Bright hope for tomorrow

Well, hello! We're still here. Still unemployed, no miracles yet, but perhaps around the next corner? Because miracles happen every day, don't they. I need to hold tight to that truth.

It's been a busy week. A family member, neighbor, and friend's daughter were all in the hospital (one is home now, thank goodness--and another expected to return home tomorrow) so that added some distraction, as did the holiday, plus the fact that suddenly my husband is home and we're tripping over each other much of the day. And fighting over the computer. Did I mention we have only one computer? Yup. We have another, which was brand new about 15 years ago; it has remained in its giant black zipper case even though I long for a second machine. I suspect that archaic machine will not fulfill my longing.

Other than that, and the ridiculously cold weather, everything is fine. Really. I love Christmas in July. I adore wearing sweatshirts on Independence Day. Isn't that normal? I'll bet our ancestors wore heavy overcoats and shawls as they shivered their way to the first American celebrations, right? Sure they did.

Honestly, we're pretty good, all things considered. In spite of it all, we are richly blessed. I hate the waiting, the not-knowing, but I suppose my very hatred of it should tell me that's an area where I need work. And I've actually gotten back on the horse and sent some resumes into the abyss of a dismal workforce. Again, miracles happen every day. They do.

So, that's why I haven't been around. Just a few short weeks ago, I was mentally composing a blog entry that would explain how I needed to take a break so I could dig in and actually write the great American novel I've been toting in my head for a couple of decades now... and suddenly, I'm barely able to filch a minute or two between the massive two-person job search to even drop a "hello, I'm still alive" post. Sad, isn't it?

Yet, we have enough for today. That's all we need. I saw on the side of a church van these words: "Jesus--strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow." A line from one of my favorite all-time hymns, "Great Is Thy Faithfulness." I've been singing that one frequently of late. And happily, He has been faithful, just as the song says.

You can sing it with me, if you'd like. It's practically guaranteed to give you a warm feeling in your heart. At least it does me.

Great is Thy faithfulness, O God my Father;
There is no shadow of turning with Thee;
Thou changest not, Thy compassions, they fail not;
As Thou hast been, Thou forever will be.

Refrain
Great is Thy faithfulness!
Great is Thy faithfulness!
Morning by morning new mercies I see.
All I have needed Thy hand hath provided;
Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord, unto me!

Summer and winter and springtime and harvest,
Sun, moon and stars in their courses above
Join with all nature in manifold witness
To Thy great faithfulness, mercy and love.

Refrain

Pardon for sin and a peace that endureth
Thine own dear presence to cheer and to guide;
Strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow,
Blessings all mine, with ten thousand beside!

Refrain

Good news and—once again—perspective

This past week has been an odd one. Mostly good, some bad, but definitely somewhat odd.

I shouldn't downplay the mostly good part, because it is quite good indeed. Make sure you're sitting down: Okay. Ready? Todd found a job! He started today. Isn't that a miracle all by itself? In this stinky economy, my dear hubby managed to land a job at the very first company to which he sent his post-layoff resume. It's been a long few weeks, but upon re-examination, I can see God's hand in much of what's occurred here recently. I still don't know all the whys of what's happened, but I feel pretty certain that this new employer is exactly where Todd needs to be right now.

So hallelujah, we are very grateful!

And on a completely different note, I was still quietly celebrating my husband's new job on Saturday morning as I dressed in my best, made certain the boy didn't have chocolate on his face, and drove the two of us to a nearby funeral home--to pay respects to a friend who'd just lost her husband.

There we stood in a crowded throng of mourners; while one part of me deep in my soul was still singing "tra-la-la, thank you Lord," the bigger public part of me was embracing this woman whose world has fallen in around her and her young sons. A woman who, just a few days ago, was probably feeling pretty normal. A woman who has such a bigger obstacle than no job.

It was a strange experience, to have my huge concern first solved, then completely dwarfed in the face of a genuine catastrophe. Our very real problem suddenly feels a bit like a persistent hiccup when it's juxtaposed with a life-altering tragedy.

What have I learned through this experience? Hmmmmm. I'm still learning. Mostly, I think I need to consider my blessings instead of my losses, and praise God more. I need to remember that there are no guarantees; each time I see someone, it may be the last time. I need to remember that this place, this fallen world, is a temporary home and perhaps I shouldn't even unpack my bags, really.

Does anyone else out there recall the TV show Hill Street Blues? "Let's be careful out there." And while we're at it, let's be thankful and caring out there.

The solace of a stranger

Let me begin by telling you that I’m not a big weeper, nor a terribly dramatic person—at least I don’t think so, and I’ve been told by many that I am not.

For obvious looming-healthcare-timeline reasons, the weeks surrounding Todd’s layoff have been, and continue to be, rife with appointments: check-ups, dental cleanings, routine tests, etc. This morning was a bit more challenging than most because it began with a well-child visit for my son—who needed no fewer than five immunizations. That’s right, five. Ouchie.

The kid and I met with the doctor first, and since he’s a great fellow whom we know from church, we ended up talking about the upsetting subject of life and its current challenges,. And then, to further push me over the brink of emotionality, we suffered through the horrific occasion of multiple shots in my son’s arms, me blinking back my own tears as his ran freely (although, truly, he was very brave). And then, several cool band-aids and stickers later, we emerged from the doc’s office, so I could hurry home, leave my red-eyed boy with Daddy, and depart quickly for my dentist appointment. Oh, joy.

(My dentist and all his assistants are lovely people, gentle, friendly, never rough or insensitive to the patient’s discomfort. And I appreciate that, because I don’t know anyone whose pulse doesn’t quicken at least slightly when he sits down in the magic rising chair and entrusts his mouth to someone else. It’s unnerving. And I’m no cryer, but I am a bit of a pansy about the dentist.)

So, on that roller-coaster morning, I was already a tad shaky as I sat down in the big reclining seat, and the poor well-intentioned hygienist asked me how things were going. In retrospect, I am increasingly certain she was asking about the state of my teeth, not my life. And yet—she got the lowdown on my life right now. And she was the picture of concern and kindness. She didn’t assume any overly involved tones, or pry, or ask hot-button questions that would set me off. But she addressed what I had shared; she spoke honestly and with sincerity. Mostly, she just listened and cared. Or convincingly gave the impression that she did. And as we wrapped up the visit, she looked me in the eye, encouraged me, and wished me well. And I have to tell you, not with pride, that my eyes might have welled up a tiny bit and I had to fight the urge to hug her. A woman whom I do not know, an unfamiliar person who has been unfortunate enough to spend time picking and polishing my teeth, whose name I am still not certain I know even though she’s worked on my mouth twice now. I wanted to embrace her.

What is it about near strangers that elicit our deepest reactions sometimes? Do we feel secure, knowing we won’t face them every day? Is it a safe confessional because these people do not depend on us at all and we need not pretend bravery or optimism before them? Is this part of that anonymous appeal that the internet has perfected in so many guises of social networking?

Whatever the reason, I am really grateful for this woman. I am sending her a thank-you note, for doing more than her job—for listening and responding to the human frailty that was displayed before her. And once that little note is sent? (I am happy to report that I already wrote it.) Once that note is on its merry way, I have one more responsibility: to pay it forward by being that caring person to another needy soul on the journey.

Upholding each other is the only way we’ll all make it through these days. Besides, isn’t that a great way to spend Holy Week? There are so many different acts of sacrifice we can make for each other.

I am wishing you a sweet dental hygienist just when you need it most.

Flip side

It’s so awkward when unfortunate circumstances dare to happen to you.

Why? Because in an instant, all those same uplifting advices you gave to people who’d experienced bumps in the road are the same pearls of wisdom that people are now sharing with you—the very same mantras that you’re chanting to yourself in between intentional deep breaths. Everything will be okay. This will pass. There’s something better in the future. This will make you stronger as a couple. God is faithful and He will provide. And even as these thoughts are handed to you, even as you repeat them in your mind, they suddenly seem so insufficient, so shallow and thin and fragile. In a moment of revelation, you see the thin gossamer of your optimism in the face of other people’s misfortune. And you see right through that flimsy fabric, into the glaring light of your own Very Serious Situation.

And you wonder how angry you might have made some down-and-out people.

To further complicate things, the book of James says that Christians are to embrace trials. We’re to understand that these situations that cause strife are actually the very same struggles that will teach perseverance—and perseverance will bring maturity and completion. I know from experience, too, that struggles in the life of a believer are usually instrumental in creating a more selfless person with greater faith in God. (That latter part often happens after the fact, of course, but there it is.)

In sum? While you face fear and uncertainty, you simultaneously face the knowledge that you’ve probably annoyed a lot of suffering people with your well-intentioned statements. You know that you should be doing all the things you told them to do, and now you remember how challenging that is. And you realize that, since Christianity proclaims strength in weakness and faith through hardship, there may be some people watching to see if you really live by your stated belief system or abandon it in tough times.

It’s so much easier to just run in circles, scream, and shout.

Sigh.

The third unemployed morning

Cacophany of barking dogs
Has ripped me from a restless sleep;
The sun emerges from the east
And coaxes me to wakefulness.

A bus or truck is rumbling near;
It’s growing bright, a new day looms
With promise, light, and hope of—wait:
My husband got laid off last week.

Must find work.
Must find work.
Must find work.