Do you think she's mad?

"Here's a hypothetical situation," my husband started as we cruised down the road toward the softball fields. "Let's say someone takes a shot to the head on the field, a line drive or something. What is your order of actions and priorities?"

As a dancer I was taught that there are no wrong answers. As the wife of a nursing student I was taught that there are only wrong answers (at least I think that was the point of the last three years). I assumed in his query that my husband was testing my knowledge of critical care and trauma procedures (because he does this for fun every now and then to prove that in the area of medical care not having to do with infants named Hannah and Noah, he is in fact smarter than me). After a moment's consideration I replied, "I would find someone on the field with a phone (our base coach is the most likely candidate) and have them dial 911. Then, I would assess the victim, checking vitals starting with bleeding, pulse, and breathing." I described what I would do if the sustainer of head trauma was bleeding, if they were unconscious with no pulse or respiration, or if they were conscious and alert x3. Justin agreed with my order of priorities, and we discussed whether it would be better to move the victim into a seated position or leave them laying flat, addressing the possible effects of each option. (Let me tell you that it is riveting to live our little lives. Our children are going to know how to properly wrap a laceration, but not know how to achieve a laceration in the pursuit of childishness... which sounds like a good thing, but I see as somewhat sad.)

Fast forward forty-five minutes. I jogged out onto the field for the start of the second inning. My husband usually plays short stop, and I am usually at second. If you are not overly familiar with base/softball playage: playing at second you actually stand back toward the grass and closer to first base. This gives you a better opportunity to get anything hit to the right side of the field, while leaving enough time to get back to the bag for a play. My point in offering this vital softball strategy education is to point out that I was standing quite a distance from my husband at short. I would have had to shout to get his attention.

Although for the purpose of attention-getting he uses other methods entirely...

I mentioned in my last post that my husband is sometimes still a thirteen-year-old boy. In my experience most guys are at various times in their adult life just kids. This is usually an endearing quality of his. I find it cute that he likes baseball, airplanes, candy, and bodily noises. I find it hilarious when his adult male mind reverts to making "pinning" jokes.

But, some things are less endearing than others...

He throws rocks at me. Junior high was not so long ago that I have forgotten that this is how boys flirt. I've taken my share of abuse in the name of 'crush'. But here's the thing: once you've got the girl, you can call off the aerial strike.

He always does this. He finds little pebbles or dirt clods and lobs them off to one side of me, just to see how long it takes me to notice. At softball games I am always just trying to impress him and make him proud. I get very focused. I ignore things like thirst and sun and projectiles. Ironic, isn't it? The very act by which I want to earn my husband's approval causes me to fail to notice his desperate plea for attention.

During this particular moment, I was shifting my weight back and forth from foot to foot waiting for my father-in-law to pitch. What followed depends entirely on the perspective of reality you choose to believe.

From my perspective:
[I stared down the approaching batter. I glowered. There are so few opportunities in life to properly glower, that I was taking the most of it. I must have looked quite fierce, like a kitten attacking a laser pointer. My eyes narrowed in concentration, my toes dug into the dirt, my...

OUCH! What the crap was that?! Did I just get shot? I think someone shot me! Check the grassy knoll! (My hand flew up to my forehead to check for the almost certain gush of blood flowing down.) Looking up wildly to see if any further sniper shots were coming, I saw my husband...

The man I have stood by for seven years. The man whose children I bore, birthed, and raised. The man on whom my hopes of the last three years of grief and trouble rested, the protector of my family, the provider for our needs, the calmer of our fears. The man I committed to for better or worse.

The man who had just rocketed a boulder into my forehead.

He came jogging over as my face crumpled into my hands. "Are you okay?" he asked covered in concern and guilt (but still chuckling at the odds of making that shot - which helped matters immensely).

"Fine!" I nearly screamed.

"Are you sure, I'm sorry, I...."

"FINE!" I roared. "I.Am.Fine. But you need to go over there." I gestured madly at the shortstop position. He tried to continue speaking. But I kept pointing and growling, "Go over there!" ... Where I can't reach your throat with my nails. Where I can't scream at you in the tongues of men and angels. Where I can't start the first fight of our marriage over something so ridiculously stupid, but still downright infuriating! GO!

Another player jogged past and asked what just happened, "He hit me with a rock!" I shrieked.

Honestly, I wasn't that angry at him. I knew it was a mistake; I was 99% sure he would never purposely try to stone me. It was shock. The unnatural volume, the seething, the green I was turning and the sudden need for stretchy purple pants; it was all shock.

The pain was minimal. The lump was mortifying. I can't go to church like this! They give me grief enough for my shoes! Maybe I can get a haircut with bangs. Maybe I can run away to New Zealand. Maybe I can never ever leave the house again as long as I live. I suppose I should cut my husband some slack; at times, I am still a thirteen-year-old girl.

My primary consolation was, although I had forgiven him the second I looked up into those remorseful blue eyes, everyone else we knew would give him grief for weeks. Because I am a paradox: simultaneously merciful and malicious.]

His perspective: (and yes, I understand that it is not fair for me to be relaying his perspective, but I am only quoting from the story he had to relay 800 times after the incident.)

[You know when you are just messing around and it goes terribly, terribly wrong? I was throwing pebbles at her. I do this all the time. I picked up one and it was really flat, like you would skip across a river. Flat cylindrical objects tend to curve in flight. I threw it a good three feet out in front of her, and watched. Hmmm. That rock is turning. It's heading for my wife. No way.

Oh crap! I just hit my wife with a rock! Good thing we talked about this on the way here.

... What are the odds? That must have been a one in a million shot. That's pretty impressive.

... Do you think she's mad?]

We were on a roll. We took a marriage class, and the leader told a story about a couple who had been married for sixty-two years. At the husband's funeral, the wife laid her hand on the casket and whispered, "62 years and he never hurt me."

That was the goal.

Now, it will have to run: "75 years (we ain't quitters), and he never hurt me." Pause. "Except that time he hit me with a rock."

I love you, my un-matchable husband. And yes, it was a one in a million shot. Go you.

An Exit, a Pin, and a Princess

"I'm a mess. I'm just a mess."

"You look like a Disney princess."

*****

Three years, two children, four cars, a couple of floods, and an ocean of mercy later, it all came down to one test, the Exit HESI. If Justin passed, he would graduate, he would take the NCLEX, he would become a nurse, and I would get my husband back. If he failed, he would not graduate, he would not become a nurse, and ... I couldn't let my mind go any further. Usually I am the master of contingencies. I have plans A, B, C, and Z all laid out. But in the ten days leading up to Justin's final exam, I could not even entertain notions that he would not pass. It was one of the rare moments in my life, when I did not know what to do if things went south. The only conceivable response would be to change our names, move to Wyoming, and take up cattle ranching. (Because if everything else in the world breaks down, if disaster ensues, life ceases, and darkness reigns, we'll always have Wyoming.)

"God has not brought us this far, to leave us at the end." This was my mantra. I said it often. I said it to others. I said it to myself. And I believed it.

But...

My God is capable: He is beyond able to work miracles. He is sovereign: He has a plan beyond our imaginations for His glory. My God is good: there is nothing unkind, cruel, or neglectful in His character. My God is loving: He loves with passion, without regret, without fear, without selfishness. He loves perfectly, completely, eternally. This is what I know about my God. This is what He had taught me in three years.

But...

His plan may not include Justin passing the exit HESI. That was simple fact. He would still be capable, and sovereign, and good, and loving. But us finishing nursing school may not be part of His design. I knew His plan would be better. I knew His plan would be loving, and faith-growing, and one day would be revealed as the perfect plan for our lives.

But...

It would destroy me at first. It would tear Justin apart for a moment. The Sovereign God unfolds His good plan with a vision of our lives from our first tears to our last breath, and every choice He makes in between is made in love. The loving choices can break our hearts. The loving choices can shatter our souls. The loving choices build faith and hope and joy. You build faith and hope and joy by entering into environments that require great faith, by entering into moments of hopelessness, by entering into worlds devoid of light and laughter. In need of everything, we find our surest need of Him. And we find Him the surest fulfillment of need.

I knew He might take us there, into the sorrow.

The woman who emerged from this trial would be different. She would worship more boldly or more brokenly.

*****

The day of the test came. We had tried to keep it relatively quiet, but scores of friends were praying for us. Emails of prayer flooded in. Texts of prayer kept my phone buzzing. These people had walked beside us for three years, and they certainly would not abandon us now.

I tried to be patient. It was a long day. The test wasn't over until 7:30pm.

I had put the children to bed. I had made and not eaten dinner. I had turned on the TV. I had not gone completely mad, but I was borderline.

Finally, my phone buzzed. "It's over. I got an 830." He needed an 850 to officially pass. My head started swimming. Breathe! my brain screamed as I felt the hollowness carving its way outward from my stomach. "The professors are going to hold a meeting tonight and decide who graduates. They all respect me, and know how hard I've worked, so I'm optimistic. We just have to wait now."

That was not what I had prayed for. I wanted my God to come out the conquering hero. I wanted to fall to my knees in the living room and worship for His brilliant victory. I wanted to text every person I knew and let them share in our triumph.

I did not want to wait. I couldn't do it anymore.

I told my mother, my sister-in-law, and my friend what had happened. They all promised to continue praying. Then, I sank onto the couch and waited for Justin to get home.

*****

He was describing everything that had happened, describing why he was optimistic. My head kept nodding, my voice asserted that I understood, I was numb.

The phone rang.

Only Justin's voice was audible as he chatted with his professor on the other end.

"So then, we're good? I'm going to graduate?" he asked. His eyes twinkled; he grinned and gave me the money side again. "I just want to be sure that I've earned this, that you think I really deserve this degree?" The look on his face confirmed that his professors thought he more than earned it, that he was going to be a phenomenal nurse, that he had accomplished something incredible.

I stood, I walked into our bedroom, and I collapsed into a torrent of uncontrollable tears.

*****

This wasn't the cry of an angry woman. They weren't tears of joy. They weren't tears of sadness. These were tears of doneness. I was done. I was empty. I was numb. And the numb poured out.

Justin found me shaking and weeping. "Didn't you hear I passed?" he asked concerned. I nodded that yes, I heard. I tried to explain why I was crying. It did not go well. When one does not comprehend the reason for their actions, it is infinitely more complicated to explain that rational to others.

"I'm a mess. I'm just a mess!" I wailed. He held me. It was a good fifteen minutes before the tears stopped.

*****

"You look like a Disney Princess," my husband told me with a smile. My ringlet curled hair was pulled back, I had purple eyeliner on, I was wearing a turquoise blue dress and sparkling silver heels. I grinned like a school girl just told by her crush that she looked pretty on prom night. I felt like a Disney princess, long romanced by her Hero.

But this Disney princess had to change a bad diaper and comb snot out of her daughter's hair before the ball... or pinning ceremony. It's all a matter of perspective. This princess had to stop at Chick-fil-a, so her children would be manageable during the ceremony. This princess would carry a diaper bag, a bag of food, an open drink and her 19 month old daughter across a parking lot and down to the other end of the world building while wearing four and a half inch heels. Disney would never make a movie about my life. But if he did, he would be exhausted.

*****
Just to prove I didn't get any holier in the last three years: Justin and a classmate had a running joke about getting "pinned" at the ceremony. "Who's going to pin you?" my dodgy husband would ask with a wry grin.

"I don't know," his friend would reply with a giggle. "Maybe Professor Brown will pin me. Or maybe I'll just pin myself." Insert more giggling; because my husband is in fact sometimes still a thirteen year old boy. None of their other classmates got the joke. When Justin came home and asked me if I wanted to pin him, I waggled my eyebrows and slapped his butt (my poor children are going to be ruined for life). And thus I proved that I have a dirtier mind than nursing students who have catheterized complete strangers. Awesome. If God ever slaps His forehead, I'm sure I've earned a few.

The pinning ceremony is formal and serious. It is a thoughtful celebration of the culmination of students work leading them into their profession with a solemn oath steeped in tradition. At the ceremony, the speaker announced, "Justin will now be pinned by his wife Abi." I couldn't look my husband in the eye as I walked forward.

We're just terrible. We are physically incapable of taking things seriously.

*****
In spite of the giggling, my heart managed to wrestle a few tears from my eyes, as I hugged my husband. It was done.

God had brought us through.

I hugged him for a little longer than was perhaps appropriate. He was real, he was alive. It still felt like a dream. Maybe if I just held my husband in my arms, it would sink in. We were done. Three years, two children, four cars, a couple of floods, an ocean of mercy, and an Exit HESI later, we had been made new.

There were no worship songs to sing. The song had not been written which could manifest the praise in my heart. I grabbed every line of every hymn I knew and silently cried it out to my King.

Holy holy holy is the Lord God Almighty
The Earth is filled with his glory

Bless the Lord, oh my soul

We sing Hallelujah, we sing Hallelujah, we sing Hallelujah
The Lamb has overcome!

Shout to the Lord all the Earth let us sing
Power and Majesty, Praise to our King!

The Bible tells us that when we do not know how to pray, the Spirit intercedes for us with groans too deep for human understanding. Usually, we believe this happens in the hurt and the trouble and the pain. But I hope in the light of life, in unbounded joy, and in matchless delight the Spirit also sings for us, into the ear of our God, the words humanity has yet to imagine. I hope the Spirit sings to the Father the devotion of His daughter rescued by the Son. One day, I will hear the choruses of angels and know that a verse of their anthem was raised in my heart, unsung by my lips, and offered through eternity to the Captain and King, who brought us through and made us new.

The Third Year of Nursing School Part 2

"When you are so outnumbered, so unable to complete that impossible task, so in over your head that you couldn't see the light of day even if you tried, you are exactly where God wants you. This is a God who loves weakness; because His strength is perfected in weakness."
"The way we stand now has every bearing on the way this thing is going to end up."
"And so I ask you, what is your 300?"
Gideon - Priscilla Shirer

*****
Justin's school gave the students several options. Students who elected to leave the program would be refunded all of their tuition. There was another school (the only other school in the state) that offered a BSN in nursing and would accept their credits. Neither of these situations was ideal. Who knew how long another program would take, or even if they would take on new students in this unique situation. We couldn't give another 4-5 years to finding a new nursing program, applying, finishing it and doing clinicals. Justin didn't have the energy. I didn't have the heart.

Then, I came home one day from my new job and Justin was working out numbers on a scrap of paper. I recognized our mortgage amount, groceries, bills, petrol. He was working out our financial life on the back of a scrap of paper. I sat down across from him, and with a certain amount of hesitation he told me that there was another option. We had over a year and a half more of schooling before Justin's anticipated graduation date. After much discussion, the professors had decided to create a "teach out" program for those remaining students who had enough credits completed. The teach out would be under nine months. They would have the same amount of course work, the same number of clinical hours, and the same testing/grading requirements. It would all be compressed into half the normal amount of time. If Justin had failed even one class, this would not even be an option.

On that scrap of paper Justin was calculating our financial life without his income for at least nine months. There was no way he could work and finish school. We looked at the paper. It was not possible. If we cut out every extra, clung to only the bare necessities, if we strategized and schemed with every trick we had in our arsenal, it would still be impossible. Our only hope was to cling to the One who knew this was the plan all along. It was possible; because our Captain had crashed our car, and filled our bank account with an unexpected $3,000. It was possible; because he had endeared me to absolute strangers, encouraging them to allow me to work full time instead of thirty hours a week. It was possible because with Him all things are possible, nothing is a surprise, and His infinite love had this end in mind all along. For us, the utterly unattainable became possible in the hands of God.

The girl I was even just a year earlier would have wept with fear, clawed for a handhold of control, prayed for some manner of divine deliverance.

The woman I was becoming felt excitement, the thrill of joy, and knelt with the understanding that this was divine deliverance. He had sent it before I even asked. I set my face to the year approaching and smiled. The woman who emerged from this at the end of June 2015 would be made of other metals than earth. I waited for my God to make me anew.

*****
A few weeks before the nine months of need and loneliness and single-parenting, I began a women's Bible study at my home church. It was Priscilla Shirer's Gideon. It seemed that every word she spoke was fashioned in the mind of God to arm me for the coming year. In the depths of God's word, buried in a story of blood, and men, and darkness, I was made brave. I waited, filled with faith I had never known before, to see a miracle.

If we came out of this with a nursing degree, and our bills paid, and my sanity in place, and our convictions firm, it would be nothing less than the miraculous hand of God. I had no doubt that I was waiting to see My Captain move.

*****
But it did suck. I mean, it really sucked.

And then things started breaking again. Our shower stopped working. Our garbage disposal went out. (And after the incident linked above, it really went out. It was dead. Badly dead.) The jeep kept randomly giving up the ghost. I was so alone I could choke on it, my throat sticky and coarse with the emptiness of my heart. My daughter scratched at her broken skin like it was not made for her. My son refused to eat. And got sick. A lot.

But I waited for my miracles. Because a woman remade by the rushing spirit of her King does not despair. Hope does not disappoint. I waited for my God to move.

*****
And every single moment when the need threatened to overwhelm me, he moved. Gifts from friends, family, and strangers poured over us. Groceries appeared, gift cards, cash. The joy of using a gift card to fill my gas tank was so overwhelming, I did a little dance at the pump (thankfully at 5:00 in the morning, no one observed my temporary lunacy). Our family pooled their resources and bought us a new garbage disposal. The jeep suddenly started working... at least a little better. Justin used a golf tee to fix the shower (and it worked!). Noah brought me fresh amazement and delight at every moment. Hannah brought me courage and laughter. When darkness befell a friend's marriage, light and renewed commitment engulfed ours.

I lived day to day. God moved day to day. I thought, if I had an out of body experience, I would actually be able to watch myself growing in the Spirit.

*****
On the advice of our pediatrician, I took Hannah to get tested for allergies. After the feeling of powerlessness and annoyance faded, I finally got the paperwork finished and we received our first shipment of formula. My baby girl loved it. She guzzled it down. And her skin started to improve. We removed all wheat, milk, soy, peanuts, and eggs from her diet. We steered her clear of latex. Suddenly, looking into her big blue eyes my heart wasn't broken by her skin. Out of curiosity, I looked at her formula online. One case of four fourteen ounce cans cost $155 plus tax and shipping from the UK. Every month we received fifteen cans for free. Because Justin had to quit his job, I was given a way to provide quality nutrition for my daughter. In silence I worshipped, unable to speak at the beautiful and ironic thought that my God was providing for my children by making us flat broke.

*****
Every month we were bleeding money. The crash savings was dwindling. Then I went to pay the mortgage, and it had magically increased by over $250 per month. The most dismal of all illusions. It was such a small thing when taken in consideration with everything God had accomplished thus far, but it was a blow to our delicate reality. It took active, mind bending work, to continue trusting my God to provide.

*****
Our tax return came: $7,000.

I looked up at my God, speechless. Um... thanks. I don't think Shakespeare could have conjured up the eloquence deserved by the Almighty.

*****
June came. And there we stood, looking down the last month of this tribulation. Justin had survived. He passed all of his classes. His professors all loved him. He learned more than I could ever dream of knowing. My heart swelled with pride every time I saw him.

Hannah's vocabulary boomed. She said the most hysterical and sweetest things a mommy's ears ever heard. She continued to wash my world with goodness and sunlight.

Noah broke out of his frozen state... a little. He started talking to anyone who would listen about trains and fish and Jonah. And then, one day, he pointed to a picture and said, "Cross. Jesus died on the cross." Wide-eyed I asked him who Jesus is. "Jesus is God," he replied simply.

The woman I saw in the mirror looked exactly the same as the one I encountered a year earlier (which I suppose was a miracle in itself, no gray, no worry weight, no wrinkles, the same twinge of an attitude problem glimmering in her rebellious eyes). But I was not the same. "She has a passion for God; because she has seen God move. The reason she has seen God move is because she allows herself to be put in situations where God has to move," Priscilla Shirer.

We had some money in the bank. We booked a vacation. There would be much dancing and frivality. The celebration would be massive.

But first, we had to pass the exit HESI. We needed His great mercy and grace one more time...

Far be it from me to not believe
Even when my eyes can't see
And this mountain that's in front of me
Will be thrown into the midst of the sea.

Through it all, through it all
My eyes are on You
Through it all, through it all
It is well.

So let go my soul and trust in Him
The waves and wind still know His name.

The Third Year of Nursing School Part 1

I went suddenly silent. Street signs, houses, and other cars flew past my window unseen, as I fought back tears, as my breath caught in my throat, as my heart beat a little quicker. "Are you okay?" my husband asked, glancing over with concern. I shook my head. I shook it again. As if shaking my head might rattle my world back into sense and order. As if I hadn't just been remade.

"I knew God was at work. I knew He was involved in people's lives. I just never imagined to see it so clearly in our own story. I never expected miracles, even though I prayed for them. And He has woven this all together so much better than I dreamed or prayed."

*****
At the end of Justin's second year of graduate school, when he was killing himself to get in fifteen hours a week at work, I was called into my boss' office. As I stepped in the door, I took in her dead expression, the unusual silence, and the face of a woman, who I'd never seen before. Her badge gave her name and her department: "Human Resources." My stomach churned. Shakily, I slid into the available seat. I maintained strict eye contact as my boss began speaking. Ok, that's a lie. I stared at a tiny spot just between her eyebrows, and took deep breaths. One of my biggest pet peeves is when I portray emotion in front of other people. It's a neurosis of pride and control. You will not move me. You have no authority over me. I am stronger than this moment.

After five years, the decision had been made that a nurse should be hired to handle my completely administrative position over hospital policy. I was receiving a month's severance pay. Thank you for all your work. Leave your badge with the secretary.

I drove home in anger. It's a long drive. I arrived home relieved. I had been searching for a way out. I had been searching for a new challenge, a job I could love, a job with opportunity for pay advancement, a job that could carry us if Justin just couldn't keep working.

It was a strangely reflective moment as I calmly told Justin that I was out of work. I felt hopeful, I felt courageous. If I closed my eyes, I thought I might actually see my faith growing before me. This trouble was making me new. And I had perfect peace that our Captain's mighty hand was working and would continue providing.

He had given me a whole month to job search. He had given me a whole month, and a whole summer month at that, to play with my children, to watch them grow, to watch myself be made new.

*****
However, regardless of the hope we maintain, our humanity sometimes oversteps it's bounds and renews fear and worry. I was driving to pick up my children. My month was almost over. There had been many applications and many interviews, but as of yet, no offers. I started to ponder what we would do if I couldn't find work. I couldn't stand the thought of Justin having to quit school in order to provide for our family. We had endured so much, sacrificed so much to get him this far. It would destroy me if he had to quit. I prayed fervently as I drove. The worry was consuming me.

I remember looking up at the light. I remember recognizing that it was red. I also, distinctly remember having no idea what a red light might mean, or what action I might need to take in response. It was only as a car pulled into the intersection moments later, that my brain screamed, "STOP!"

Of course, it was too late at this point. The screech of tires was followed by the crunching of metal on metal and the shatter of glass. The shrieking of my horrified mind shouted, "Not now! Don't do this to my husband now! Please let this be a nightmare!"

It wasn't. I had broadsided another car. The woman was fine, but screamed at me like I had just killed her entire family and set her house on fire. As the police cleared things away, I had no choice, but to pray for her. I prayed for her well-being, for the insurance company to be kind and fair to her, and with a deep breath, I prayed that I would see her in eternity, that her life would be changed by the God of grace and mercy, that true peace and true joy would fill her world.

I don't know if any of my prayers were answered. But I know I was made new. Our Captain gave me a heart of forgiveness and compassion. He had faithfully planned that my children would not be in the car, that neither of us would be injured, and then he provided miraculously for the future, by way of a car accident.

*****
Justin and I were driving to the grocery store in the jeep. It decided to take us all the way there, for which we were both grateful. Justin got a call from the insurance adjuster. I nervously began drumming my fingers on the steering wheel. This could be bad. Head tipped to the side, I tried to hear what the man was telling my husband. Suddenly Justin's face turned sunny, I could tell he was trying to not sound overly excited on the phone, but he threw up the money sign with a grin.

FYI: "The money sign" is when you make this shape and twist your wrist back and forth.

The car God allowed me to destroy was relatively new for us, less than six months old. We used our tax return and some savings and paid $7,000 for it. As Justin hung up the phone he did a little dance. "Well? What's got you so chipper?" I asked impatiently.

"The car is totalled," he responded. That did not sound good. Great, I thought sadly. Now my husband is losing touch with reality, and I'm going to have to have him committed. "They are going to cut us a check for the value of the car minus our $500 deductible."

He's not so great with the spitting-out-of-it. With ever deepening confusion, I glanced over at him. "The check is going to be about $11,000."

My brain flat-lined. I was almost sure he had spoken in the English language, using standard ordinal numbers, but for some reason it wasn't computing. He grinned, "Thank you for crashing our car."

I do what I can.

It's very little really. God does what He can, which is a lot. And he used what I perceived as disaster to put $11,000 in our bank account. The woman who finished driving to the grocery store was not the woman who left her home fifteen minutes earlier. This new woman trusted her God infinitely more, she was braver, happier, and was beginning to realize how much bigger her God is.

*****
But we still needed a car. As we drove from lot to lot trying on more cars than the Mad Hatter has hats, I got a call. It was from a potential employer. He thought the interview went very well, he believed I would be an excellent choice for the position, could I start on July 16th? (The final pay period of severance and paying out vacation from my previous position ended on July 15th. I wouldn't even miss a paycheck.) The only downside was the job was only for 30 hours per week. Thirty hours was better than nothing. I accepted the position. Justin and I bought a car. After taxes, registration, and fees, the car cost us $8,000. We still had $3,000 in the bank, I had a job, Justin was still working.

God brought us through. He provided. It was a good day to worship.

*****
Rumors had been circulating about Justin's school. There had been a major legal issue on the East coast. Mucky mucks had mismanaged funds ('mismanaged' being a euphemism for 'stole, cheated, lied, thieved') and many of the campuses were closing. The administration at Justin's campus assured the students that it had absolutely nothing to do with them. He continued on with his classes, struggling, passing, holding on, sleeping not at all, seeing us very little. But we had renewed hope.

My new employer called again. With a pleading in his voice he asked if I might just possibly be able to work 40 hours per week instead at least for now, pretty please.

Well, I suppose, if you twist my arm, yes I could work full time and provide for my family. If I have to.

Our Captain was doing amazing things. We would make it through. It was another good day to worship.

*****
The school is closing.

I'm sorry, what?

Closing. The school will close its doors on June 30th, 2015.

(I did some quick calculations on my fingers.)

That leaves Justin three quarters away from his degree.

True.

That's not fair. We have sacrificed. We have given up everything little thing we could give up. He has suffered. It isn't fair. Did we just waste two years of our life? Did we just waste $25,000? How could this happen?

Can you trust me?

What other choice do I have?

Can you trust me because you want to trust me? Can you wait and see what I will do?

*****
"Spirit lead me where my trust is without borders
Let me walk upon the waters
Wherever You would call me
Take me deeper than my feet could ever wander
And my faith will be made stronger

In the presence of my Savior"