Series: Transparency, History and Identity (Part 2)

Subtitle: The most excellent way.

Lord, You're going to win this one. Just don't let me forget a single thing.


O the love that drew salvation's plan!
O the grace that bro't it down to man!
O the mighty gulf that God did span
At Calvary.

The Thursday after my shameful Wednesday when I was found on the floor was one of those "reprieve" Thursdays I've been writing about. It was lighter than I could ever explain, given what had come before and what was coming up. It must be the peace that transcends understanding.

And then Friday, somehow amaze-miraculously, was the day I realised more fully than I ever have that God loves me. Sheesh. Those words will never, never, never capture it.


God loves me.


I went to work in the morning like normal, feeling like it was a normal day, but by the time I split from the boys around 8.20, the above truism had descended on me in a delightfully inescapable way.
(I'm a little annoyed that I can't put it into words but in truth, it's a very good thing I can't put God's love into words. My goodness. His goodness!)


He told me the truth and I believed Him. It was raining rather dismally that day and my left Chuck has a hole the size of a quarter in the bottom of it. As I neared Zehrs while en route to Work B, the Lord said that yes, He would buy me socks today. ("Go ahead," He said, like a kind dad.) So I didn't have to sit in soaked socks or no socks, He said it was OK for me to go buy some dry ones on this rainy day when I learned that He loved me. (No rocks or snakes for this daughter!)


I found the socks (higher quality and softcomfier than expected for so small a price--thanks, Dad!) and then having read just the right email somewhere near the fabric softener aisle, I doubled back to the entrance of the store where the floral department is. When I had come in, I felt like I noticed their blooms for the first time. They sure are colorful and pretty. They look like LIFE.

I thought, on the day when I have a fantastic Father who loves me (and I know it!), it might be sweet if He bought me flowers. (But I just lost my job, I reminded myself. So it will be the thought that counts.)

But the email so reeked of you-are-loved-ness that I was convinced I could make an exception. Rather: I was informed that my Dad would take care of it. It was His treat.

I was going to get a single stem because as far as I remember those will only cost two or three dollars. The only single I saw was a funky-looking rose (the petals had clearly been multicoloredly dyed) but it was bright and pretty enough that I thought I might take it. I asked about the price and when I realised it was comparable to an entire bouquet of some of the others, I decided my budget had been increased. Get something you'll really like, He nudged.

The florist asked me what the occasion was. I'm not sure if it would have been better or right for me to say, "my Heavenly Father is buying them for me as a visual token of His immense love for me," but I didn't say it. (Yes, it probably would have made me look foolish or mentally unstable but is that so big a loss, given the potential gain?) I replied, "I want something to brighten up my office," because that is also true.

The florist suggests the mini carnations because apparently they last the longest of the options before me. OK, sure. You better believe I picked the pinkest pink carnations of the lot. He suggested a softer pink and a peach-ish color but I insisted on the rockstar-vibrant pink. BECAUSE, COME ON.

He wrapped them up, rang in the socks, my Dad paid and I left.

And I beamed. I beamed the whole way up the road to Work B. I cradled the flowers like they were precious and given to me by someone I held in high regard. I cradled those flowers like I knew what they meant. [Watch how people hold flowers. It tells you so much. The obligated boyfriend often holds by the stems, blooms-down, and swings them unconcernedly like they're a tennis bag.] I might have skipped... I don't remember. I don't remember feeling the ground under my feet, anyways.



I got to work and I walked straight to my good friend's office and said, "Guess who loves me," still smiling like an idiot. He guesses correctly and I lean in, eyes-bugged, when I say, "YEAH," like it's profound and mysterious.

"And how does that make you feel?" he follows up, more promptly than I anticipated.

(I don't actually know how I feel so I just describe the outward bits.) I told him about the doofy grin, the skipping, the flowers.

He drops back in his chair like a sort of "well I'll be" slump as a faint smile appears and I can see his eyes are glistening slightly. He intimates something like, "I'm very happy for you," in a familiar, affectionate tone and I read that it's the complete opposite of trite. It seems like all he ever wants to do is push me to know the Lord better and love Him more. This was a big day and we both knew it.

"It's a thing," I pronounce, allowing my hushed, straight tone and the hyper-simplicity of the phrase to disclose my awe.

"It is a thing," he replies, back in teacher mode. "In fact it is the single greatest thing in all the universe." I nod along, enjoying the emphatic language and feeling something like relief that he is prepared for this conversation. I didn't have to explain anything.

I admitted that it seemed like the first day in all of my Christian walk that I really, truly got it. I now understood why this truism could be uttered to a brother or sister who was at a low point. I now understood that being loved by God is NOT cheap ointment! (But neither is it worth uttering exclusively at low points. Seems like the kind of thing one bites one's tongue to refrain from shouting at any point in a day.)

Then the next day was this day. I'm starting to really learn about God's sovereignty as I struggle to navigate incredibly polar ups and downs that can be consecutive days, hours or thoughts.


There was quite a bit more I wanted to write about in this installment but apparently God's love is doing that thing where it crowds everything else out. What a hog. (All other things I could write or wanted to write now seem impossibly unimportant or uninteresting.)


Mercy there was great and grace was free,
Pardon there was multiplied to me,
There my burdened soul found liberty--
At Calvary.

(aserial blip)

I wrote the Prologue on Tuesday evening and during the rest of my trek home, through dinner and until I was in my pyjamas, the phantom feeling mentioned in the post grew more and more intense. I sat on my bed cross-legged and squeezed a pillow as tightly as I could. The sensation was so real and so reminiscent that it made me cry. I was re-experiencing poignant helplessness so vividly that I became more than overwhelmed with frustration.

Weight. On my way home, I pass the house of friends who live on my street and I contemplate stopping in only to get a hug. Hugs seem to be the potent antidote these days, however temporary. I didn't stop in because I didn't feel like talking. They know my context; I just didn't want to talk that day.

Reprieve. But not twenty minutes later, one of said friends sends me a text-message saying she had just popped something into my mailbox. And if hugs could be written in cards, that's what I went downstairs and found.

Weight. The next day at work I felt all over the place. The exposure feeling still lingered and my work day looked like it stretched to the horizon. If I could have, I would have gone home. Staff meeting was rather fun at first and then when a sensitive topic came up, when my boss enlightened the staff on my recent [differentness] while I've been sorting and struggling, I took a nosedive. (He did nothing wrong; I just responded weirdly.) When the meeting was finished, I just wanted to lie still in the dark for a while, but I jumped into work (which was actually probably the better choice at the time).

Reprieve. A little while later while I was preparing my lunch, one of my coworkers came and found me and, seeing a safe someone advance, I had to really fight the impulse to initiate a wordless hug.  He tells me he wants to run over a few things work-related, holding out the paper I'd submitted during staff meeting, but then surprises me by saying, "But first, can I just give you a hug?" A warm smile explodes onto my face. Of course you can, you fantastic teddy bear.  Of course I will take a hug from you, right now, while I'm microwaving last night's leftovers.

Weight. And in the afternoon, I'm in my boss' office, feeling vacant and low, describing my inner whirlwind and explaining over and over that I don't know what to say. I wished I could say everything. I hated being there like that and I hated that I couldn't stay.

Reprieve. My other coworker returns to the office, five-month-old cutester in tow. Hearing coos, I whip round and utter, "baby," with the same abruptness and single focus as the dog in Up (2009) exclaims, "Squirrel!" Boss asked for the coworker, which meant I was on baby duty. Yes, I was. I crouched in front of the carrier and grinned freely. And for the first time, little D grinned back! Oh, he even laughed. I took that as an invitation to friendship. So he came out of the carrier and I one-hipped him while one-handedly doing my work. He was drowsy and over-stimulated by new surroundings enough that for the first ten minutes, his warm, soft, smelling-like-a-baby, sweet head was rested against my face. And then as he grew more energised, we played and chatted and when all my work was done, we just hung out in the lounge. Me, I didn't know that playdate was exactly what I needed, and I was beside-myself-amazed as I kept re-realising that the Lord knew it entirely.

Sovereign Lord, you alone know! Ah.

Series: Transparency, History and Identity (Part 1)

Subtitle: O for a thousand hands to write my Great Redeemer's Praise, the glories of my God and King, the triumphs of His Grace.

Just over three weeks ago, the Lord inaugurated the final stages of a decade-long war. That would make this season of my life the Battle of the Bulge.*

*By this, I mean a battle the Enemy started after he knew he had ultimately lost the War. Inane and a gratuitous waste of soldiers' lives. Childish and proud on the Enemy's part. (Satan knows Jesus is ultimately victorious but he still throws in everything he can during this last skirmish, these light and momentary troubles. Click the hyperlink for the historical parallel.)

His love endures forever.

Over the past year or so I have been battling with a destructive, addictive habit that I was using to cope with some suppressed trauma. Lucid enough in a moment to realise I didn't really want the addiction, I reached out to a dear friend for help. My accountability was forever changed and my conscience found it more and more difficult to check out when I engaged or considered engaging the habit.

His love endures forever.

The struggle continued for months and seemed to improve when I made an accountability move of my own. 

His love endures forever.

But then three-and-a-half weeks ago, I found a loophole.

His love endures forever.

And I ratted myself out!

His love endures forever.

I appeared to have borrowed my friend's conviction because he was surer than I was that I needed to stop. I confessed the final time and he was gracious as ever. But this time, I was told, would be the last time before I would need to get professional help. OK, friend. I hear you.

His love endures forever.

Four days later I found an even more creative loophole but this time I engaged the habit in public, at work, in my very own office.

His love endures forever.

His love endures forever.

My friend found me sitting in my shame and pain, and invited me to get up (both literally and figuratively). The part of me that wanted intervention had finally grown to 51% and tipped the scales. That was the day the connection between ten years' baggage and one year of harmful behavior became impossible to deny.

His love endures forever.

Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good.

Series: Transparency, History and Identity (Prologue)

Subtitle: Everyone can see!

I swear they can. Forgetting my coat at home today, I improvised at work so I have a fleece on top of a t-shirt on top of a hoodie on top of a t-shirt. Even still...everyone can see.

Everyone can see my parts and I can feel the phantom unauthorised hands of my past.

I wish I could get them off me. Just like before, I feel helpless to make it stop. And everyone can see.

Four layers of clothing and I'm still as degraded and exposed as I should be. This feeling, it resonates with my not having the right to protect myself. We protect what warrants preserving or keeping from harm.

(Is that me? Am I her? Am I good enough to be worth protecting?)

And strangely enough, when I fold my arms up over my chest, it feels worse. I'm so sensitive and tender that even my own attempt to conceal feels like unwanted touch.

Yes, this is really me / my real life and yes, I am being literal. I physically feel it in my body as I type and wait for my ride home.

And this morning I'm sitting in the arm chair (where I very seldom sit) because when I curl up in it I feel like I'm being held.

I like curling up in this big, soft chair because it is cozy and nestle-some.

I did it yesterday just for a change from my usual spot and couldn't believe how good it felt to just cuddle up. I dozed a bit while the boys played hockey.

It might sound silly but I focussed my imagination on sitting in my Heavenly Father's lap. He's a nice Guy and I'm His daughter. I sat there and I felt OK. I tried to imagine His big arms around me. (Maybe I imagined Him too much like an orangutan because His arms could go all the way round.)

I wanted to sit there for a long time or until everything was fixed--whichever came first.

And you, Friday, what shall you bring?

"Even so," Lord Jesus.

When I was younger, I considered any more than zero errors on a spelling test unacceptable.

(It would still be unacceptable now, I just don't sit spelling tests anymore. The pictured sheet belongs to B.)

What a funny day.

The last three Thursdays of my life have been distinct reprieves from every other day in the week and I feel rather grateful. It's like the day Bob Hope came over to entertain the troops. It's the day of such levity set against such trudgery that it's hard to describe. It's a gift and I thank God for it. Today, after lunch with colleagues and during my umpteenth roaring laugh, a lightbulb went on as I noticed the trend. I remarked to my coworker that this was the third light Thursday in a row (we have spent the last two being silly and doing non-work work, i.e. life work), my face bright with the realisation. He smiles and nods in agreement. "They're so mirthful," I chirped.

But only yesterday was I sitting at my desk around 6pm, feeling so overwhelmed I was paralysed. I tried to half-pray and as "I don't know what to do..." came out, I started getting choked up. It was only yesterday that I sat under some intense rebuke and conviction for what felt like an hour, my head hung low, eye-contact impossible, defence non-existant. It was only yesterday that I was swatting away despair that settled every time I was alone for more than ten minutes. Only yesterday was I too sad to eat and only yesterday did I have to heart-wrenchingly beg forgiveness from a dear friend. It was also yesterday that I felt deep, angry frustration with myself because I hadn't been able to do physio for two days. That's just Wednesday. Each day has its own heaviness and struggle.

Last week I had some invasive surgery (identity re-alignment) and recovery has been rough. I'm in physio and I should have cones around my wrists so I can't tear my bandages off. I'm hurting. I've been hurt. This is hard. But God is good. In fact, He's great. 

I look forward to writing all about it on this here blog.

-- 

I wonder about the future. I wonder if I will get my next big life decision right. I wonder many, many things.

But I trust in your unfailing love; my heart rejoices in your salvation.

I will sing to the Lord for he has been good to me.

Jehovah-jireh

Jehovah-jireh,

Jehovah-jireh.

Sometimes I really like broken things.

I seem to like it when things fall apart or get ruined. Then I can see what I can do to put it back together or use it to the best of its new capacity.

These bandages are more cheaply made than I realised. When I tore this one from its perforated twin, I ripped the packaging. No problem.

And the bandage itself is still functional. But it reminded me that I really enjoy patching, salvaging, repairing, and let me see what I can do-ing.

I like getting things to work or to serve a good purpose. And I often find I enjoy them more in their fixed-up state. Renewed. Not useless. Ready for more.

A double, abbreviated "2B".

It seems like today is a two-blogger day.

No one set my alarm so I had a lie-in until around 8.30.

No one told me to get out of bed so I checked email and blogged til just before 10.

No one told me to be quiet or disobedient so I loudly sang worship songs to the Lord of Heaven and Earth as I got ready to enter the day.

[Heavily featured? "Hallelujah to my King", "O Come, O Come Emmanuel" and "Shackles (Praise You)".]

No one told me to be chintzy so I indeed spoiled myself at the farmer's market, as per the request of a friend who had given me money to facilitate a do-what-energises-you Saturday.

No one told me to hide it under a bushel so as I walked about, my face smiled and smiled and smiled--loudly. (I'm loved.)

No one blocked my path so the spoiling continued at my favorite coffee shop.

I wrote and read and wrote and reflected and read (and now I'm finished the Book of Jeremiah!) and listened to Vivaldi and wiggled my toes in delight with the coffee and wrote some more. I spaced (that's a good thing), meditated and considered.

No one said life with Jesus was pain-free so I experienced something like panic, despair and a heavy heart as I tried to delve deeper into the underlying issues of the un-happy Wednesday mentioned in this morning's blog post. I tried to give up. I tried to back off the cusp over which the Lord is leading me to His Better Life--in His Timing!. Then, at just the right time, He sent through a human agent just enough encouragement for me to want to get back in the saddle.

This is going to be so hard.

No one told me to half-ass my job so I went in to work to settle some final details before service tomorrow. (Going in on a Saturday afternoon at the cost of Thursday's fireworksversation is no-brainerly worth it.)

No one told me to limit how often I worship in song so I did that more than I practised, tested new orchestration and reprinted/re-bindered music in new keys. It was a good time. I usually hate going in on Saturdays because I feel the weight of how I should have been able to get all my work done on the weekdays. But today was just right. Anything to take the pressure off of Sunday morning.

No one told me to eat out all the time so I picked up some groceries and headed home. I've eaten dinner, washed up and am now finishing the blog post. The night is young. I have a few things to do today yet but it's been a good day. I feel heavy like something horrible is coming. And maybe it is. (Or maybe I'm tired.) We shall see.

Oh, how great the kindness our God has shown:

we were strangers; now we're called His own.

His grace has welcomed the sinner home;

tender mercies lead us to the throne.

Hallelujah, what a Savior;

I owe everything to Him.

Hallelujah, what a Savior;

Hallelujah to my King!

[This whole song is perfect but as I have been mobbed by His kindness in a millionteen ways the past couple weeks, that word/trait in the second verse here just grips me and drives me to gratitudinal worship.]

O come, o come Emmanuel

and ransom captive Israel

that mourns in lonely exile here

until the Son of God appear.

Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel.

[This song was NEW and PROFOUND to me this morning. We've all been longing and then He showed up. Boom.]

In the corners of my mind 

I just can't seem to find

a reason to believe that I can break free.

I've been down for so long; 

feels like all hope is gone

But as I lift my hands 

I understand that I should

praise You through my circumstance.

Take these shackles off my feet so I can dance;

I just wanna praise You,

I just wanna praise You.

You broke the chains now I can lift my hands

and I'm gonna praise You;

I'm just gonna praise You.

I might forget everything else my pastor says but today I purposefully wore these earrings because I will always associate cupcakes with eternal life, that free gift found in Jesus alone.

I can't believe I love the kids this much. This is absurd.

This is out of surdity.

Like, really? The things I do, the things I want to do for them, the way they are always in my mind and I want to work my day, week, life to accomodate them? Sigh.

Thursday morning I mad slept in. I turned off my alarm in my sleep but I also reached my limit of being able to turn a long day on six hours' rest.

Later in the day I became even more grateful that I had slept in because I didn't have the same death blanket of mental fatigue and hold-backery I have had for a while.

Thursday afternoon I had the most glorious conversation of good... I don't think I can really type it. It was kicked off by a simple-ish observation ("you seem happy") and I seemed to make a choice to answer without too much planning. In fact, what I did was answer without assuming there wouldn't be enough time or attention span for me to say all of what I wanted to say. That is a rare.

And, when I was about halfway through what I thought my reply would be, my counterpart got a phone call which I honestly thought was perfectly fitting.

I left happily and attacked my workload with more energy than I've had in a while. My boss came and found me after his call even though he didn't have to, which I thought was funny. 

I get up from my post and follow to his office like he has summoned me by pulling rank.

I explain the rest (actually the crux) of why I was happy to an incredibly attentive listener. He understands beyond what I have said and mirrors my happiness AND my joy. (Our joy is in the same risen Christ who bought us and is rebuilding us.)

The happy-ness, you see, was set against a drastically different, un-happy Wednesday. Wednesday had been VERY low and my boss had seen the worst of it. A struggle that usually finds me at home, after nightfall, alone, broken down, and dissociative had come to my office. It was in public, it was day time and it was discovered.

It was horrible and embarassing. I felt like I had to do it. But on some level I must have wanted it to be exposed (once and for all?) in a place where I thought I could be safe or get an intervention.

So Wednesday was rough but I got some help. I got some profoundly helpful help, in the Lord's providence.

On Thursday, the bulk of my happy-ness was in smelling change on the horizon.

My boss (code: Dear Friend) and I speak freely and joy-filledly for a long time. I had my shoes off and my feet up. He didn't look at his watch until I asked what time it was because I needed to leave for work. I don't know how long I was there and I didn't care that I was increasing Friday's (and possibly Saturday's) workload to stay.

When I had to go, it wasn't too soon or too abrupt like it often is. His parting words reminded me of O Church, Arise by Keith and Kristyn Getty. [Only as I type this do I notice the neat connection between the title of this song and my Wednesday where my boss invited me to get up, both literally and figuratively because I needed to not sit where I was.]

So, I typed out half the third verse and sent it as a text-message.

Come see the Cross where love and mercy meet

as the Son of God is stricken.

Then see His foes lie crushed beneath His feet

for the Conqueror has risen!

The parting words were a reminder of Who is victorious. And it's true. Jesus did it. Jesus paid it all. It is finished.

[He] forgave the iniquity of [His] people and covered all [their] sins.

My boss replied with an easy amen and like of the song. Then a lightbulb went on in my head and I textfully observed, "Ha. You and I just had a worship service in your office!"

And only after I wrote it did I realise that indeed there were worship songs played and the reading of Scripture. Initially I was only thinking of the nature of the conversation and how the two of us had practically spent a couple hours oohing and aahing like God's goodness was a world-class fireworks display. But my Getty text must have felt like a closing hymn that made all the other pieces appear obvious as elements in the "service".

What a day. What a privilege. What a God.

Selah

it's often paired with mustard.

Last Tuesday I went to visit the boys at their house. I had been given the street address ten days before in the same text where I was given the news I didn't have a job.

On Monday night I dreamed I had gone there and I woke up with all the determination of a half-awake, emotionally high-strung idealist to see it through. Told a friend about it and he urged me to go. He told me to bring a gift (like baked goods) and to go without an agenda. He told me to go and simply tell the kids I'd been thinking of them and ask how school was going. Don't angle for an invitation inside or a chat with the dad, he told me.

I was so nervous. But even at the time I knew I would rather be nervous than under crushing sadness. I hoped that seeing the kids just once more would alleviate some of the pain.

And so it did. I knocked and when S (their dad) came to the door, hollered my name as a greeting, but kinda looked at me blankly, I smiled and told him, "I just came to say hi." It hadn't occurred to me until that moment that I've never shown up unexpected and therefore never needed to declare the purpose of a visit.

He told me to come on in so I did. They were just finishing dinner. I sat at the bottom of the stairs and listened and chatted and observed what I could. I believe my face wore a perma-smile the whole time. I was just so happy to see them. And I was genuinely happy to see they were getting along fine without me. 

S was emotionally and socially closed off from me. He didn't look at me much, engaged the kids in conversation more than he did me and busied himself with housework for the first twenty minutes I was there. It was strange and after about fifteen minutes I wanted to get up and go, simply to avoid overstaying my welcome or coming off presumptuous. (I had no right to be there.)

The boys were a little closed at first but.. warmed up after about forty-five seconds. Then they were showing me their new rooms and shoes and shirts and height and whatever else. I was delighted to find their little hearts weren't closed off to me.

S went out for a cigarette and I chatted very comfortably and lovingly with the boys. It was very nice to be back. B hugged me several times.

I finally walked out and after S made the kids (who had followed me) go back inside the house, he turned and said, "Well, this is awkward. Hi," followed by an uncomfortable laugh. Ah. Not closed anymore.

We talked and he apologised profusely. (At this point, two weeks later, I wonder if I said, "it's OK," too many times. I wish I had said, "I forgive you," because the other statement is actually inaccurate.)

The conversation was surreal because, well, there had been an upsetting and difficult change in my life and I was talking to the messenger. (To the precipitator?) I wanted to be amiable... I wanted to be genuine... I don't know what I wanted. I let him talk, I answered his questions and I gave some helpful information regarding the Fall ball hockey league for which the boys were registered.

When I learned that he works super late on ball hockey nights, I saw an opportunity. 

"Sooooo, if you finish [work] at 6.30 and B's game is at 6.45..." 

I left a pause for him to do the math and guess where I was going.

"Can I come aaaaand scoop them up [I made a scooping motion with my hands without thinking about it] on Thursdays and bring them to Crestwicke?"

My face was beaming and I don't fully know why. The whole visit....

I should have stormed in and pointed an accusatory finger in his face. I should have told him how betrayed and used I felt. I should have demanded my back-pay. I should have demanded two weeks' notice. But... I couldn't find an ounce of upsetness to hold on to.

I was beaming because my life isn't bound up in this job. I love these kids but Jesus is still Lord of all. He's just the Guy that makes good things. I can't explain it.

I told him he didn't have to answer me right away but that I just figured I would ask. I didn't want to pressure him. I didn't realise how much I was rambling until I stopped.. Well, it's less rambling and more "making my case", as I think of it. As I was speaking, his face filled with emotion. It looked like he was imagining the reaction I was entitled to have and that not only was I not tearing a strip off him but I was asking if I could give more. (When I eventually left, I practically danced my way home at the prospect of being able to be a picture of grace like that.) After I rambled, he said simply and quietly, "Deal."

My arms shot up in the air. "Realleee??" I squealed. His face changed from that humbled/drawn/sombre thing with his eyes trained on me, scrutinizing for sincerity into a slight eye-roll and smile of "you are ridiculous".  I have seen that smile a few times. His face became a little more flushed but he appeared to have physically relaxed under some kind of relief.

We talked a little more and we hugged (which actually felt sincere going both ways, which I can't explain...I think it was a mutual "I missed you" and "I want this to work" kind of thing) and I left.  It was good. As I walked ("walked"...I think I bounce-floated) home, I was overwhelmed by gratitude that I was going to have an ongoing connection with the kids.  It would be a few hours one evening per week for about twelve weeks but I don't know what comes next.  I am grateful.  It's far less than it was but it's certainly more than nothing so I was happy to accept.  Really happy.  I later sent the dad a text-message saying, "Just so you know, your kids are going to be ridiculously spoiled every Thursday from now on."


---

As of today, three Tuesdays later, I've actually been back to work with full duties with the kids since last Monday.  Only two days after my initial visit I rang their father and made my case.

I asked him if - in the case that money didn't matter - he would still have me.  I told him how I missed the kids; I told him how I had planned to be there until they didn't need me, not until he couldn't afford me.  I told him I would still be looking for work and if something came up that would conflict with time with the boys, I would probably take it and transition out of full duties as smoothly as I could.

I reminded him that my toppest priority has always been the boys' welfare.  I asked if I could come back pro bono. [I like using that term here because it works in both the literal translation (for good), and the colloquial usage (for free).] He eventually relented. He seemed largely stunned, I gathered from the silence on the other end of the line.  He said if he were in my position he would be angry.  "But for some reason you just..." and he didn't seem to know how to finish the thought.

When he said yes, I pseudo-panicked because my commitment had instantly become REAL. So I asked for a few days to think about it.  Then, as I thought the Lord confirmed it, I went ahead and confirmed my choice and showed up Monday morning.

It has been bumpy.  It has been joyous.  It's difficult and weird but it's good (I think).



Ah, Sovereign Lord.  You alone know.