsetting as it was seeing these children taken for granted, Michele was aware of a peculiar conflict inside. Another part of her longed to be sitting right there under that tree with the moms, chatting away.

    A few minutes later, when tears welled up in her eyes, she knew she had to move, to do something else, anything. She pulled out a tissue and dabbed her eyes, then gathered her things. As she did, she noticed a slim, brown-haired girl a few yards away, standing by a tree, looking right at her. She wore jeans and a baggy pullover sweatshirt, which seemed odd to Michele. It was quite warm out. As Michele looked closer, she understood why. The baggy sweatshirt did a poor job of hiding the fact that the girl was pregnant. When she saw Michele noticing, she looked away.

    Michele pulled out her keys, but she did it too fast, and they fell to the pavement. Bending down to pick them up, she heard footsteps behind her and turned. It was the girl who had been standing by the tree.

    I couldn’t help but notice you looking at the kids on the playground. She had a slight accent, maybe New York. And how it made you cry. She hesitated a moment. I’ve seen you here a few times. I’ve been coming too. But I don’t think for the same reason. Mind if I ask you a question?

    Michele restrained a sigh. Had she not dropped her keys, she’d be on her way to the car right now.

    2

    I was just getting ready to go," Michele said.

    The girl sat down. I can see that. This won’t take long. You don’t even have to tell me your name.

    That sounded odd. But Michele couldn’t just get up and walk away. It would be too rude. She relaxed her grip on her purse. What do you want to know?

    I guess . . . well, maybe two things. Why were you crying? And why do you come here to watch little children play?

    Michele didn’t want to answer either question. Not with a complete stranger. But the girl looked right into her eyes. She seemed totally sincere. Why do you want to know?

    The girl paused. I get it . . . Answer a question with a question. You don’t want to tell me. It’s okay. You don’t know me.

    Tears welled up in the young girl’s eyes. She blinked them back, turned her attention to the kids on the playground.

    I’m sorry, Michele said. I just wasn’t prepared to talk about what you want to know. It’s deeply personal. You know that, right?

    The girl looked at her again. I know. I forget sometimes, not everyone says what’s on their minds like me. It’s just . . . I have a big decision to make pretty soon, and I’m looking for answers. She looked back at the children. They’re really cute at that age. Not a care in the world.

    I know, Michele said. Is your big decision about . . . the baby?

    The girl smiled. Now look who’s getting personal.

    I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—

    It’s all right. Yeah, it’s about the baby. I’m actually past due. She looked down at her belly. I don’t mean with the baby, with this decision. The baby’s not due for two more months.

    Michele could hardly believe the girl was seven months pregnant. She would’ve guessed five. You don’t look like you’ve gained a pound over what the baby weighs.

    The doc agrees. He’d like me a little fatter. Not fatter, but you know what I mean. Guess it’s my genes. My girlfriends back in high school used to hate me, ’cause I never gained any weight.

    Where are you from?

    Long Island.

    I guess your genes also affect your looks. You don’t look old enough to be out of high school to me.

    The girl smiled. Just graduated last year. Came down to Florida a little after that. Long story. Not a happy one. The smile disappeared.

    She had a cute face. She looked even prettier when she smiled.

    So what did you want to ask me?

    It’s just, I’ve been coming here off and on the last month. I’ve seen you here quite a few times.

    Michele had never noticed her until today.

    Each time I come, you’re staring at the kids, watching them play. Not in a creepy way. You always look so sad. Most of the time, I see tears in your eyes before you leave. Guess it just made me curious. I keep trying to figure out what your story is.

    Michele sighed. Strong emotions began to stir. She turned to face the kids again. I want to be . . . like you.

    Like me?

    Michele looked back at her. Pregnant. I want to have a baby. But I can’t. At least not so far.

    How long have you been trying?

    We’ve been trying a little over a year. My husband and I. His name is Allan. Why did she say that? They weren’t using names.

    A year’s not very long, is it?

    Michele could tell by the tone of her voice, she was trying to sound comforting. But it wasn’t comforting. Almost everyone said that. Couldn’t they see it was an annoying thing to say to someone in her situation? It’s a long time when you want it more than anything else in the world. It’s a long time when you’re doing everything you can to get pregnant, and it doesn’t happen. When nothing you try works. Then you see it happening to everybody else but you. Even to women who don’t want to get pregnant. Immediately, Michele regretted that. I’m sorry. I really wasn’t thinking about you. She actually had Jean, her sister-in-law, in mind. She’d gotten pregnant with their last baby while she was still on birth control, when Tom was still out of work.

    That’s okay. I certainly wasn’t planning on this. I was just being stupid.

    See, that’s what I mean, Michele said. It’s not fair. God allows girls who don’t even want babies to get pregnant, then says no to people like me. She couldn’t help it; the tears wouldn’t stop.

    The girl pulled out some tissues from her sweatshirt pocket and handed them to Michele. I never used them. I just brought them in case my allergies acted up.

    Michele wiped her eyes. Thanks.

    You’re right. It doesn’t seem fair. I don’t know what God’s thing is when it comes to babies and who gets them. Well, I mean, who gets pregnant. Who gets them is another matter. That’s kind of my problem, where I’m stuck at the moment.

    Michele suddenly wondered, was that what this girl was getting at? Was she looking for someone to adopt her baby? I’m not really interested in adopting a baby right now.

    What? the girl said, looking confused.

    You said you were stuck, about who gets babies. And you said you were making a big decision. I just thought—

    That I was asking you?

    I guess.

    The girl smiled.

    Once again, Michele was struck with how pretty she was when she smiled. With a new hairstyle and some makeup, she might even be called beautiful.

    No, the girl said, I wasn’t hinting at you taking my baby. My big decision is whether to become a single parent or give my baby to this adoption agency, one I found out about at this clinic that’s helping me. They gave me all these assignments to help me sort it out, and I think I know which way I’m leaning, but I’m still not 100 percent sure. It’s such a big deal. It’s my baby’s life, where she’s gonna spend the rest of it.

    Now Michele understood. I guess the answer to your question is . . . I come here to dream. I’m dreaming of the day when I’ll have my own baby and I can bring him or her to a playground like this. She looked back toward the children. But I can promise you, when that day comes, I won’t be sitting on a bench ignoring them, chatting with my friends. I’m going to be right out there with them every single minute. Michele needed to stop. She could feel a rant coming on. So why do you come here?

    Tears appeared again in the girl’s eyes. She quickly looked away. I guess to help me convince myself, to help me close the gap on those few remaining doubts about what to do with my baby.

    You’re leaning toward adoption then?

    The girl nodded. "I could never give her this, a life like this. A neighborhood like this. A playground like this. Have you seen the cars in the parking lot? I parked mine in the street two blocks away. It’s complete crap. I’m not even married. I’ve got a terrible job and no future. They could film episodes of Cops in my apartment complex. A lady from the adoption agency told me that almost all of their couples have nice cars, nice houses. They’re married, and they have good jobs. They check all this out before they approve them. And they’re all Christians. They’ve all been praying, sometimes for years, for a baby just like mine, because they can’t have one on their own."

    She released a heavy sigh. That’s what I want for my baby. What she deserves. It’s not her fault God stuck her with me. This time, there were too many tears to blink back.

    Michele reached out her hand. What’s your name?

    The girl pulled out another tissue and dabbed her eyes. Christina. My name’s Christina.

    3

    It was Sunday afternoon at the Anderson house on Elderberry Lane in River Oaks. All the leaves were in the table to accommodate the additional family members and friends. It reminded Michele of a scene from a Hallmark holiday movie, minus the Christmas decorations. A little early for that in mid-September.

    All the Andersons were present, except Uncle Henry and Aunt Myra and Michele’s husband, Allan, who technically wasn’t an Anderson. Michele missed him terribly. She was becoming less a fan of his short-term mission trips to Africa. For one thing, she hated being so disconnected. When he was home, they talked every day; he would even call her at lunch.

    She looked toward the far end of the table, the place where Uncle Henry and Aunt Myra usually sat in big family gatherings. They were traveling out West on a two-month trip in their little RV. But Charlotte was there, sitting next to her mom, talking up a storm. Her New England accent in full bloom.

    At the other end of the table next to her father sat Audrey Windsor, looking regal and refined, as always. Michele thought she looked like a character straight out of Downton Abbey. She had come earlier to talk with Michele’s dad about something, but Michele didn’t know what. Whatever it was, it put an interesting smile on her dad’s face. She also noticed he kept looking down the table at her big brother, Tom.

    Michele was sitting in the midsection of the table, next to Doug and across from Jean, Tom’s wife. Tom sat next to her and was busy feeding the baby. Michele and Jean had become close friends over the past year. Even though Michele envied Jean’s ability to get pregnant so easily, she loved her dearly. Jean was totally on her side and very sympathetic toward Michele’s situation. She knew how much getting pregnant mattered to Michele and told her she prayed for her every day.

    So Tom, Michele said, how are you liking your new job? How’s it feel to be an IT guy again? Over the last year, Tom had finished his schooling and finally got his coveted IT certification. He hadn’t found an IT job until a few weeks ago.

    It feels great, he said. It’s taken a little getting used to working eight to five again. Especially having to put a tie on every day.

    But he’ll get used to it just fine, Jean added.

    Tom smiled. Yes, I will. But I miss working at the Coffee Shoppe. It was a totally different atmosphere than any job I ever had. If only it paid more, I might have considered staying.

    Was it a big difference? Michele asked.

    A huge difference, Jean said. Almost double the pay.

    Wow.

    And, Tom added, at the ninety-day mark, we’ll get full benefits. So yeah, I can get used to this again.

    How far do you have to drive every day?

    Twenty minutes. Way better than when I worked at the bank. Now I miss the rush hour traffic completely.

    Allan hates driving in bumper-to-bumper traffic, Michele said. Maybe more than anything else in the world. She looked at her watch. It was 1:30. What was he doing now? It was already nighttime there in Ethiopia.

    Someplace you have to go? Doug said.

    No, Michele said. Just counting down the hours till Allan and I can talk again.

    When’s he going to call? Jean asked.

    Not until midnight.

    Midnight?

    Well, it won’t be midnight for him. It’ll be nine in the morning, tomorrow morning. There’s a nine-hour time difference.

    That’s so strange, Doug said. He’s living in the same moment as we are, but in a totally different world. So it’s, what, 10:30 at night for him now?

    Michele nodded. And it’s not a pretty world where he is. Those poor people live in more poverty than you can imagine. I’ve seen pictures and videos. It breaks my heart. I can’t even look at them very long or I’ll start to cry. That was one of the things that had attracted her to Allan—his willingness to give his time away so freely to others. But she wasn’t so keen on this now as she had been back then.

    But I still don’t get why he has to call you so late, Tom said from across the table. Cell phone service is so cheap now, even international long distance.

    Not in Africa, she said. Allan said it’s crazy expensive there. We’re not even connecting by cell phone. We’re using Skype. For some reason, internet service works a lot better than cell phone service. But even that doesn’t work very well, if you ask me.

    Jean set her glass down. I’m surprised they even have the internet over there.

    I know, but they do. Allan says it’s not up all the time. It can go down for three to five days at a time. She looked at her watch again. I hope it works tonight.

    Why so late? Jean said. Aren’t you teaching school in the morning?

    Michele nodded. "We don’t have a choice. Allan said the internet connection is the strongest in the morning. Well, their morning. The times that work best for me don’t work for him. He either can’t get through at all, or it takes forever to say things back and forth. We tried it once, and it was awful." Michele wanted to stop talking about this.

    So what’s he doing over there this time? Doug asked.

    Who wants coffee? Michele’s mother stood at the end of the table, counting the hands.

    Michele raised hers, hoping this coffee call was enough to change the subject.

    It wasn’t.

    Doug leaned toward her. So what’s Allan up to in Africa these days?

    You really want to know?

    I asked.

    He’s got a blog about it, if you want the link, with lots of pictures and videos.

    Maybe I will look at it . . . later. But can’t you just give me the highlights?

    Sure. I guess the main thing is reaching out to orphans. That’s the focus of their trip, all these street kids in Addis Ababa. There’s so many of them, thousands, I think.

    Addis Ababa? Sounds like a town from Aladdin.

    From the pictures I’ve seen, it’s nothing like the scenes from that movie.

    How’d their parents die? Doug said.

    Mostly from AIDS, some from other things. But no one takes care of them. It’s not like here at all. Images from Allan’s pictures and videos started flashing through her mind. They live in tiny little shacks and beg all day. Most don’t even go to school.

    That’s horrible, Jean said. She looked at her children, Carly, Tommy, and Abby, the baby. I can’t even imagine that.

    You should see those videos. Or maybe you shouldn’t. I couldn’t get the images out of my mind for days after I did.

    That’s pretty heavy. Doug looked at the spread of food laid out on the table. They’ve probably never seen anything like this.

    It must look like heaven to them, Tom said.

    For the next few moments, no one said a word. Michele felt that same guilt feeling she always felt when this subject came up. One of the hardest parts of her conversations with Allan was the unavoidable small talk. How are you doing? How are things going? What did you do today? Allan would answer, and the things he said were equal parts horrifying and heartbreaking.

    She didn’t know how he did it. She understood how he got talked into going the first time. But why did he keep going back?

    Her mom, who had been in the kitchen for the last several minutes, walked back into the dining room. Coffee’s on. Who’s ready for dessert?

    4

    ADDIS ABABA, ETHIOPIA

    It was hot and muggy, even at 1:00 a.m. Allan tossed and turned on the lumpy bed in the modest bedroom of an equally modest guesthouse. Street noises sailed through the open windows at constant but irregular intervals. But these weren’t the causes of Allan’s insomnia. He’d grown used to these things in the first few days of his trip.

    Allan couldn’t get the images he had seen earlier that day out of his mind. Not just the sights but the sounds . . . and the smells.

    He thought he’d seen it all before. This was his fifth trip to Africa in three years. His third to Ethiopia. Extreme poverty, the wholesale lack of basic goods and necessities, broken down or nonexistent roads . . . he had seen all of these things plenty of times. Allan knew you didn’t get used to

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