8/17/15

There are days we will remember for the rest of our lives. These days include your first kiss, graduation, meeting the one who holds your heart, becoming engaged, getting married, finding out your pregnant with your first child, holding your baby for the first time, hearing of a loved one's passing from this life to the next, and hearing your mom tell you that she has cancer.

As those words came from her mouth, I was so filled with confusion I almost started laughing and asked if she was serious. I searched her face to give me some inclination that there was jest in her statement. The expression was flat and scared. "When did you find out?"
"This morning, the doctor called and told me." She suspected... and perhaps she knew all along. She was bleeding for several, several months. She started saying things like, "Jill, what if it's cancer?" Mama is smart... she knows more than I give her credit for... I, being a little more laid back would say, "Mama, it's not cancer... even if it is, we'll cross that bridge when we get to it." I thought back to all those times I told her it wasn't and encouraged her to bring it up to Dr. Milder, her primary doctor. I don't know that she ever did.

I asked about the type, which I assumed was uterine (and it was), what stage, what options we had to combat the cancer. Not many questions had answers, but it was only the day of the diagnosis. We still don't know what stage. We won't really know anything more until after tomorrow when they take out her lady bits. It's gonna be a long day of waiting and silence.

She walked in the living room and sat on the couch. She said, "I'm not afraid of this cancer. I'm not afraid of dying. I've lived a good, long life, and I know where I'm going." At this point her voice started to break and tears welled up in her eyes as she said she would be with her sister. Her fears fell to telling Daddy and how it would happen. She's always said that he can't be alone, swiftly followed by the obligatory "don't be mad at Daddy if he gets remarried." Sigh... MOM!

That day two and a half weeks ago, I came to the realization that Mama lost her mama when she was my age and had a baby (me) no bigger than Jack. It wasn't from cancer, but I started thinking, Mama lost Nana when she was my age, and I may just lose my mama soon. I didn't know my grandmother on my mother's side of the family.

I waited until the following day to tell my friends about it. Wanted the diagnosis day to be just for my family. It was hard finding out. The words didn't seem surreal, and that's what I expected. I expected to feel a little light headed and when I didn't feel that, I thought to myself, "oh, my God, this is real life."

By Wednesday, two days after diagnosis, I decided that I had to trust that God knew what He was doing, the doctors will know what they are doing, and that medicine will do what it's meant to do. Even if it didn't, the modern miracles of medicine are far better than they were 30 years ago when Nana passed away. Of course I had those, "please God, don't let my mama die" prayers. Totally selfish. Totally.

I had to get back to "normal" as soon as possible, I told myself. So I stopped moping. I had/have a good support group in my family, circle of friends that I've had for [a] decade(s), and new friendships that have formed through social media. Several of which have relatives that were diagnosed with and beat cancer. The right people are in my life to keep my head on straight and give me hope.

I think because my mom handled the news so well, I did, too. I was so distraught that Monday. My world turned upside down. I didn't want to be with Jack, I didn't want to eat. All I wanted to do was lie in bed and cry. We always think of our parents as invincible. We never want to think of the day when they won't be just a phone call away or a walk through the yard in my case. She's my best friend and absolutely irreplaceable. We pray for the best tomorrow. They take away an unwelcome part of my mother and we'll find out more 'tails (cred to Tom Haverford). So if the cancer has spread to more than just her uterus, then radiation therapy will begin. Otherwise, she's just going to have the surgery. I trust that this is a pretty routine procedure and that I won't have to worry too much.

Thanks for reading this little bit of my life. Don't feel sorry for us. Please pray for the doctors, pray for my mom, dad, and my brothers and me. And if anyone wants to stop by Cabrini Hospital tomorrow, I'm sure Dad and I wouldn't be too terribly upset!

peace and quiet

I was hoping to get some peace and quiet this afternoon and possibly a nap. I've got the apartment all to myself so I decided that I'd put my head on a comfy pillow and try to catch some zzz's. My mind starts racing with thoughts that I'd much rather leave alone. Instead of resting, I'm doubting myself, my relationships with my friends, my worth, all kinds of stuff that I shouldn't even be doubting or stressing over. My mind sometimes brings me to dark places I tend to forget are there. My self worth seems to be the star of the show, but not some grand and glorious show. It seems to be more of a roast of sorts. My self worth is put on display with every ugly thing there is in it laid bare.

In my last post, I mentioned that I shouldn't find my identity in any of the ideas that I have parading around in my mind now. I can't say that I've got it perfectly figured out. I can't say that I am cured. When I'm in the moment, I honestly don't know how to pull myself from those negative thoughts. I don't know how to turn myself around and think those positive thoughts. I keep thinking, "what do I do now?"

Continue to pray for me. I'm a broken woman. Sometimes I feel so useless and wasted. Today is one of those days. As a friend of mine told me once when I was feeling like this: Father God is still good. He wants to give His children good things. Jesus died on the cross. So, what does that say about you?

on becoming 30

On 15 January, I turned 30. Usually, I hear of women who face emotional distress when they reach their 30th birthday. I didn't feel any different than I had turning 24, 26, 28, or 29. They were all just a number to me. A week before my birthday, I started thinking about what I imagined my life to look like by the time I was 30. Imagining I was still living in Seattle with my husband and working for the same roofing business where I would have still been employed. I'd be a fit, a young mom, hopefully renting a house with enough room for a three-member family with a dog. What have I got to show for myself and my goals? I'm back in the cramped little apartment that Chase and I were in before we moved, and we had absolutely no intention of ever moving back to Louisiana. Being let go ten days before my 29th birthday and feeling that there was no other option but to come back to Louisiana. We have struggled to survive the entire year since we've been back. We've been clinging so tightly to what we have that everything seems to slip right out of our clinching white fists. My journey to fitness came to an abrupt end when we moved away from the city life. There's nowhere to feel safe and walk in this rundown town. And the only option is to drive everywhere, since the nearest decent grocery store is 15 miles away.

I've always been a dreamer. I never dreamed I'd be stuck in a rut with a dependent and a fur-child. Sharing my frustration with anyone seemed so childish that I've kept it inside. I don't want to share my insecurities because I don't want to seem like I'm so needy. I want to be independent and I want to be able to love my family well. I don't want it to seem like I've got regret hanging over my head. The problem is, it's all there. It haunts me when I'm left to my own devices. Thinking about what I had planned so many years ago makes me feel like I've absolutely missed every goal I had set.

I have been reminding myself continuously that I am not a failure. I didn't end up in Louisiana because Chase and I failed at something. I'm not a stay at home mom because I failed in the retail/business world. I'm not unhealthy. I'm not drowning. I'm not a failure. I have, in no way, let anyone down. Plans change. I have to remember that what I do or don't do at 30 isn't a direct reflection of my success in life, love, or finance. What it is a reflection of is my trust that I am where I'm supposed to be: that God is who He says He is, that I am who God says I am, and that I trust His will and direction for my life. Nothing is a mistake. I may not understand why things happened the way they have happened in the last year, but I definitely trust that I am loved, treasured, and fearfully and wonderfully made. I take God's breath away.

So, reader, please don't look at getting older and steering away from your plans for your life as a disappointment or failure. Look at it as God's way of pointing you in the direction He wants you to go. Just ask what He has you do, and follow His lead. In Psalms, He tells us, "I will guide you along the best pathway for your life. I will advise you and watch over you." In Proverbs, "Seek his will in all you do, and he will show you which path to take."

Thanks for reading, and thanks for letting me get that off my chest.

Jill

Jack's birth story, a year later. (Caution, there is some graphic stuff, here...)

Giving birth is supposed to be a wonderful experience for moms. And then, there are moms of premature babies. Last week, I started to get depressed because I realized that my son will soon be a year old, which means that a year or so ago, I was admitted into the hospital because my membranes ruptured early. It was a nightmare for this first-time-mom. Apparently, it still is, since I am anxious thinking about it a year later.

On October 4th, 2013, I worked my last day of work.After my day was over, I talked to the owner of The Jorve Corporation, who was my boss. He is such a great guy. He says whatever is on his mind, which I love. So, this afternoon was no different. He looked at me and said, "Damnit, Jill... You need to hurry up and have this baby because I need you back at work." We all laughed, but I knew it would throw the company in a frenzy when I was on maternity leave. Ted's humor was another reason why I loved working for him. I had noticed that when I was laughing that I had a little leaking. I thought it was just that I may have needed to go to the bathroom. I happened again standing up on the light rail and the bus on my way home. But since it was just a little bit, I didn't think of it, much. I went shopping the next day and didn't notice much leaking at all, so I didn't have a reason to think that it wasn't anything but losing my bladder. Sunday morning (October 6th) we got up like normal and started getting ready for church. Well, as I was walking Klaus, I noticed an alarming amount of leaking. I was so worried that when I called the after hours help line, I started crying while I was explaining the situation to the nurse on the phone. I just reached 33 weeks gestation and potentially had my water break. I was advised to go to the hospital and not eat or drink anything. Klaus knew something was wrong. He looked so worried when Chase walked out the door. 

The entire ride to the hospital was silent. Chase and I were pretty worried. I walked in the hospital and was immediately admitted into triage. My midwife just so happened to come in as I was being admitted and came in to check on me. She took some of the fluid on a slide and determined that it was amniotic fluid that was leaking. My water sack had broken. She reassured Chase and me that it was okay and most likely, Jack would be safe, but I would have to stay at the hospital until I was 34 weeks gestation before we induced for delivery, but we didn't have to have an emergency C-section. So much for greeting at church that day... We had to get in touch with Daniel, who was our ministry lead when we greeted on Sundays. Chase messaged him and let him know that there was an emergency and we weren't able to make it to church. 

I couldn't believe that Jack was about ready to come into this world... Our community group leader just told us that we needed to get our bags ready for when I went into labor. My response was, "oh, we have plenty of time." Now, just 5 days later, I was being admitted into the hospital because my body was in labor.

The nurses were all so helpful and reassuring. One of our nurses that cared for me the day I was admitted was actually a preemie herself. She was also a twin. She said that she turned out okay, so she had no doubt that my little 33 weeker would be fine. No matter how much you hear it, there's still that worry that your baby will be the exception to the rule. I called my mom and told her that I was admitted into the hospital, but they said not to visit just yet, because I may not give birth for a week or so. 

When I was settled in, I called my work to let them know that I wasn't going to be able to come to work indefinitely. I asked my office manager if I needed to stop by and get any invoices to enter because, hey, I was sitting in the hospital for a week... with nothing to do... She said no, just rest. I also asked about having a job since I left work 7 weeks early and I needed the job. She told me not to worry about it. 

The week and a half between my admission and my delivery was such a blur. I don't remember what happened when, but I had a lot of checking on me, I had a lot of monitoring done, I had a lot of talks with the midwives and nurses. One that sticks out in my mind is one of my nurses came in and sat down next to Chase and me and said that I would probably be fine if I chose to go on my way and not deliver the baby until my due date. She said something along the lines of us being able to chose either (staying in the hospital until we induced or discharging from the hospital and waiting until I went into active labor), but she wasn't going to tell us which to chose. She said, "I just hope you make the right choice." Well, that sent us into a mass state of confusion. What were we supposed to do now? We knew from the extensive talks with midwives that we could wait until the 34 week mark, but actually going home and waiting it out? potentially being on bed rest until I delivered... Later, we spoke with one of the midwives that was caring for me and raised our concerns about what the nurse said. She listened like a friend, which was so meaningful for us. We were in a place of unfamiliarity and knew no one. Her sitting and listening to Chase and me talk about our concerns of returning home and not knowing what to do at all made it easier for us to make the decision to just wait the week and meet our son early.

I think Mom flew in on a Wednesday (like I said, it was all a blur). We waited and waited and waited for induction. I reached 34 weeks that Friday. We started induction that day. After the first dose of misoprostol, they decided to cease the induction because there were quite a few mothers in active labor that came into the hospital. Saturday went by, Sunday came and we decided to start again. Misoprostol was my induction medicine, again. I took one or two doses and one of my midwives got the okay to use Cervidil, which is inserted and helps the cervix ripen and open for delivery. After six hours, she took the cervidil out and started dilating my cervix manually. After that, it seemed like it was so fast. I can't remember if I was put on pitocin or not, but I remember the nurses trying to regulate my contractions... All I remember is almost a steady pain of contractions. They were strong and long. After 2 long hours of no pain medication, I tapped out and asked for an IV. It gave me very little relief. It took the steady pain away and the waves came and went. After an hour of sleeping a minute or two or five at a time, I decided to tap out again and I asked for the epidural. Oh, heaven... I should've asked for that in the first place. I wanted to try to do it naturally. That was my birth plan. My last resort had become my resort. It went so fast after that. My midwife said that I would probably have my son in my arms before noon. I didn't know about that... But I was hopeful and it sounded like a plan. I started pushing at 11:30am on October 14th. After my first big push, we stopped and I was able to feel my baby crowning. His little head of hair was imagined to be so dark, since my hair is dark brown. I sat up a little and pushed with all my might toward the light on the ceiling. The last push and delivery at 11:55am. I had my son in my arms at 11:55am. I forgot about all of the pain, all of the chaos and uncertainty of the past week. And just cried and greeted my son. I was so relieved to have him in my arms.

Little did I know, that between the admiration of my son, the first picture, and the clean up, I had bled out an alarming amount of blood. I'd become anemic during pregnancy, so that didn't help the issue. Apparently, there's an artery that runs behind the clitoris and I was bleeding out from there. Usually moms tear when they push and I prayed not to tear toward the back. I was the first time anyone in that hospital had torn up the front. My midwife finally stopped the bleeding by applying pressure and said that she wanted to make sure that we got everything in place to heal correctly. She said, "we definitely want to make sure that your clitoris is working properly. We know how important that is." In my hazy state, I thought it was one of the funniest things I'd heard all day. They only revealed later that the blood loss was very dangerous. I was elevated and bundled. I was so tired that I slept for 5 hours afterward. I was notably pale for almost a month.

(I took this picture a week and a half after Jack was born)

I only got to see my little peanut for 15 minutes. They had to take him to the special care nursery afterward. Plus 8 hours of me not seeing him, I was ready to go see my little dumpling. I don't remember what happened from 5-8, I may have gone back to sleep. I was very light headed and dizzy when we went to see him. He was bundled up and making these tiny little grunting sounds. He was so perfect. He looked like a little living doll. At that point, I tried to look presentable in my pictures that Chase took of my second time holding him, but I look so drunk. I didn't know that I was pale and lost so much blood. All I knew is that I was tired and weak.

As the following days progressed, I got mad at my body because I wasn't producing a lot of colostrum or milk. I'd see moms coming in with 5 or 6 tubes of milk for their babies and I was only bringing one or two. The nurses in the special care nursery kept telling me that what I was bringing was enough. I didn't want Jack to have formula. At. All. I thought it was gross. I wanted my baby to have the best of the best. And my body wasn't giving that. He couldn't latch, and I wasn't supplying like he needed. That was so depressing for me. Also comparing myself to other moms didn't help. A few days after Jack was born, he had to be put under the bili lights. He had jaundice. The morning that they put him under the lights, I cried. I was so upset. First, I had to wait a week to meet my son, then I didn't get to see him until 8 hours later (more/less). Then, I could only see him every three hours (because I still was so tired from the blood loss and slept a ton between feedings), and now, I could only hold him for 30 minutes every three hours. I had serious separation anxiety. The doctors and nurses used me as an example when they did their rounds that day. I told Chase that I was coming home and that I couldn't be a boarding mother for any longer. I needed to get away and get some rest. I was a wreck on the bus home from the hospital. I'm sure people thought that I was a battered woman.

I was overjoyed to see Klaus and Klaus was overjoyed to see me. He slept right by my side when I was at home. When I was awake, I thought about Jack. I was so emotional when I had to pump because I just didn't want to be at home. I wanted to be with my son. When I finally went back to the hospital, The nurses let me hold Jack as long as I wanted because they knew that we only had a limited amount of time to be with him. After a few days, his biliruben count was low enough that he didn't have to have the lights anymore. He still had to be in an isolette, however. He wasn't able to regulate his own body temperature yet.

As the week in the hospital turned into almost a month (even though I wasn't in the hospital for more than 2, it still felt like I was living there because of all of the time I was spending there in the nursery), We started asking when Jack would be able to come home. The nurses set the expectation of the due date by saying, "he may have to stay until the original due date, but we anticipate that it could be a lot sooner." He had to master suck, swallow, and breathe. Suckling the bottle and swallowing, while still maintaining his breathing pattern. The breathing was the hardest. We had to go a week without an event (making sure that his breathing didn't stop while he was eating and making sure that he could come back from it on his own).  Luckily, 25 days after he was born, Chase and I got to bring our little blessing home. It was a long, exhausting, confusing, emotional month of events in which we were not ready. One word can describe it all: chaos. It was such a chaotic month in our lives. We've come to a new normal since then and we've enjoyed life away from the hospital.

One thing is for sure: I will relive these moments the rest of my life. I don't wish this on anyone. Birthing a child should be a wonderful experience and not filled with doubt, fear, and insecurity. I am so thankful of the midwifery practice at Group Health and all of the nurses who cared for me and my son in the special care nursery. They made our chaos as tolerable as possible. I'm thankful for the well wishes from all of our family and friends and prayers as well.

This is not what I want to remember every year about the birth of my son, but I was told today by a dear friend of mine, "...In regards to depression as you come up on revisiting this time of year and all that you went through, i had a thought. Well, a couple. one, you might have a little emotional PTSD (yes I do, and am experiencing it as I type this). Just semantics but sometimes it helps to know that's what it is in regards to revisiting traumatic events (I can't even use the same fragrance deodorant anymore because it makes me experience axiety, actually). But my main point is maybe you can let those feelings drive you to pray for other women in those situations. And even perhaps visit a NICU and give some moms some prayer and encouragement. Maybe it would put a different spin on it that would help you to process and heal through it. You have a lot to offer ministry wise." Great thoughts. I'm so thankful for her and what she brings to my life. In addition, please keep me in your prayers this month, as my mind remembers the trauma of the month.

Thanks for reading.

Slow Fade

Tonight, I'm finding myself sitting in front of the laptop thinking about what it's been like the past few months. Thoughts whir around my head like mosquitoes around a tender baby. The thoughts are ever changing and always the same. Most of which concern marriage. I've stated in a past blog post that I think about my wedding every day. I have for the past 4 years.  I ponder what the breaking point is in a relationship that causes someone to want to end it. I wonder if it's the little things. I ask myself if it's the socks left on the floor or the coffee cups that don't get rinsed out. Is it his depression or her lack of empathy?

I wonder if one day 10 years, 13 years, 25 or 30 years down the line if I will choose to stop loving my husband. Soon after, when I think about using the word divorce, my mouth becomes tacky and dry, and my throat gets tight as if I'm trying to swallow an elephant whole. Just that tells me that I can't even fathom the thought of using anything that's happened in the past 7 years of my and Chase's relationship against him or getting tired of him and using some excuse like being tired of taking care of him, or bored, or "fallen out of love."

There's a reason why there's a cliche that says, "Love isn't a feeling, it's something that you do," or however it goes. I just think of that older country song with that line in the chorus. I've always said to Chase that I chose him. And it hit me again today that I had a pick of two (maybe three, but I'm not trying to toot my own horn, here...) guys. And the one that held the most attraction for me was the one I picked. The pursuer was the one I pursued. I was tired of being the one who chased guys. And once I let Chase know I was interested in him, I allowed him to be the one who made the decision of whether or not he wanted to be with me. Seven years later, we are married with a terrific son. These two guys, plus the fuzzy one in the kennel, are the reason why I wake up every morning. I can't imagine what my life would be like without them. I don't even want to!

There's a song by one of my favorite bands, Casting Crowns, called "Slow Fade." The chorus says, "It's a slow fade when you give yourself away, it's a slow fade when black and white turn to gray, thoughts invade, choices are made, a price will be paid when you give yourself away. People never crumble in a day, it's a slow fade." I wonder, "what little acts have leant themselves to pulling me away from my husband and son and fur baby?" One step at a time doesn't seem so bad... not much at all... but looking back, how far have they brought me? How far has censoring my husband brought me? How far has being passive to his depression brought me? How far has me not washing the dishes brought me? How far has not keeping the house clean (because I stay at home, now, and it's one of my primary responsibilities) brought me? How far has the lack of intimacy brought me? And suddenly I feel like he's the one that's pulled away. It seems like enough to make me, or anyone, really, [to] seek affection elsewhere.

Feeling that he's the one that's being secretive or giving me the cold shoulder is crazy. I have found, however, that once I start doing and stop sitting around the house watching Netflix, I feel more loved. It's a little confusing, so I'd better explain myself. For the past 2 months, I've been watching my niece and nephew and totally neglecting my house and dishes and laundry. I had a huge pile of dishes on the counter and wasn't able to do any housework for that period of time. When my niece went to school last month and I was reduced to two kids, I decided that I may be able to bring my nephew over to my house, wash some dishes and tidy a bit. all of a sudden, I started feeling really loved. I knew that Chase was going to be grateful for what I was doing: removing cluttered boxes, washing clothes and folding them, and washing that mountain of dirty dishes. His language of love is acts of service. Mine, not so much... I started getting tired of seeing all of the boxes and clothes and dishes that I FINALLY just got up and started doing stuff. I anticipated the praise from my husband and started doing what needed to be done. And he said that I'd been working hard, he appreciated it, he felt loved and he loved me! It made me want to continue.

So, in closing, my answer to the slow fade is to love fearlessly and relentlessly.

another sleepless night

Not too many people know the story of my oldest brother. I want to give a little background of what's happened in my brother's family the last year without going into too much detail. It's a necessary part of why I'm blogging, today. My brother's wife, well, essentially ex-wife, now, wanted to take a "discovery" trip to Bangladesh to experience life in a 3rd world country. She thought it was a good idea to bring the two kiddos with her so that they could experience it, as well. She said that she wanted them to know that not everywhere in the world isn't as rich as we are. My brother was very reluctant to let her bring a then 2 and 4 or 5 year old with her. He did eventually give in. She initially planned on staying about a month. When her trip was coming to a close, she asked if it was okay that she stay longer and take on a job with the Canadian Embassy. He said no, and to come home. Long, very long story short, she went against his wishes and stayed with the kids. I'm leaving out some details that aren't very flattering because I still want everyone's integrity in tact. After months and months of phone calls and demanding return or visitation, my brother plead his case with a lawyer and they said that international child abduction had taken place. With secretive information, my brother went to Bangladesh and retrieved the children and brought them safely back to Canada.

And there was much rejoicing in the land.

Fast forward from November to now. My brother's work visa has expired and even though he has applied for permanent residency, he hasn't been granted residency yet. He was informed that at the end of the month, he has to return to the US and wait for the application process to continue. It's good news for my family who have greedily wanted to hug and hold those kiddos for years. So, a drive is commencing the 30th of July and they'll be on their way back to the boot state. Great news.

The not so great stuff and the reason why I'm so distraught, my brother's ex-wife has decided to finally leave Bangladesh after a year and a half, roughly. She is back in Louisiana and will seek out the kids. I'm so torn up over it that I couldn't sleep last night. Chase and I may be moving in with my brother's family so that they will have a more stable home-life as soon as possible. And I'm so freakin' excited to be able to bond and love on my precious niece and nephew!! What I'm not excited about is the inevitable visit that will take place some day (I fear it will be very soon). I'm afraid to leave her in the same room with the kids, even for a bathroom break. I'm afraid that I will hit her and tell her what I think about her thoughtlessness and her endangerment of her own children (motherhood definitely lends a different way of thinking to women, ie: safety of children, awareness, an all-around fondness for children and their well-being).

Since I've begun to think about what a house of three kids would look like, I've started to dream of fun trips and bonding experiences with the three of them (Jack makes three). I've also thought about what it looks like to have everyone sitting in a living area and playing warden, making sure that my family is safe. I have no idea what I'm going to do or how I'm going to react. I'm so worried that I'm going to say something that is not edifying to her or make her seem like a monster in front of her offspring. I've dreamed about telling her that I love her (which isn't at the top of my list of things I want to convey), but is it true? Do I love her? Definitely not who she's become in the last year and a half. I pray for myself, that I will let it go, I pray for her and her salvation, but mostly, I keep asking God to help me and change my heart. I know forgiving doesn't mean that I'm not going to forget, or not hurt, or that it's going to be okay immediately. I know that it means just no acting on what she's done and the decisions she's made. How do I keep loving her, even after those affections are gone? How do I let God step in between my hatred (oh, boy, it doesn't feel good saying that...) and His creation? I don't know how to let something that seems so huge just dissipate.

Needless to say, I really need someone to step in and pray for me. I don't know the words to say, I don't know what to ask, I don't know how I need to react or what I need to/should say. I don't know how to keep it bottled inside or how I need to vent. I don't know what I'm going to do when I do see her.

And as for now, my mind has emptied and I can't think anymore. I have no idea. I feel so defeated because I don't have a resolution. Please pray for me. Thanks.

job, no job, what to do? I'm scared.

Since being back in Louisiana, we have been struggling to stay afoot. I took a part time job at Bath and Body Works as a shift manager, which was good for the first month or two. The third month got rough. I don't know if it was my performance, or being away from Jack for 30-40 hours a week, or that my boss wasn't a good boss, but the district manager kept saying, "you have a talent issue." I don't know if the DM was referring to me, the other shift manager, or the store manager. The store manager kept blaming the condition of the store on me. I did everything that I was asked to do. The only thing that struggled was my sales. I knew taking the job that sales wasn't my forte. I have, however, worked in retail for the past 9-10 years of my professional life. I felt that it didn't matter and that I could do the job. So, regardless of my ability to perform, or if the "talent issue" was me or not, I felt like I was forced to resign or I would get fired. I chose the former. I wrote a very cordial letter of resignation and my coworkers said that I was too kind in my letter. I am now a stay-at-home mom and it's my 5th day on the job. It's been nice being able to be with Jack for most of the day while Chase chugs away looking for a job.

He had an interview this morning at 11am. He said it went well, but he'd have to wait until late next week to find out if he got the job or not. So, now, we are playing the waiting game. I'm not good at that. Especially since we have one half of a paycheck coming in next week. Money is on the low side, has been for a long while. We are constantly reminding ourselves that it took us 6 months to get our feet on the ground and it's right around that time. We know God is taking care of us, through my parents, but at the same time, we don't want to rely on their providence in place of God's.

Sitting down to put my thoughts into words is the only thing that can keep me sane right now. I don't know what to do to help the situation. I know that the smart thing would've been to continue to work until Chase found a job, but taking advice from my husband and my mom and my coworkers to go ahead and cut my ties made my decision easier. I remember standing in the living room at my mom's house and telling her that I didn't have faith big enough to quit my job before Chase had a job of his own. My mom said, "uh, Jill, do I need to remind you that you moved to and from Seattle with no jobs lined up?"She was right. My faith was not an issue, regardless what I thought. It took more faith to quit my job than to stay there and drag by with no fulfillment. On the other side of the coin, I didn't want to say, "God will take care of me," and just go home. In the meantime, God is showing me that He is taking care of us and keeping us from need.

My emotions are on such a roller coaster ride, lately. It's so hard just trusting the LORD. I feel like I'm saying that I'm trusting Jesus with my life, but on the inside, my heart is so fearful that we aren't going to make it to the next paycheck. It's amplified since I've had Jack. It seems like there's so much more need to have filled than there was with Chase, Klaus, and myself. I don't doubt God's ability to take care of us, or that God isn't bigger than our need. Maybe I just need to pray for God to remove my doubt, fear, and insecurities.

When Chase and I made a decision to move to Seattle, I was still working at the credit union. I had a piece of paper that I wrote the reasons why I didn't want to quit (since we thought it was going to be very soon after we visited Seattle that we were moving). After I wrote every insecurity I had on the paper, I took a red Sharpie pen and wrote over the paragraph in large, friendly letters: GOD IS BIGGER! He is bigger than every negative thought, every insecurity, every fear, every inability that I have, that my husband has, than our checkbook. We have an amazing Father who wants to be our provider and our comfort and our strength.

And lastly, I think that I want to read God Smuggler by Brother Andrew, again. It's an amazing book about God's providence and strength. On par with The Hiding Place by Corrie ten Boom.