I Forgot to Wave

I forgot to wave.

Every day, Caleb stands in just the right spot in his daycare classroom and watches the window to wave goodbye.  But that day, I had to stop in the office to pay for the week, and I was rushing to get to school because I had a student coming in for help.  About halfway through the day, it occurred to me that I had forgotten something, but I couldn’t remember if I’d promised to wave or not.  I kept wading through the fog in my brain until it was time to pick him up.  He had long ago recovered, but his teachers told me he stood and waited at the window and refused to move.  They tried to convince him that his mom had probably forgotten, but he still wouldn’t move.  He refused to budge until his teacher promised to write me a note, and then reminded him it was time for breakfast.  Breakfast broke his resolve, obviously.

To say this breaks my heart would be an understatement.  My sweet boy, the one I’m always afraid will get overlooked or left out, had so much faith in me that he would not be moved.  Even when it became apparent that I wasn’t going to come through.  He still believed.  I know that feeling.  I feel like I spent eight months doing the same thing, waiting for my God to show up.  Only God doesn’t forget…he’s not prone to the human failings of a mom trying to juggle a demanding job and the never-ending responsibilities of running a household.  He’s God.  His resources are endless.  So when he doesn’t show up, what am I to make of it?  Was I not steadfast in my hope?  Did I quit looking and head to breakfast?  Or did He show up and I missed it because I was looking for the wrong thing?

I feel like the last six weeks have sped by in a vacuum.  I’m getting things done, checking off lists, somehow making sure all the plates are spinning, but I can’t find God.  I do hear a relentless voice, one that points to other people who are writing, who are obviously far better at it than I.  It tells me how foolish I was to think I could make a living at this writing thing, to think I’d do anything other than preside over a classroom.  It tells me that teaching isn’t all that bad, that daycare is good enough, that I’m not cut out for anything else.  It is the only voice I hear.  Maybe it is God, and my heart was on the wrong page altogether.  Maybe I should just be grateful for the morning sunlight outside my classroom window, the first classroom window I’ve had in seven years.  Maybe I should just be grateful for a paycheck, for the chance to dig out of this financial hole.  I am.  I am.  Maybe this is all there is. 

I weaned the baby, and I’ve been crying for two weeks.  Crying because this is it.  There will be no more babies to nurse.  These days are flying by and I can never get back what I’m missing.  And I’m missing so much.  I hate that, and I don’t know what to do about it.  I’m waiting and the window, and…nothing.

No, God did not fail to show up because He forgot.  He has something else planned.  It is hard for me to trust that His plans for me are good, although He promises they are.  Faced with the decision to declare my faith in Him, I still feel there is no other choice.  Of course I have to have faith.  I just don’t understand.  And it hurts.

I do know that my heart softened toward my often tempermental sweetheart when his teachers told me how faithful he was.  I saw him anew, how he loves me, how he craves my attention.  I’m so glad he covets that wave and blown kiss.  I want to give him more…so much more than I do.  I hope God knows how much I crave His revelations of Himself.  How sorry I am that I don’t see more, understand more.  How I want Him, even though I don’t really know what I want.