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.