The Many (Real) Victims of Heroin

Here's a link to my latest post for Cincinnati Moms Blog.  It generated quite a bit of reaction, as you can imagine.

One Big If

I like certainties and absolutes.  The past week has held neither of those things.  We’re moving to North Carolina…unless James changes his mind.  We’re selling our house…if it sells.  We’re buying a lovely new house…if our old house sells, and if the new one passes an inspection.  We’re planning to move May 25…if the timing of both sales works out.  We are trying to follow where we think God is leading…if we are correct in discerning His leading.  We are going to homeschool in our new community…if it works for our family.  I am going to supplement our income with freelance jobs…if I can find them. 

Everything in life is one big "if".

I want to mentally decorate the new house.  I want to see new owners love on our old one.  I want to march confidently into the future, to say “we are” instead of “if”.  I am willing to jump if God wants me to jump.  I’m just really struggling with fear that we could be doing the wrong thing.  There are some huge financial stakes here: the money we have worked hard for so many years to earn.  God has given us a wonderful home in a wonderful neighborhood; it defies logic that we would leave it.  What if we are wrong?  What if we are following our own desires and not God’s?  What if, what if, what if?  Neither one of us qualifies as the emotional rock in this situation; our moods are as mercurial as a teenage girl. 

I just crave knowing.  We have two months; I want to know what to do and what to get ready for.  At least knowing the next step would be helpful.  Just knowing we are on the right track would be amazing. 

The only true constant in this is God.  He has promised never to leave me or forsake me.  He has promised that He knows the plans He has for me, that they are plans to prosper me and not to harm me, that they are plans to give me a hope and a future.  He tells me nothing is impossible for Him, and I have to assume that means selling and buying a house.  He tells me He is faithful to his promises.  So in this time of not knowing, I am trying desperately to cling to what I know of my Father.

Please join me in praying that God will confirm both the path we are taking and the greatness of His love, and that we will move in full confidence that we are operating within His will.  

Still, Small Voice

The offer came.  It wasn’t what I had hoped and prayed for, but it was evident that another “no” was going to devastate my husband.  So we said “yes” with me kicking and screaming and picturing every single worst-case scenario.  (There are many options to choose from.) 

                I am shaken already.  Since my prayers for the offer weren’t answered, do I dare pray for a good selling price for our current house?  For a new house that is clearly tailor-made for us?  For a way to earn a living part-time while staying at home with my kids?  I have been up all night for the last two nights, asking myself repeatedly, “Are we crazy? Are we doing something so incredibly stupid?  Moving all this way for just one income?”  I keep begging God for confirmation that we are doing the right thing. 

                The morning after James accepted the offer, I woke up with Jeremiah 29:11 running through my mind.  “’For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the Lord.  ‘Plans to prosper you and not to harm you.  Plans to give you a hope and a future.’”  And then my Psalm for the day, Psalm 76, told me that the Lord resides in Salem.  Or Winston-Salem?  Am I reading too much into this?  Today, Psalm 77 describes a man up all night agonizing over circumstances, only to begin remembering the faithfulness of God in the past.  God certainly has been faithful to us, even in circumstances that seemed completely crazy.  “You are the God who performs miracles; you display your power among the peoples.” Psalm 77:14. 

                Perhaps this is God’s still small voice confirming this decision, as hard as it is.  I hope.

Open Hands

Violet has been extra cuddly in the mornings on account of the time change; she can’t bring herself to go to bed at her normal time because “the sky is awake and so am I!”  Consequently, when I go to get her out of her crib at 6:15, she isn’t standing up waiting for me.  Instead she’s cuddling with her stuffed babies, and she holds tight to them when I lift her out. 

                Her grip on Miss Kitty and hippo pillow was especially tight this morning, and I needed to get her nightgown off and her school clothes on.  “I’ll give it right back,” I promised her.  “Just let go for a minute so we can take this sleeve off your arm.  I'll hold Miss Kitty for you.”  Two arms times one nightgown off and one shirt on equals a whole lot of giving up, and she had to think long and hard each time I asked.  (Little wonder I am eternally late to work.)  Those babies are comfort objects in the dark early morning, and even though they were faithfully returned to her each time, each letting go was an act of trust.

                I suspect that the process of letting go will never be easy; perhaps it gets easier as faith grows, but it is never easy to open your hands and relinquish control.  I’m struggling with letting go of my house, my job, my church, and my proximity to my greatest help and champion: my mom...if this move actually happens. They are good things.  Three of them comfort me, and the job…well…it is just nice to know that I can support myself and the kids if I have to.  I like not relying on anyone else, you know?  So in a round-about way, I guess the job is a source of comfort, too. And my mom?  Well, she needs the kids and I, too.  It seems so terribly unfair to go so far away when she's already lost my dad.

                Trust is a hard thing, whether it means relying on God to truly fulfill our needs or relying on my husband to provide well and be generous with his family.  I am trying to hold tight to God’s request to trust him with all my heart and not depend on my own understanding.  I’m used to depending on my understanding, though.  I am used to being independent and resilient.  In this situation, however, I don’t know how to start.  I have no choice but to open my hand and let go….minute after minute, hour after hour, day after day.  

Moving???

I’ve found that times of change lend themselves to a sort of mental confusion; so many thoughts pop into my head during the day, and I think, “I want to write about that.”  But I’m running late and there’s deadlines and the To Do list is filled with things that have to be done or the world will end…and by the time I finish, I’ve forgotten what to write about.

We are in a time of change, I think.  A few weeks ago, a random conversation led James down a road of applying for a new job in North Carolina. The job will keep him with the same company, but it offers him some flexibility and the chance to get away from the desk.  He interviewed twice and got a verbal offer on Friday.  From the first mention of “maybe we’ll move” to the call from the manager that he’d been chosen took maybe two weeks.  Two.

When I was pregnant with Violet and agonizing over the work/life balance that I didn’t (and still don’t) have, James asked me where I’d be willing to move.  Obviously Dayton topped that list because of the proximity to my mom.  And then there were the Carolinas.  Nothing came of that conversation.  James put up amazing numbers at work and beat down doors again and again for a promotion in the Covington hub.  Again and again he found himself snubbed.  We settled down into a place called “stuck.”  Bound by our beautiful home in the neighborhood we could never have afforded but for an act of God and shackled by my old faithful professional job (that does offer summers off, a definite perk), we acknowledged that things were not working well in our family but found ourselves powerless to make changes.  I hunkered down and started writing – anything – that could build a portfolio and get me a foothold in the industry…and maybe pay off some debt.  James kept going to work and putting up the numbers.  The kids went to their respective school and daycare classrooms and over and over again I reminded myself, “This could be worse.” 

It could. 

Many women would love to live in our house.  To live my life. 

So when North Carolina came up, I wavered.  Yes, I’d said I’d go.  But would the job pay enough for me to stay home?  And what if it didn’t? 

Fear began to move in.  What if we couldn’t find a buyer for our current house?  What if we couldn’t get enough out of it to help us settle somewhere we like in NC?  What if we wound up camped out in a two-bedroom townhouse with no backyard?  (How I love our yard in Kentucky!)  What if I we give up these amazing things God has given us and wind up with nothing.  What if we make the wrong choice?  What if, what if, what if?  I found myself leaning back from the opportunity, choosing “not good, but could be worse” instead of “could be better.”  As James’ excitement has increased, mine has careened into panic.  How do people do this?

We are still waiting on financial details for the contract.  They need to be good enough to move us to a new state and provide for us on one income.  We were hoping to have them yesterday.  Now we hope for today.  We don’t know for sure that this is the right opportunity, but our guts seem to say it is.

In the meantime, I’m acknowledging this:  God’s provision is not limited to our house on Scenic View.  And when He gave me this house, He provided so many things He knew I would love: hardwood floors, and huge kitchen, a gas stove, a fireplace, a big back yard, and incredible sunsets.  He provided them at a price He knew we could afford through two more children and a spurt with one income.  He provided the impossible, but the impossible isn’t limited to one house.  We’ve felt a pulling on our hearts for some time, even as I returned to work and set about paying off debts.  We’ve felt a pulling to something new.  A wanderlust. 

Maybe the time is now.  And maybe I need to stop expecting that everything will be awful.  Maybe I should look at the blessings God has provided thus far and anticipate He will continue.

I’ve been praying for a four-bedroom house so that we can entertain guests comfortably.  I’ve been praying for a big living area so we can host people in our home.  I’ve been praying to a space the kids can use for a playroom.  For a kitchen I can love.  For a fireplace that works.  For a big backyard that will hold our playset.  For a community with good schools if we don’t decide to homeschool (although we may very well).  For a neighborhood where we can run and walk.  For a faith community.  For friends.  For a mortgage payment much lower than the one we currently pay.  And just maybe, for the chance to supplement our income with the words I eke out in the early mornings and late evenings after the kids are in bed.  That’s a lot to ask. 

Maybe none of this can happen if I won’t let go of the house of Scenic View.  Of beautiful Fort Thomas.  Of the power of holding a steady job.  Of the unknown and the comfortable. 

There’s a sign in my kitchen that reminds me: “He who promised is faithful.”  Please pray for our family.  Please pray for an offer my husband can accept.  Please pray for someone to buy our beloved house.  Please pray for a new home in North Carolina that can only have been provided by God.  Please pray for His assurance that we are on the right track, for the right doors to open and the wrong ones to slam shut.  Please pray for courage and peace as we move toward what is next. 

Because one way or another, we are moving.

On Faithfulness

Learning to play the piano takes time.  Eli is fortunate to have his grandma as a teacher, but he was still just a little disappointed when his first lesson consisted of learning a warm-up activity and practicing good old middle C.  He expected to play at least the Star Wars theme when he was finished, not a count of 1-2-3-4-5.  So we practice for a few minutes every day…and I mean a few.  Five…maybe seven minutes on a good day.  Sometimes he sulks when I tell him to play something again.  Sometimes he tries to sit criss-cross-applesauce because he knows he isn’t supposed to.  Sometimes he wants to dash on to the next song before he’s finished the last one.  Sometimes Caleb comes over and bangs on the bass notes while he’s trying to practice.  Sometimes Violet does the same.  It is slow going.  But last week?  He mastered his first chord.  And yesterday, Grandma taught him his first scale.  As an outsider, I can see the progress that maybe he can’t.  One day he’ll wake up and realize he can play a whole song, but only if he keeps doing a little every day.

I’ve been lifting weights and doing core exercises every morning since December 1.  Even when I’m tired.  Even when I’m sick.  Even when I roll out of bed a little, ahem, later than I should.  I’ve been eating a spinach smoothie for breakfast and making it a priority to eat small doses of protein every few hours.  On January 1, I somehow got suckered into training for a half-marathon, and even though it’s been a tricky journey of shin splints and stomach bugs and super cold-weather runs, I’m still doing it.  I can’t say it has resulted in a marked difference on the scale though…until now.  The most recent stomach bug knocked me down four pounds…and they’ve stayed off for a week now.  (Score one for the stomach bug; I just need to get one once a month for the next three months and I’ll be in good shape.  Kidding.  TOTALLY KIDDING.)  This morning, in honor of anticipated temperatures in the 70’s, I pulled out my grey capris; they are totally my favorite pair of fat pants, as in I wore them twice a week this past fall.  And they didn’t fit.  They barely hung on my hips, and when I pulled them out in front of my stomach, I had inches to spare.  This is the first indication I’ve had that all this work is actually, you know, working.  It is perhaps my first encouragement on my journey to taking care of this body.  And it feels good.  It makes me want to keep things up for the next three months. 

I’ve also been praying and saving towards financial freedom; financial freedom that seems completely impossible.  But I landed a big editing project in November, and while it wasn’t exactly fun to work on evenings and weekends through December and Christmas break, the Simons have a savings account now.  And our tax return paid of my van…today!  And because James’s employer is helping with his student loans, our monthly out-of-pocket went down by one-hundred dollars.  We have a long way to go, but all told, we cut the bottom line by $400 this month.  That’s a big deal, and it was a lot of time and work and prayer in the making. 

Neither of these accomplishments was possible for me to do on my own; not remotely.  In fact, they took a lot of risk.  I don’t know if I’ll be strong enough to finish a run…or even my day…if I exercise.  Heaven knows that the editing job was a foray into a profession I know nothing about; there were some super stressful and frustrating moments.  Many, actually.  But God provides the daily energy to exercise and keeps my body free from injury.  God gave me the editing opportunity and a tax refund big enough for the balance on the car.  He provided me opportunities and offered me His hand to help; I still had to accept them.  

There’s a lot in my life right now that seems stuck in the early months…only some of these trials have been going for years.  My attempt to use writing as a means to support our family is still by and large in the portfolio-building stage.  I’m plugging away with no indication that I’m getting anywhere.  James has been knocking down amazing numbers at work, and door after door slams shut in his face when he tries to get a promotion to a job that will actually pay all our bills.  There’s still bills to pay down and a mortgage I’d like to see be lower.  There’s still my desire to stay at home with our kids, and the rocky battleground that is our marriage. 

Today was a glimpse that being obedient and faithful will produce results…but only with God’s help.  It was a reminder to pray for opportunity and have the courage to take it.  It was a confirmation of his blessing and provision.  God must have known I needed to see the clouds pulled back because winter seems to be going on forever.  Today, I’m going to celebrate just a little bit, because God has been faithful and He has sustained me.  Even when I couldn’t see it.

Trust in the Lord with all your heart; do not depend on your own understanding.