A Letter to My Children: On Healing Our City.

Today's post is on the Cincinnati Mom's Blog; you can follow this link to read it.

Then you shall call, and the Lord will answer;
You shall cry, and He will say, 'Here I am.'

"If you take away the yoke from your midst,
The pointing of the finger, and speaking wickedness,
If you extend your soul to the hungry
And satisfy the afflicted soul,
Then your light shall dawn in the darkness,
And your darkness shall be as the noonday.
The Lord will guide you continually,
And satisfy your soul in drought,
And strengthen your bones;
You shall be like a watered garden,
And like a spring of water, whose waters do not fail.
Those from among you
Shall build the old waste places;
You shall raise up the foundations of many generations;
And you shall be called the Repairer of the Breach,
The Restorer of Streets to Dwell In."
Isaiah 58:9-12

Sometimes My Thoughts Aren't Pretty

I started this blog to document the crazy journey I was attempting to move away from my cowardly dependence on my job to become a woman who walks with God in faith.  I wanted to be honest; to see the whole story unfold, and I supposed I knew some of it would be ugly.  Sometimes the struggles in my mind do not neatly align themselves with what I know the Bible teaches, and this is one of those moments.

It turns out the peace was short-lived.  Today touched off a violent storm of emotions again; I nearly cried on the way to the grocery, and again on the way home.  I thought about the preschool experience that has been taken from Caleb, and tears welled up again.  I put Violet down for a nap in a dark room where she can sleep, and the lump in my throat swelled.  I read books and kissed boo-boos and made meals and did dishes and folded laundry and wondered out loud how on earth I’m going to do all this in two weeks.  My body is so close to quitting…why not add forty-plus hours off site and an hour in the car and hope for the best?

I am equal hearts heartbroken and angry, mostly at God and my husband, both of whom I hoped I could depend on and both of whom do not seem to give two you-know-what’s.  At least God does not get to sleep through the night, but still.  Resentment does not do pretty things to a girl, even if it's justified.  God is a tender, loving God, but I do not feel tenderly loved.

I’m writing these Advent calendar entries about God’s promises, how He always keeps them, how He can always be trusted.  Yet, I have no current evidence to support that theory.  I feel like a fraud.  This storm in my life feels like forever.  The voice is loud.  Just give up hope.  Quit asking for things you know you won’t ever have.  Bury the call in your heart and raise your kids just like everyone else.  Be glad for the weekends. Why do you think you deserve to stay home, anyway?  You chose to marry him; this is your punishment.  Miracles happen for other people; not for you.  You forfeited your right to a miracle years ago.  It will never change. 

Yes, I know the error of those words, but it hurts too much to go on in hope.  Yes, the Bible tells me that nothing is impossible for God.  I believe that.  It also tells us He keeps His promises.  It says He will provide.  It says He loves us.  I am reciting these truths to myself over and over and waiting, hoping for some peace to come of it.  I have been waiting a long time, and time is running out.  Maybe I should have named Violet Anna; it appears I will be nearly dead before God fulfills His promise, and what will it matter then?

I’m fairly certain I’m guilty of being the “Oh ye of little faith.”  It. Just. Hurts. Savage, heart-wrenching hurt.  I can’t possibly emote enough to find relief. 

So I’m off to write about how we face opposition when we follow God, and how He can tame even the worst storms.  While wondering if He’ll ever do that for me.

When the Tether Snapped

My bracelet fell off. 

No, not my Pandora bracelet.  (Calm down, Mom.)  I mean the little piece of rope that I tied around my wrist during the Brave experience in April, the reminder that I am tethered to God much like a ship is tethered to the sail.  The reminder that He is guiding me through the storm, that I am not in charge of charting my own course.

When I first tied it on, it the two loose pieces created by the knot constantly tickled my wrist.  I cut them down and they still tickled.  But after weeks of showers and swimming pools and little fingers tugging at the rope, the loose ends were absorbed into the rest of the band and it just became this smooth thing that was always there.  I glanced at it often, each time sending a subliminal pang to my brain; it became an extension of me.

Of course, a tiny piece of rope is no match for my daily life, and I noticed it was becoming thin and frail, almost like a piece of thread.  About a week ago, I marveled that it was holding on at all and considered stealing my husband’s rope from the floor of his car.  And then there I was in class, and it brushed my pinky as it fell to the floor.

My immediate thought was panic.  Two weeks before I have to go back to school.  Two weeks from D-day and my tether falls off!  What kind of omen is that?  (I do not believe in superstition, but my mind really wants to.  The struggle is real.)  I tucked it in my school bag and started the hike to my car.  As I was pulling out of the parking lot, worrying, I felt these words.  You do not need the rope anymore.  The rope was only a symbol; the real tether is between your heart and mine, and you have let me tie it firmly in place during these months of struggle.  Breathe.  Your heart is seeking mine; we are starting a new leg in this journey.  I am working even now.

I want to tell myself that I am putting these words in my own mind, but that is not how my mind works.  My mind sees the broken symbol and assumes the worst.  My mind has spent the last week so agonized that it forgot to tell my body to be hungry.  (Side note: great diet, in all the wrong ways.)  It has been ping-ponging back and forth between hope and despair and possible solutions and worst-case scenarios.  It has been wondering how on earth to find rest with a deadline taunting just days away.  And suddenly?  My mind found rest.  My heart found joy.  God is working.  If we have to do daycare, it won’t be forever…maybe not even for the school year.  God will be there even in that. 

I have no idea where this came from, and I’d be lying if I didn’t tell you the old ways of thinking are still trying to fight to the surface.  But they aren’t winning.  It was like God said, “This is finished.”  And He flipped a switch.

Absolutely nothing has changed in our situation.  I don’t know what is next.  I don’t know what to expect.  I don’t know when or how God will redeem the cry of my heart.  What I do know is that for a moment he answered my prayer.  I saw His face.  And it was good.

Taste and see that the Lord is good; blessed is the one who takes refuge in Him.  Psalm 34:8

Sarah Laughed (Laura Cried)

When God told Abraham he was going to bless his wife, Sarah, with a son in her old age, Abraham must have thought he’d heard wrong.  “Just bless Ishmael,” he responded.  And God had to spell it out more clearly: “No, I’m giving you another son, this one by your wife, Sarah.”  Abraham thought what God promised was impossible, so he gave God a pass.  “This will be good enough, God.  I don’t want to get my hopes up.”   Sarah overheard the conversation, and she laughed at the absurdity.  She was ninety years old, after all; she was well past the time frame for God to show up.  Still, God made good on His promise.  By that time next year, ninety-year-old Sarah had given birth to a son.

This is the story I found when I Googled doubt and God.  We visited the daycare today…the only daycare that will pick Eli up from half-day kindergarten.  It happens to be the same daycare I was so overjoyed to rescue Eli from five years ago.  I knew I’d never go back.  As August 10 tightens the noose around my neck, I’ve pretty much given up hope that God will provide a way for me to stay home.  I mean, there’s optimism and then there’s stupidity.  Those little blessings that happened earlier in the year – an unexpected paycheck, and then another – they stopped long ago.  The confirmations I prayed for – a blogging job, a writing contact – they have ceased happening, too.  Even the joy I felt about writing the advent calendar is just…gone.  I feel like I got one chance to stay home with my kids and I wasted the time trying to make it permanent, trying to follow where I thought God was leading.  I can’t help but wonder if I misinterpreted God back in December.  He gave me a little extra time at home; my mistake was loving it too much.  And so lately, my prayer has been more along the lines of: If I have to go back to work, please just provide good care for my kids.  And now this…this place.  Will they be safe there?  Probably.  Will they eat good food?  No.  Will Caleb be academically challenged by the teacher who has never taught four-year-olds before?  Nope.  Will Violet nap?  Not a chance.  I know what is coming and it has two –l’s at the end of it. 

I wonder…am I pulling an Abraham?  Am I looking at circumstances (2.5 weeks) and thinking God decided to go a different direction?  Am I giving him a pass on the big miracle?  Am I doubting Him and settling for second best?  Or am I being a realist?  James says I need to find my way to reality.  It seems God wants to prove him right. 

I just don’t know.  I have worked this over in my mind night after night; I seem to find peace when I decide to pull my retirement and finance the next five years.  But then James enters the equation, and the bottom line is that he won’t be happy unless I am working outside the home, too.  Because all that matters to him is not working…and sooner rather than later.  Retirement.  The collateral damage to the rest of us doesn’t enter his equation.  Perhaps I should act on what I feel God leading anyway, but I'm not strong enough to fight that force.  When we started this experiment, I told James that I believed God would provide, and he agreed that if we were really following God, yes, He would.  And here we are in July, and by all accounts, it seems that He hasn’t.  At least not financially.  The kids and I have made great strides emotionally and spiritually, but that doesn't change the balance in the checkbook.  So maybe we weren’t following God?  Of course I don’t know what He’s doing in heaven…I only know that on earth I cry so much that the boys ask why I am crying NOW, I can barely eat, and I’m missing out on my last weeks with my kids because my heart hurts too bad to let it feel anymore.  I wouldn't be so angry if they were going back to Pam, but they’re not.  She was taken away, too.

I’m so afraid that this year will set Caleb on a course I don’t want him to take.  I firmly believe that negative school experiences damage a kid, and I don’t want that for his exceedingly sensitive spirit.  I am just now getting us into a rhythm after the glorious disruption of Violet’s birth, and now we’re going to send everyone into a tailspin again.  I feel like I’ve wasted my year of turning off the TV, making food from scratch, and relentlessly pursuing God.  In the scheme of things, what does any of it matter if we go back to what we were before? 

And I’m so afraid that if I miss this chance (was there a chance?), I’ll set the course for the rest of my life.  I will always be working a job or two that I hate, doing what has to be done while ignoring what is best for my children.  I do know this: I am out of costs to cut, I am out of resources, and certainly I don’t have anyone to help me.  So if I did hear right and God does want me to stay at home, He is going to have to speak so loudly that I can’t mistake it.  And he’s going to have to hit my husband over the head.  And maybe give him a promotion he isn’t supposed to get. 

So I don’t know what to do.  The anger and hurt have hijacked my heart.  Do I hope and believe what I thought God said?  Or do I assume I heard wrong, turn my heart from God, and go on with my life devoid of trust?  Sarah may have laughed at the absurdity, but I am crying at the impossibility.  And I hope I'm not selling God short.

The Failed Experiment

I started calling daycares today.  The dreadful one – the one I hated when I sent Eli there as a baby – is the only one that will pick up half-day kindergarten kids.  My three kids will cost me more than half my salary, so we’ll barely be getting by still.  Even with me working full-time.  Caleb will not get to go to a real preschool.  Eli will not get to recharge after a full morning of school.  Violet will probably not nap.  She will be sick once a week.  They will all have to eat the crap that they call food and start habits I do not want them to have.  I don’t think there is anything worse than knowing something is the worst possible thing for your kids and doing it because you don’t have any choice.  I know mothers have to do this every day.  I can’t figure out what I did wrong to become one of them. 

There’s a mountain sitting on my chest.  We are down to three weeks, and the promises of God that I counted on are nowhere to be found.  We have tested him with our tithe, and He has not been faithful.  I took big risks with my job, and He has not been faithful.  I made choices for the upcoming school year and trusted He would provide.  He hasn’t.  I stormed heaven about James’ job, and heaven didn’t budge.  I’ve pursued the work I know in my heart He is leading me to.  I’ve done the work.  It doesn’t matter.  Every time I pass the chalkboard in my kitchen, I breathe in Hebrews 10:23.  “Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for He who promised is faithful.”  I spend my every anxious moment singing praises back to God.  I circle back to the Psalm I randomly opened to a few nights ago: “Be still and know that I am God.”  I’ve done my best to seek God’s face, but I can’t say right now that He is good.  I just can’t.  At least not to me.  If He is, I can’t see it.  I have tried gratitude journals, but it seems meaningless to thank God for my children while making plans to completely screw them up.  What kind of steward am I?  Why can’t I figure this out?  Why the hell didn’t I marry for money?

Eli was playing right before bed, and out of the blue he said, “You know that song you listened to in the car?  You know what it says?  It says ‘I cast my cares on You.’  It means God takes care of it.”  I don’t know why Eli said that.  I hadn’t shared with him how I was feeling.  I didn’t even know that he understood the concept.  Maybe he doesn’t.  Maybe that was God speaking.  But how do I cast my cares when reality looms large in my face?  It was one thing to trust and be hopeful with money in the bank and plenty of time.  It is another thing entirely with no money in the bank, with no options, three fleeting weeks, and  husband who asks me every day what my plan is.  Because really, this is all my problem, not his.  I don’t really want to cast my cares because my brain says “why bother?”  I guess if this was my trust experiment, it is over, and it failed. 

                “I remember my affliction and my wandering,

                                The bitterness and the gall.

                I well remember them,

                                And my soul is downcast within me.

                Yet this I call to mind

                                And therefore I have hope.

                Because of the Lord’s great love

                                We are not consumed.

                For His compassions never fail. 

                                They are new every morning.

                Great is His faithfulness.”

                                Lamentations 3:19-23

 I am really want to add a part two to my Psalm.  A part two that rejoices in His faithfulness.  But I am too afraid to hope…I just don’t think those kinds of stories happen to me anymore.  I wish they did.

God is good.  All the time.  I hope.

               

                               

           

Blisters On My Heart

It’s so hot inside my soul, I swear there are blisters on my heart.” –Rich Mullins

                I couldn’t say it better.  Tension – the storm – is a sure sign that God is at work.  It also brutalizes physical and emotional health.  This sounds crazy, but there have been a number of times in my life where I wished I could go to the hospital and sleep in a clean, white, safe room.  I have craved it.  Of course, I’ve spent some time in the hospital in recent years and experienced the round-the-clock nurse visits, the smells, and the not so clean white rooms and now I realize I need to revise my fantasy.  But I regress.  I am just so tired, I suspect I could sleep for a week straight.  Yet the hamster wheel in my brain churns on, and I stay up later than I should writing, thinking, praying, trying to find an answer I’ve missed or a miracle I forgot to claim.  There are always more emails that might be the one.  More phone calls to return.  More  leads to follow up on.  More.  More.  More.

                Yet in the last week, the message I keep getting is “worship.”  The idea of worship as a way to seek the face of God first loomed large in my life when I read Every Bitter Thing Is Sweet while I was nursing and rocking an infant Violet.  (You should read it, by the way.  Buy it now.)  It was a novel idea to me back in September, but lately I find it everywhere I turn.  The speaker at church on Sunday talked about approaching jobs that are too big for him with physical worship.  The Rich Mullins I cranked up on my nighttime walk to me to “Sing your praise to the Lord, I could never tell you just how much good it’s gonna do you just to sing…”  Every single person in the Christmas story I am analyzing and dissecting as I write the Advent calendar responds to Jesus with unabashed worship.  There's even the voice in my heart, whispering: “Worship me.  Just worship.  That is all.” 

                It is hard to worship when your heart wants to beg.  To worry.  To problem solve.  I have to mentally reign myself in every minute or two to focus on the words I’m singing or praying.  But I have asked God to show me the steps He wants me to take, and this is my only clear directive, a directive that glows even more brightly as I write about it.  Of course.  Worship lets us see the heart of God, and ultimately that is what I’m called to do.  “Let us seek your face and not your hands,“ I sing every Sunday.  But mostly I’ve been seeking His hands.

                I do need his hands.  Life has deadlines and bills and very real needs, but the choice to put that aside and worship is, I hope, the anecdote to my exhaustion, the way to still the hamster wheel and let my overwrought brain get some rest.  The way to carry Jesus' burden.  You know, the one he describes as "light".  

I hope so.  I choose to obey.

It Ain't Over Yet

               I know it ain’t over ‘till it’s over, but it certainly seems over.  I have one month, and then I’ll lay down my big dreams and my faith (and all confidence in my ability to ‘hear’ from God), hand my children over to a nanny that might or might not be old enough to drive, and head back to teaching so that I can justify my existence with a paycheck.  I choose to believe that God is good.  It just doesn’t feel like it.

                But not all is dour.  Some thoughts come to mind as I reflect on the past few months.  They are jumbled and random, but here goes:

-I’ve learned a ton, both about what teaching looks like at the college level, and perhaps more importantly, the writing/editing/publishing world.  I’ve met with people and talked to people, I’m working on a website, and my resume actually looks like I know what I’m doing.  I’ve figured out how to add hyperlinks (kind of my new favorite thing), strikethroughs, and images to text.  I am starting to stalk writing job boards, I know which publishers interest me, and I’m honing in on the type of writing I love to do.  I don’t expect to publish a book; but perhaps making a living this way will be possible.  Most people are kind.  They are helpful.  I am so grateful.

-I know that teaching is probably not my calling anymore.  That’s not exactly a good thing to admit a month before I return to the classroom full-time, but it is true.  It both saddens and excites me.  I gave some good years to the profession, and I’m proud of that.  And now I need to find a way to move on and still feed my kids.

-Of the jobs that I’m working on right now, the one that lights up and excites me is the writing I’m doing for Kids’ Club.  I love work that puts me in God’s word, letting me hear from Him and putting that down on paper.  I wish I could somehow do that and get paid.  I also wish somehow that I was experiencing the miracles I am writing about.

-When I’m writing, I feel energized.  That’s a good sign that I’m pushing in the right direction, even if it doesn’t seem like it is going to blossom into something bigger anytime soon.

-A woman who chooses to raise children and keep a house should never, ever have to justify her existence or her lack of a salary.  It is hard, hard work and the payoff often doesn’t show up until years down the road.

-The home of a woman who is focused on raising her kids might just resemble a three-ring-circus.  Not because she isn’t working hard, but because she is working harder at things eternal.

-Even though going back to work makes me feel like I’ve lost ownership over my family, I will not choose to parent from that perspective.  My kids will learn from me the value of working hard, even when you don’t want to.

-I have to take care of myself; that means standing up for my needs for rest and peace, and I will do that from here on.  I have survived this far; God will sustain me.

-I am nothing special.  My writing talent is average.  Many people have better credentials than me.  The voice in my head reminds me over and over, and it probably knows what it is talking about.  But that doesn’t mean God can’t use me, and it doesn’t mean I should close the computer and go to bed.  (Although that stupid voice in my head suggests that I should.)

-My first writing paycheck made me feel pretty darn awesome.  Even if it was, as James pointed out, not nearly enough to meet our needs.

-I no longer have a problem buying clothes at a thrift store.  In fact, I think I’m a consignment girl from now on.  Also, I’m going to do the capsule wardrobe thing just as soon as I figure out what size I’ll be.  Clothes just aren’t worth the worry and the effort anymore, and they don’t deserve the best of my attention. 

-My soul is downcast within me, but I still have hope.  God’s compassions are new every morning.  I cling to this.

See?  Pretty gosh darn random.