It started with a 5 am phone call. I didn’t answer because my sleep-deprived brain assumed the Cincinnati area code meant PotteryBarn calling, yet again, to tell me about their friends and family 20% off sale. Disoriented, I tossed the phone to the side of the bed where my husband usually slept, glanced at the baby to be sure she was breathing, and curled up into a ball of sleep. When my alarm woke me an hour and a half later, I was surprised to see both a voicemail and a text. I was even more surprised when the phone began to ring again. My husband was beginning to stir in his baby-and-noise-free sleep zone in our playroom, when our babysitter’s husband told me, “Pam is in the hospital. She is throwing up blood.”
The magnitude of the situation took some time to settle in. I was on maternity leave; I didn’t need her to watch my older kids that day. It was just a convenience…the type of convenience a working mom gets to have because she sells her soul and her energy to someone other than her children. Several days later, it hit home. The dear friend who had watched my kids for five years would not be doing so anymore. I had two weeks to find a place for all three kids…a place where they’d be cared for, where they’d learn manners, where I would feel comfortable leaving them. And a place I could afford.
I panicked. I posted of facebook. I broke the unfortunate news to my husband. We brainstormed. We thought for a time that Pam would be able to watch the kids after all. On day 2, it became apparent that she couldn’t. “These are our children,” I told my husband at some point. “We can’t just make a quick choice and hope for the best.” Desperate, I worked out an arrangement that put them with various grandparents. Three days and one snow day in, it was clear that wouldn’t work. I spent copious amounts of time trying to figure out how to have the hard conversations with my husband, and substantially less time actually speaking to him. I begged friends for leads and followed them up: no space, too many kids, too much money. I begged for prayer on facebook and from every neighbor I saw during trick or treat. (“Trick or treat. Do you happen to know anyone who watches children?”) Then there was a message from the friend who gave us Pam. “Have you tried applying at Cincinnati State?” Then, “They need ed foundations teachers in English.” “The decision to stay at home with my kids was the best one I’ve made in my life.”
I knew I couldn’t stay at home with my kids; we barely got by. I made more money. I certainly didn’t trust my husband to be kind or generous with me. I couldn’t give up my job. But there were no other options, just the nudging that I needed to do what was right for my kids, not my wallet. Eli needs more down time than full-day kindergarten will allow. Caleb feels displaced by the baby; he needs his mommy to cuddle and rock him again. Violet needs to be enjoyed. The boys miss Pam; present for their entire lives, she is suddenly gone. I need to slow down. Stop yelling. Trust.
Still, it was a decision I didn’t feel I could make. Not without my husband’s endorsement, and that was unlikely to come. He grew up without much, with parents who squandered the money they did get on sporting equipment and junk from the thrift store. He didn’t want his kids to grow up eating spam. He wanted to take the occasional vacation. He didn’t want the responsibility for financing it all. I didn’t want to give him that responsibility.
I got the job at Cincinnati State. I tried to stall. “Can I have just another week to make my decision?” I was fortunate to be in a place where I could take leave without giving up my job completely. We had about $5000 in savings. Not much for a family of five, but it was all we’d been able to save. “God, if you really want me to do this, you’ve got to get James on my side,” I prayed. “I cannot make a decision like this without his blessing.” I dropped the kids off at their temporary sitter and went to work. Around noon, I got an email from the HR director at Cincinnati State. Because of my experience as a dual credit instructor, I would get $50/more per credit hour. It brought my monthly total to what I said we needed. Of course, I estimated way too low, but there it was. Thirty minutes later I got an unsolicited text from my husband. “Let’s do it.”
So here we are. God gave me what I’ve wanted for years, but with a price: complete trust in Him. I have to trust that He’ll make up the difference between what we make and what we need to get by. Trust that He’ll provide a workable solution for the one day a week that I still need a sitter. Trust that if He wants me to stay in this role (and I hope He does), He’ll provide a schedule that allows me to do school drop-offs and pick-ups while still helping support my family. Trust that He can heal a rocky marriage. Trust that He’ll honor our desire to be debt free, even when we have nothing free to pay off debt. Trust that He’ll bless my husband’s ability to generate income. Trust that He knows little family “adventures” are vital to the way we function. Trust that He’s given us big dreams for our family for a reason…that He can fulfill those dreams if we honor what He asks us to do. And trust that I can be a good mother. That he can teach me to nurture our children’s souls and not just their stomachs.
I firmly believe I was obedient to God when I turned in my parental leave letter. And I firmly believe God takes care of those who walk in his paths. I know I struggle with trust…with believing that God wants to bless us. (I tend to expect the opposite.) So I’ve fastened my seatbelt and I’m holding on for dear life. Here we go…
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