The eve of a miracle

I know exactly how I felt 23 years ago, tonight.  I had worked a 10 hour day at two of my three jobs, had treated myself to a lunch of curried vegetables at my favorite Ethiopian restaurant, and had gotten disappointing news at the Ob/Gyn.  A night before my due date there were no signs of progress and I had scheduled a stress test for the following week.  The thought of  inducing labor frightened me. 

I called and talked to my midwife, prayed and felt a little more reassured.  I made plans to attend a political rally the following day,  a cause for which I was not yet passionate.  My motivation was social, I am ashamed to admit. The weather was ominous and a blizzard was predicted (and materialized).  The air escaping through the cracks of the poorly insulated windows whistled in the one “room” basement I rented for $120 a month and shared with a hair salon and washer/dryer. I could feel the sub zero breeze and hoped it would help to dilute the smell of permanent solution and the evidence that my landlord's well nourished baby.  She had a conviction about using only cloth diapers, and my thoughts were not of  a landfill or her baby's precious bottom; but of what filled the diaper in the bottom of the diaper pail next to the washer (also kept in that room). It was an unfortunate time to have my sense of smell heightened. 

Unsettled, discouraged, and exhausted, I opened my Bible to the chapter I had been struggling over for months.  Although I had read the New Testament and various books of the Bible over the years, someone had suggested to me that when times were tough, she likened her journey to the sojourn of the Israelites crossing the desert.  From that suggestion, I had decided that I would read the Bible from start to finish and had only gotten as far as Deuteronomy before I just had to stop.  I am not a fan of construction or rules.  All the “cubits” and “shall nots” wearied me. 

But 23 years ago tonight, I determined to read through Deuteronomy or fall asleep - whichever came first.  At about midnight, I finally finished that book and started the first chapter of Joshua.  Then I went to sleep.  At 2:43 a.m. I dreamed I was getting a phone call. I woke up and discovered I was reaching for the phone on the nightstand next to my thin twin sized mattress.  I sat up in bed and my water broke.  Exactly 12 hours later at 2:43 p.m. I became a mother (although it can  be argued that I was already a mother for 9 months. That has been an argument this circumstance of my life has led me to have from time to time; though I never relish the discussion). 

My life has never been the same.  I have never regretted for even a second the gift of Joshuah, or the blessing of motherhood; though I would be lying if I downplayed the challenges of the process or practice of becoming and living as a single mother.

Tonight, in many ways, I feel just as unsettled and discouraged. I am equally exhausted - not as it was then, because my boundless youthful energy has been expended beyond the average person’s supplies - but because my limited supplies are being drained by challenges beyond the average 45 year old white American upper middle class person’s tolerance level. As I write that sentence, I recognize another drain to my energy that was not part of the equation when I was 22.  In those days I did not understand the finite nature of time, the risks of childbirth, the limits of the body, the realities of financial hardship, nor the senseless suffering experienced all over the world.  As I remember, there was little time for self pity in those days. 

I have learned in the school of hard knocks that opportunity knocks hard on the door of our expectations some times. And it almost always feels like a thump on the head.  Tonight the issue is a house we had our hopes set on buying and were literally in the last day of closing escrow when we got a GIANT answer to prayer.  It was not the answer we were asking for; but then God is not a genie in a Bible. He does not always tell us what we want to hear.  Sometimes he just says “NO!”.  And it is OUR responsibility to trust that his big “NO!” is only a step away from an even bigger “YES!”. 

So tonight, as 23 years ago, I will do that which comforts me until I can fall asleep.  I will fight discouragement that grows in the gap between disappointment and making other plans.  I will erase the tapes I have run in my head of what life would be like in THIS house and reset my clock on how much longer we will need to wait for relief from this sub standard apt living.

Like 23 years ago, experts are eager to tell me there is no sign of anything happening. But like 23 years ago, there may be a miracle of unsurpassed joy just beyond my dreams of the ordinary every day activities.  When patience grows dim, all I must do is look at my beautiful, healthy, talented, kind hearted, witty, intelligent, charming, artistic son; and know that whatever is next is worth waiting for. And Whoever is responsible for whatever is next, is trustworthy - and must love me far beyond what I feel worthy to receive.  As I wait for the house, I will cherish the home, and bless the day that started the family who makes life all worth the effort.  Happy birthday, Joshuah!