Sometimes the sermon isn’t scratching where it’s itching. It was on marriage and keeping up the “puppy love” and such, and I looked at the trees dancing in the wind out the window. It’s not that we’ve arrived when it comes to blissful matrimony, but it’s that we’re learning something else right now. We’re learning about suffering and dying to self and having faith that the Lord provides when the bills stack up high. And as it goes in the upside-down world of faith, we’re quite close, quite one.
We have to stare down a startling set of facts at present; the reality that this week we need to pay a bill for $1,800 for prenatal care. Our tenant just moved out after not paying rent for four months, leaving us $4,000 short. School taxes are due, which add a few more thousand. We don’t have the sorts of margins in our accounts to absorb these figures.
Puppy love is the last thing I’m thinking about. But money can’t be the first thing either.
I lifted Henrik up and out of his crib. He was still asleep, his bum sticking up in the air, his little feet crossed, his cheek smooshed into the mattress. As I lifted him, his legs squinched-up and his back arched in that way that the littlest of babies do when they’re picked up asleep. It undoes me every time. Cradling him close I carried him down the stairs, making sure of each step, because I never know when a Lego piece or a stray shoe could send me flying.
Henrik is bringing me my gloves as I type this. He’s wearing these fuzzy blue fleece footie pajamas and a wool hat I made for him out of a thrifted sweater. He’s gloriously cute. All that blue makes his blue eyes radiant in the soft morning light. Sometimes, when you can see the tsunami wave coming, it feels like God comes alongside and shows you some exquisite shells on the beach. Um, God, shouldn’t we be running or something?
“I have told you all this so that you may have peace in me. Here on earth you will have many trials and sorrows. But take heart, because I have overcome the world.” -John 16:33
The morning light is growing stronger, bold rays catching on the rungs of the dining room chairs, and wave or no wave, the laundry needs to be started. Yes, God, I’ll keep walking with You, and I’ll keep noticing and appreciating the glory You pepper everywhere. I’ll slip my hand into Your scarred one and trust that when the wave hits at least I’m not alone. Never alone.