The Folly of my Flow

Meal plan for well-balanced healthy options
Buy groceries
Prepare each meal
Organize the children's clothes seasonally and by size...every dang season (so many seasons in Texas)
Keep track of the girls daycare outfits, dirty underwear, "art" and hair ties
Keep track of shower days and bath days for children
Keep track of shower days for myself...real talk, only during maternity leave season, I promise. It's grimy in these streets, ya'll.
Clean
Dust
Mop
Scrub
Organize - Re-organize - Give up
All of the doctor appointments and those ridiculous ASQ's
Pay that bill on time
Call and Text Friends
Connect with my God
Connect with my husband
Connect with my kids, learn them, teach them, read at least three bedtime stories to make up for the fact that I am a working mom who is somehow failing them.
Entertain company
Show up to work - on time
Be present for my students and remember the intricate details of their lives.
Early to bed to establish a schedule with the baby. feed the baby. feed the baby. Early to rise for prayer.
Keep it together, smile and don't complain, yeah right

Always striving for seamless excellence. Everyday.

Even after the longest day at work I INSIST on cooking meals from scratch each night and eating at the table as a family, screaming baby and all. I refuse for any member to be left out so Jesse, my 2 month, old must join us at the table come peaceful or pouting.  Our routine is one of my masterpieces. Your girl got skills. I ring the dinner bell each night waiting for everyone to show up at the table for a hot plate because I have been planning this execution since the wee hours of the morning. That is when my mental stopwatch begins; in the morning, 12 am. Tick, Tock. Each day is a well-synchronized mash-up of precisely-timed activities. I "git er duuuun" as it were and congratulate myself when 7:15p.m. comes and the children are off to bed. I time myself for each task including cat-naps. I am the master of my domain. I am adept in the economy of my abode. In short, I do a lot and I need everyone on board. I laid this out for my supervisor once and he said, "That sounds like an exhausting way to live". It energizes me and I don't know how people don't function like me. Chop chop!

One night I made a new menu item. It was simple and involved pasta so I assumed that everyone would enjoy it. Rookie-move. Toddlers never enjoy dinner even when they do. It's a secret law for them or something. Myka hated it. She cried her way through every bite until the meal capitulated with her vomiting all over the kitchen floor. The nerve.  I was done. My response was, admittedly, over the top and insensitive. I hurried her to her room and huffed, "I HATE DINNERTIME!" Sweet Madeline parroted my avowal which snapped me out of my tantrum. I apologized and thought of all the "things" I do striving for efficiency.  In this moment, having hurt my Myka's feelings it all was so pointless. I was sweating, sweeping and scrubbing the floor. It was 7:30p.m. The day won.

Having a third child has disrupted my flow of predictability (sounds like a blast, eh?)). I love everything about him but I am still figuring out how he fits. He absolutely belongs but I do not know how he fits. I cannot imagine life with my little red-headed wonder but he broke my stopwatch.  I have to molt my old skin and this is uncomfortable. My vulnerabilities and inadequacies are exposed. Life calls for flexibility these days. Stretch. Give more. But I don't want to. It's unfair.  I often resent the stretching so I resist it and deny the blessing it offers me. The lingering question behind the internal tick tock and external cries of, "Mommy, please!" is "Why do I have to do everything?", "Why is my life the only one enduring such a dramatic shift?" This obvious hyperbole but is my reality. Mom's really do carry a whole heck of a lot. It just seems to be the nature of the beast.

The tug and tension of this new season of life requires me to stretch in ways that I feel ill-equipped. I need control. Rigidity relaxes me. What I think is a call for more structure is really God-given space for flexibility and flow. Not just at dinner time but with my finances, my marriage, my relationship with my children, my work, myself. God is patiently prying my tiny fingers open, loosening my grip before I slowly squeeze the life out of my life hating every part of it. This journey cannot sustain my grip.  I know that I can honor God with my strategic time-management but not for the sake of abandoning Spiritual, fruitful living. I think of Psalm 46:10, "Cease striving (or Be Still) and KNOW that I am God". Clearly, I am not facing war or being pursued by my enemy but I am stressing out and in need of some stillness. Striving is not the proper way though it is a drug for this control-fiend. KNOWING is my new road. Maternity leave is listening to sermons all day while rocking my baby and reading scripture on my phone during our 2 am feeding. Finding God anew. Getting to know Him.

Biblical knowing is not in the head but the heart. It means intimacy, relationship, trust, depth, free-falling into a space where God holds it all together and my world consists in Christ alone. His yoke is easy and His burden is light. In this reality, I ask my husband for help and receive it guilt-free. We rally together. We budget with flair and do not fret. We are oddly comfortable in what we lack waiting for God to do above and beyond. We stretch together, offering stability when life's pull is too overwhelming. In KNOWING God, life is slow. It is a new wonder to experience. I exhale each day with my family tracing the footprint of the day rather than creating it. I am a friend who has faults. I am an employee who is not responsible for every poor decision of my students. I am a mom who is present and patient. I am free.

The Thing that Broke Me

As the story goes, in September this September-baby had a baby (the third time in 4 years). I didn't post anything on social media because of my fear that good news would quickly turn bad. I did not tell many people I interact with daily until the 10th month.  I'll try to confess while resisting the urge to begin the next sentence with, I love my children and would do it alllllll over again buuuut - Honestly, I am no fan of pregnancy, labor or delivery. My uterus is geriatric (an actual term), my feet swell and crack, nothing fits, everything hurts and my bounce-back usually falls flat. I spend 10 months annoyed awaiting the end.  I am not that mom who's all dewy and fashionable. And another thing - I always have my babies on the weekend. Though the timing satiates my thirst for order it is just anti-climactic. Even though my pregnancy journeys lack the display of weekly bump photos I secretly hoped for a dramatic public finale.

Picture this: On a regular Tuesday I'm presenting before an 8am class of droopy-eyed college freshmen when I am halted by a surge of contractions. My water breaks as I hug my belly with my right hand and grip the desk with my left. My students jump to action and the whole thing replays for a week on the five o'clock news. That is not how it goes down for me. All three times have been the same. Water breaks in the privacy of my home. I finish packing my bag. James drives me to the hospital and I'm not even panting. No contractions. Induction by way pitocin (booooo). Pain. Pain. A lot of pain. Too much pain, too late for drugs. Push. Push. Puuuuuush. Baby.

The first act is always the same - so much so that each delivery is one four year long blur.

However, there is variety in the second act of this harrowing experience. I call it Mo's Mental Break or The Aftermath. I remember each distinctly.

Madeline - deep, irrational, exhaustion-fueled rage.
Myka  - suffocating anxiety that I wore like a shroud
Jesse - two full days of tears as I relived the horror of the afterbirth (placenta and such) delivery.

Unlike my unremarkable start to labor the second act is lonely, unpredictable and, this time, had the dramatic flair I never hoped for.

My doctor (the on-call OBGyn) had man-hands and not simply because he is a man. He used every muscle and tendon in his giant paws to mash my abdomen seconds after I delivered my son. I wondered if he was angry with me for moving to much during suture placement or maybe for interrupting his lunch or something. The experience seemed suddenly archaic . I could not keep my feet in the stirrups because the pain was too intense. The room was eerily quiet as the female nurses and my helpless husband looked on sympathetically.  And I know this part was for my benefit. And I know he was doing his job and probably knows so much more than I do but man did this hurt. So, for the first time in eight hours of labor and pushing I writhed uncontrollably and screamed out loud but it was like no one heard me because this moment would not end or so it seemed.
That caused the fracture.

A quirk about me is that I do not ask for ask help because that means that admittance of incompetence and I personally don't do incompetence. Although, nothing drives one out of their comfort zone like trying to feed a newborn at 2a.m. I tried to pump some milk for my hungry baby and it hurt like knives slicing across flesh. That's what caused the break.

 I texted my dear friend, a woman, a mom of a newborn, a doula, my ally. I knew she was probably up battling another sleepless night of nursing.  She soon responded giving me space to complain about breast-feeding and permission to give my baby formula in a bottle.  However, the pain of pumping had already opened the door to postpartum PTSD.  Memories of Dr. Man-Hands overcame me and I cried so hard on the edge of my bed that I couldn't catch my breath. I laid my baby in his bassinet, muzzled my mouth with cupped hand as not to wake anyone, and moved to the bathroom. I broke again. I moved to the couch and sat there for three hours paralyzed by the thought of it all. The next day my friend, my rescuer, came over. She had truly heard me; heard my heart cry and my body lament. She answered with a five minute visit to my home and a supply of lactation snacks, nipple cream and hug. She gave me the gift of validation and solidarity. I felt loved.

Pregnancy is supposed to be awkwardly fun. Labor 'n delivery is supposed to be painful but hopeful.  It all has become so overly normalized. Commonplace. There is always an unfair positive spin that silences naysayers like me.  Three children means three times I have felt the need to rush through the second act thinking no one would believe how bad it truly hurt or how sad I really was, so why bother. I mean, I have a beautiful blessing of a baby, after all, so it couldn't be that bad - how are we to respond to that, people?

As the story goes, I had a baby on Sept 23rd and, like so many women, ran into deep sadness a week later. I traversed this familiar dark place a few times with friends, wonderful women, who reject my cheery filtered answers. They see the doleful expression behind my smile. The doula, some social workers, ministers, licensed counselors, educators - they are all highly educated women who are trained to speak truth while helping people find freedom. They are masterful in their work. They are also instruments of grace. They are God's gifts to me.  I do not deserve such friendship and I know that God was thinking of me when He made them. They are how I got through the past four years. They have not made the road any less tortuous, pregnancy is what it is and that is ok, but they usher in the presence of God, His love, His peace - until the ride is over. 

(To those women -you know who you are- I LOVE you and I am so grateful for you)

Craft-Room Confessional

Mornings in the Hoskins' house have a rhythm and litany. I suppose every household has one that you can hear in-between the early morning groans, crack of eggs and jingle of car keys. Everyday is relatively the same these days which is fine with me because life with toddlers is nothing if not spontaneous. James wakes me. I wake the girls. James is on kitchen duty while I choose outfits and receive disapproving pouts from two ladies who are not impressed with my braiding skills. My favorite part is after the bedroom salon shuts down and the girls gather with their dad at the table for breakfast.  I eavesdrop while I get ready in our bedroom. James might turn on Stir it Up by Bob Marley while the girls mix honey in their oatmeal.  Then they all serenade me with Hall & Oates Man Eater as I enter the kitchen for my meal - Thank you, James *side-eye*.

Our soundtrack is real random and real old school. Our litany is an ebb and flow of sweet rousing, rushed frustration,  reminders of God's presence and a call to be respectful and obedient. We rush out the door and I transform from personal stylist to HotDyssey DJ for a 15 minute ride to school. When I drop the girls off we pray at the door of their classrooms and l remind them, again, to be kind, respectful and to choose obedience. Every.  Morning. If the girls decide to choose disobedience the consequence is a tete-a-tete with their dad. James begins with bass in his voice and ends it with a tickle and round of shuggies (Not even mad). I expect moments of disobedience from Team Tiny because, well, they are toddlers and humans. The "talk" with dad is how we establish accountability. Then we celebrate when they try again the next day. My sweet Madeline is no stranger to these post-school meetings with her father. Myka, however, is a typical baby sibling. She knows how to avoid trouble and usually comes home with a clean report. This mama here is no fool. As the baby of three I too once mastered the art of flying under the radar.

Myka must have been completely guilt-ridden the day she turned her dad's leather-working station into a confessional. None of her teachers mentioned any ill-behavior during pick-up. As far as I knew she had an A+ day an was well on her way to watching a movie on Friday.

"Daddy, I was disobedient today."
"What happened Myks?"
"Ms. Harris told me to put my shoes on when we were playing outside and I didn't."
"Why did you do that, Myks?"
*shrugs and drops her head* "I don't know"
"Well, maybe you can try again tomorrow."

That was that.  James moved on to more crafting with his sweet girl. Her little burden had been lifted. Confession. A call to repentance. Invitation to intimacy. What a heavy load my lil shortie had been carrying all day. She knew where to unload.

"Let us approach the throne of grace with boldness so that we may receive mercy and find grace in time of need." Hebrews 4:16

I am grateful for much. My husband is a gentle daddy who is more mush than machismo. My girls (and I) find compassion, patience and laughter with him when we are at our worst. Myka knew that mercy and forgiveness awaited her and she came boldly to receive it. To know Jesus is to live life with a conscience cleared of sin. It can't haunt us or berate us because in Him it is forgiven and forgotten. There is nothing euphemistic about it. That is just the mystical truth of the covenant that God established with us through the death of His Son.

This should be my litany after a day filled with missed marks.  I often skip over the part where God invites me to climb into His lap and unload the burden of my sin.  The part where He reminds me that I belong to Him. The part where I find understanding, mercy and a clean slate. The part where He, even still, invites me to sit  with Him and join Him in His work. And that's the best part.

15,000 gallons

I need at least 6 months to plan birthday parties and other familial gatherings.  I consider every possible pitfall. I stay 10 steps ahead of Murphy and his wicked laws. I book the numbers, as my dad would say, so that we barely notice a hit to our budget. My aim is Pinterest-perfection with a dash of fun because we all know the children just want cake and an empty box to play with. The actual party is to satisfy the berating voice in this mom's head and fill up the photo album. In November 2017 my girls requested a Minnie Mouse, Pizza - MacnCheese, Pool-Party extravaganza  and the show is on in t-minus 12 hours.   The one pitfall that tripped us up - the mysterious loss of 15,000 gallons of pool water. Dang you Murphy! (*Raises fist of righteous indignation).

For anyone dying to own a home with a pool let me give you a quick peek at the wizard behind the curtain who keeps the pool running. Spoiler alert: He's my husband and he alone keeps Ryobi in business. We are talking hundreds of dollars in pool chemicals, $300 for a new pump after a pipe-busting winter, un-snakable, right-angled pipes that seasoned plumbers won't dare touch. Picture this - my patient and enterprising husband digging up the yard like a gopher in his work clothes in the heat of the day, several days in a row to find THE clog that has eluded him for several weeks...all so that two precious girls can wade and fearlessly dip their chins in the water. The man is a saint,  y'all. The moral of this story? Hoses with sprinkler attachments offer a time honored cheap thrill. Don't sleep on the sweet simplicity.

Once again, James had a week of pool cleaning and prep before him for his "wees" celebration. After filling the pool to the brim he came home from work to find a his oasis turned into a half-empty money pit. On the way home from daycare I broke the news to the girls and explained how much fun the splash pad would be. Just as I finished my pitch, Myka said, "That's ok. Daddy can fix it!" I mean, she has watched him "fix it" all spring and summer. I told her probably not this time and she repeated herself with a big smile on her face.

The girls sat with James...feet dangling above the first exposed step of the shallow end. Water-Schmater, I felt so sad for my man. James battled homeownership and done got beat. He walked into the pool house one last time to solve the mystery. The was no hint of wet grass or a cracked cement. Five minutes passed and I heard him yell, "I did it! It was my fault!" Apparently, after you set the pump to rinse you are supposed to restore it to filter. Essentially, James took the plug out of the drain and forgot.

For anyone dying to know what you do when you lose 15,000 gallons of pool water into the creek behind your house, here is an outline.
1. Laugh. . . scratch your head while frowning and laugh again, from the gut like you mean it
2. Make a giant stack of waffles. No diet food. Full fat and all the sugary syrup
3. Eat your feelings in the form of the aforementioned waffle stack with family while laughing
4. Pray that the water company overlooks your oversight (like for real, pray with us)
5. Calculate the cost of 15,000 gallons of water and then give up because it's confusing and doesn't matter right now.
6. Laugh again because 15,000 is a ridiculous number.
7. Thank God that for the optimism of your child who knew that her "Daddy can fix it!"

Marriage and family life bring about the truth that "It" happens. Whatever it is, it is a lot and ridiculous and inconvenient and costly and maybe it is even your fault but God can fix it. It's not about the problem or the solution. Following Christ is about sure faith in an all-powerful God and the fact that we have a hope that will enter into the inner chamber with Christ interceding for us in the heavenly sanctuary (peep Hebrews 6). My tiny Myka was keeping tabs on her Daddy. She has bold confidence in him. She'd been paying attention to all that He is capable of. She knew his track record would not, could not let her down.  Faith is not meant to be a shaky, impotent, mystical reality it is only logical conclusion for those who choose to believe and pay attention. Thank God for 15,000 more reasons to know that He is good.

With Eager Anticipation

So, sometimes you start again without explanation because there is no other way to begin. Here we are, fingertips becoming reacquainted with keys and mind with heart in the most natural form of expression I know. I have so many words. I know that my daughter earned it honest as each of her stories wildly weaves into another from sun-up to sun-down.  I used to do the same thing. My conversations are long windy roads rather than short thrilling trips. I pick right up where I left of with the ones I love the most and travel a few miles more with them each time we talk. This time I get to pick up with myself. It's like I hung up with Mo, new, exhausted, frenzied mom of 3 years ago (or at least put her on hold) and now I'm all, "I'm sorry, what were you saying?"

"God, I wear a pull-up. Does you wear a pull-up?" was the question Madeline posed during our time of evening family devotion. She and Myka are learning the discipline of patient expectation in the presence of God. James and I read through a Bible story, have them recite a memory verse and then we ask them to offer up prayer requests, personal or for family and friends at preschool. These times, though, a bit disjointed, are precious to me. My Type-A personality demands perfection and maturity from my children while my less neurotic Type-B side is mindful of the presence of toddlers and open to the chaos of it all. In the span of a 30 minutes of devotion fifteen minutes are spent repeating, "sit here", "say this", "shhhhh, I said, shhhhh" which is why I am in awe of how my children embrace the practice of waiting on God to speak. James said, "Ask God something you don't already know" and Madeline submitted her boxer-or-brief inquiry to God concerning pull-ups. James and I covered our mouths and chuckled and the four of us waited with baited breath for God to reply. Ok, maybe the girls were more expectant than James and I who were very amused and curious.

I watched Madeline, laying on her belly, chin in her hands, big brown eager eyes glancing upwards and around the room. She is confident that He is listening. She is ready to hear Him. The first time we attempted this Madeline whispered to herself, "ooooohhhh, I wonder what He is going to say!" It was like she was waiting for Christmas morning to dawn. "What did He say, baby?", I ask. She whispers, "Shhhhh, He hasn't answered yet, mama. Myka is quiet too, as her sister has requested. We sat there, the four of us, on my bed for 15 minutes listening for God to speak to His tiny servant. We sat in uncoerced silence. Madeline took the reigns out of my hands and was leading us to simply wait without anxiety or assumption. I suppose that Madeline listens because she is aware of His presence in a matter-of-fact way with which I have lost touch. Family devotion is more than a schedule of reading, reciting and praying it is a shared time of BEING with God who is just as tangibly present as the rest of team Hoskins. He IS a part of our family. He IS in the room waiting to be acknowledged and she is willing to yield to Him. Silence was broken when Madeline announced that He does, indeed, wear pull-ups. Who knew?

Beyond pull-ups, I have learned a few things about God because Madeline is willing to wait for Him. I learned that His voice is "power" not powerful but that is power itself, according to my sweet girl. I also learned that when she prays for healing of her sick tummy or stuffy nose He tells her that He is going to give it to her. In my austere spirituality I won't even give God 15 seconds to answer me. A minister once preached that we have two-week (not weak) faith because we only give God two weeks to answer us before we abandon Him. Madeline is teaching me how to strengthen my faith and approach His throne with confidence. She is showing me the miraculous gift of eager wonder. He will come, He is here and He WILL answer.

Mommy Said, "No!"

There is nothing relaxing about getting off work anymore. Not a dang thing. Even winding down for bedtime runs a strict stopwatch. With Madeline now 8 almost 9 months (Yowza!) James and I spend our evening switching off wrangle-duty. It's an unspoken rule. Someone cooks the other rocks the kid. Someone cleans and the other keeps her from fatal injury. Ever. Single. Night. Madeline has no idea what a weekend is so we gets no breaks. But it's fun and funny when we allow it to be. This is chaos that we literally created and we love every wild moment.

In the midst of this chaos my sympathy has grown exponentially for my mom. I stole her time and sanity and Madeline reminds me everyday to call her and apologize. (Sorry Mom, again)

My sympathy has also grown for my G-d.

They say that you never truly know someone until you walk a mile in their shoes. I feel like I just laced up and on this new journey I am experiencing G-d's love and patience for me in ways that make want to just repent and say, "Thank you, Lord."

So Madeline has become quite fond of her dad's new PS4.  Who can blame her? She's like a moth to a flame. Her little hands tease us as we watch her decide if she is going to touch it or move on to a parent-approved toy.

"Madeline Sofia, No...Noooo...Don't touch that...Mommy said, 'No'... Maaaaadeline...make good choices", I say. And sometimes she actually does. She stops what she is doing and moves on. These proud parental, my-kid-is-a-obedient-genius moments are fleeting because she is only 8 months old and for the most part this is probably some kind of game to her as her over the shoulder sly smile would indicate.

There are definitely rules to this game. James and I practice patience giving her time to choose well. We don't yell at her but we are firm and we praise her when she pleases us with obedience. We also don't stand guard over things that tempt her. Our home is baby-proofed for safety. The usual baby-gate and baby-plug covers abound and such but it is still our home and we still have our things out. Our hope is that Madeline will come to understand that though some things may be in her reach it doesn't mean that she can have them.

Our set-up makes for some long exasperating moments but we want our daughter to learn obedience.

So the last time we played this "game" I turned to James and laughed. I said, "we must drive the Lord nuts every time we return to sin." I could hear Him saying, "Monique Danye`, No...Noooo...Don't touch that...Your Lord said, 'No'... Moooooonique...make good choices" Sometimes I do listen but when he catches me eyeing temptation with eager hands I wonder if He feels the same exasperation I feel towards my daughter.

I have struggled and continue to struggle (for years) in some of the same areas of sin. It just seems as if it would be easier if the Lord just removed the temptation altogether. Put it on a different shelf or room. Hide it behind a book. Anything to keep it from taunting me. I suppose the reality is G-d desires for me to grow in  trust and obedience in a world that will not shield me from the fact that it is fallen. My obedience is evidence of my heart for Him. I would hope my time with the Lord is more relaxing than my every night with lil Madeline Sofia.

Bottles and Daily Bread

My daughter has a true Hoskin's appetite. The only thing that gets between her and her bottle is congestion. She eats multiple times during the day plus a time or two at night.  I tell that James that she must have a hollow leg (I usually, accidentally say wooden leg) because I have no idea where it all goes. She didn't get that from her mama, that's for sure.

I know when she is hungry even before she realizes it because I am a pretty awesome and attentive mom. So I have her bottle readied with frothy vittles before she can think to whimper. My downfall as a parent is that I never have a bottle ready a week in advance. Not even a day in advance. Parenting fail - I know. 

When I am late for a feeding (sounds so carnal) the girl lets me know. We do not have one of those soft, sweet-cry babies. She screams. She kicks. She is inconsolable. Do not rock, tickle or sing until you have a bottle in hand. All I think is, "I know how you feel, kid."

James and I have spent the past (only) two years of our marriage riding the waves of Hope and Wait. Sometimes excited but many days just feeling like we are being pulled away from security's shore into really choppy, deep, dark water. Because despite my sweet hubs best attempts and hustle he just could not find a job. Doing anything. He humbled himself and was forced to forget the fact that he has a Master's degree and applied for EVERYTHING that came around...almost 2 years of no returned calls or interviews. So.much.fun. So fun because while we waited my car broke down, we had a baby and celebrated with friends and family who were walking through open doors of financial blessing and opportunity. We asked for provision. We trust(ed) God. We waited to be fed. We wanted to know, for certain, that next week there would be provision or at least a clear sign of easier times. But God gave us our daily bread (which we literally prayed for every morning *plug for the 23rd Psalm).

So that sounds cliche, right? Well, living it felt cliche' and very uncomfortable, at times, until I realized that my daughter never screams for a bottle days in advance. I give her what she needs when it's time and she trusts me without any concept of trust. In fact, I doubt that the hunger of next week ever crosses her mind. I want to be like my daughter. Trusting without talking myself into it or having to attend a revival meeting to be reminded of all that He has done and is doing.

So here is the real. Our Hoskins' trio didn't have a Griswold Christmas in a new house like we planned. Although, "watching" Madeline "open" her gifts was the best. We didn't end 2014 with a family trip to Brazil. We still share one car (thank God for Waco "traffic"). We saved well and then watched our savings dwindle as we paid for daycare, repairs, groceries and hospital bills. And it sucked but that's what savings are for. I occasionally reminded G-d that we were getting down to the end and I just wanted to make sure He had not forgotten. Then I relaxed and got to know Him. Trust grew. My heart led my head to the Lord. 

January was the month to kick the job hunt into high gear and March was the month that we would run out. In January, I paid for Madeline's first month of daycare (a new car would be less expensive). God saw it. He never stops seeing. James tearfully dropped off his sweet lil bean and received a call for his first interview in almost 2 years. 2 years, people! There is never a coincidence in the life of a disciple of Jesus. And hope sprung a leaf or pushed us towards shore or you catch my drift. And more opportunity came. Although, it wasn't in the form of a full-time pastorate position and a parsonage in a diverse community so, naturally, we pouted a bit. Oh man, if only we can just stay mature for longer than an hour in quiet time. 

Just this week James called me with news that he was about to get hired for a job for which he didn't even apply and I did not want provision and blessing to find us pouting in the corner. 

You know, I would be plain miserable if Madeline screamed for food a week in advance. I think I would be hurt if she threw down, in disgust, what I worked hard to provide. 

I know that despite my best efforts, joyful tithe giving and overall Christ-like behavior sorrow will find me. I know when I stand uncomfortable and unsure in need G-d will provide. I know when shore is a memory and I am weary G-d will give me rest. I don't want to scream, kick and pout until G-d shows me His hand because then I miss out on all the good stuff with Him. Just being with Him is really so wonderful. Provision will come when it's time; maybe just next week or year but Hope will carry you. Christ will not fail.