The Countdown

59 days left. There are 59 days left until my husband has his pinning ceremony, signaling the end of his BSN coursework. I don't know if I am allowed to be excited yet.

He graduated already. That ceremony was at the end of March. The director of the college stood up and declared that the students had completed all necessary requirements for graduation, and she conferred upon them all the rights and responsibilities of their achievement.

I should have gotten that in writing.

Because the nursing students had another quarter of classes and clinicals and homework and no rights, but many, many responsibilities to go.

I was happy for my husband at this point, but we couldn't really celebrate. We couldn't exhale yet.

Now I am counting down the days to his pining ceremony, which will be a more official graduation for the nursing students. But I am counting down these days alone. Justin has 180 hours of clinical work to complete, and his preceptor works nights. I get the kids ready for bed. I feed them, I bathe them, I change them, I break up brawls, and dry tears, and kiss ouchies better. I tuck them in: once around 7:00pm and again around 12:30am or 2:00am, or whenever they wake up and realize that they miss dad because he's really the cool one. Then at 5:00am I drag them out of bed and change diapers and clothes, and serve bottles, and dry more tears. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

If nothing else, I am gaining empathy for single moms. I couldn't do it. Or I could, but I would turn into a robot, and my kids would be glued to Veggie Tales eight hours a day.

With the hope of graduation less than two months away, this whole process is getting easier.

However...

I can't really celebrate after the pining ceremony either. After the ceremony the husband will still be living in the basement as he studies for the NCLEX exam. And then after he takes the exam, we can't celebrate because we have to wait for results. And then he will need to find a job. And then he wants to apply for a masters or DNP program.

So when do I really get to exhale and say, "We are done!"? When do we really celebrate?

Well, never to the first question, and always to the second.

In dance we were often told that the seed to grow your next work in buried in the midst of your last piece. If we are living life correctly, aren't we never done? The seed for the next moment is buried in this moment, waiting for a little sunlight and a rainstorm to grow into the next adventure. There is peace and rest in the presence of my God, but there is not stagnancy. Life, if nothing else, can be defined by activity.

But why not celebrate now? I made rice krispie treats last night, and that seems an achievement worthy of some rejoicing. (Ignore the fact that I had to look up the recipe online because we get cheap bargain brand rice krispies on WIC, and they don't print recipes on the bags.) I have taste buds that can enjoy, and food on the table, and a stove that works... usually.

Hannah is learning new words at an alarming rate. Yesterday she squared me up in her sights, threw her hands on her hips, and declared, "DUCK! QUACK QUACK!" And that seems celebration worthy.

I made the mistake of kissing Noah's finger all better once. Now anytime he has the slightest collision with anything, he holds out each of his fingers individually for me to heal, along with a palm or an elbow for good measure. Having such a sweet boy is certainly worthy of a little joy.

I've stated my case on rejoicing in trouble many times. So perhaps I just need to remember my own advice. There are 59 days until a big celebration. And everyone of them is a day the Lord has made. May I rejoice and be glad in them!