Where We Stand

When Violet wakes up in the middle of the night, she doesn’t waste any time testing the waters.  She goes from sound asleep to full-blown “I’m HUNGRY!  WHERE-ON-EARTH-ARE-YOU-WHY-ARE-YOU-TAKING-SO-LONG?????” screams in a matter of seconds.  I get it.  When you’re only nine months old, the 45 seconds it takes your mom to roll out of bed, stub her toe on the dresser, lose her balance and bump into the door frame, and finally get to your crib seem like they might be an eternity.  But I love her dearly and I know she’ll be OK until I get there; I feed her at regular intervals all day long, and she is truly OK for a few minutes at night.  (In fact, I worry more about her brothers and her dad, who get to wake up to her screaming as well.)  There’s a profound difference between what I know and what she feels, and I don’t want her to feel scared or abandoned. I try to call out to her, to reassure her that I’m on my way.  Sometimes it just takes a minute of preparation to make sure she has a relaxed and comfortable nighttime feeding. 

                Frankly, the boys are the same way.  Eli followed me around for twenty minutes last night, begging me to open his kids’ meal toy.  “Toy, Mommy.  Mommy, my toy.  Mommy, are you going to open my toy?  MOMMMY!  DO YOU HEAR ME?”  I heard you the first time dear.  And every one of the next thirty-seven times.  But there are things that have to happen before you get that toy. Sometimes I am so impatient with their impatience, but I’m no different, really.  I walked away from teaching in January.  I had big hopes and big expectations; frankly, I knew some miracles had to happen in order for my husband to agree to making this change permanent.  Those miracles have yet to happen.  In fact, they seem more impossible than ever.  While we’ve both (sort of, depending on the night) agreed that I really need to stay at home, the nitty gritty of that just doesn’t seem possible. 

                I can’t help but feel abandoned.  Our savings will be gone by the time school starts in August.  The promotions James was hoping for just keep getting pushed back: now they’re saying August and/or October.  Starting a writing business is a full-time job, it turns out, and lately the voice of reason has been loud and clear that I am not qualified to do it.  My husband doesn’t believe in me either.  “You want to be a writer?  What?  Should I just quit my job to be an actor?”  My resume on Monster turns out no leads, my networking has taken me to wonderful people, but nothing has panned out.  July 10 is fast approaching, and I feel like I should let my school district know if I’m leaving or not by that point.  The reality of paying a nanny and even finding one that can fit with our family seems impossible, and frankly, the thought of going back to teaching makes me a sort of sad that’s all wrapped up in despair and anger.  For me, it is bigger than the unhealthy schedule and missing out on my kids; it comes down to whether I heard God right and whether I can trust Him.  I can’t help but question whether I did something wrong.  Am I not working hard enough?  Am I not being obedient?  What am I supposed to do next?

                Discouragement is not a strong enough word.  I constantly feel the lump tightening in my throat and the tears welling in my eyes.  My soul is downcast within me, and there is no hope.  The promises in the word, the praises I’ve sung, seem to return to me void. 

                If God is the sort of parent I would like to be, I know he is working in ways I can’t see.  He’s getting everything just right.  It’s just been a long time since I got any sort of sign or promise that I’m taking the right steps, and I’m starting to think that I’m not.  And human ways have deadlines, and bank accounts have balances, and bills have to be paid, and husbands do not believe.  I feel like I’m asking for the same thing over and over and my prayers are either bouncing off the ceiling or maybe God is stubbing his toe.  Either way, it isn’t very encouraging. I'm not even sure why I share this, expect that maybe I hope God will show up and I'll be able to point to this, to where we were before.  I hope.