Saturday, October 4, 2014

October. Phew.

So. Raise your hand if you're glad it's finally October. My hand is raised so high it's pulling my arm out of its socket. We've made it through September, the Month of Difficult Transitions. Everyone is ensconced in school, we've started our fall meetings and established our fall routines, the weather is going to stop jerking us around and just stay crispy, the fall colors are giving us new perspective on our yards, the landscape, and life in general.

We have arrived. At October. Phew.

September was hard. Really hard.

I used to blog through all my hard stuff, but I've recently encountered some hard stuff that doesn't want to be blogged about. Because it turned 13. And wants its privacy respected.

I'll just say this. I spent, by my calculations, a total of 28 hours of September talking to the guidance counselor, two school psychologists, two professional counselors, our primary care doctor, our pediatric physical therapist, a pediatric psychologist, a psychiatric nurse practitioner, and a pediatric psychiatrist.

It felt like this:

I'm Olaf in that scenario.

And the results of those hours of dialogue with professionals are "all good things, all good things." And while I'm falling off a cliff, I'm looking up and hollering, "Hang in there, guys!" And I'm pretty sure I've just completed 28 of my required clinical hours toward my degree in psychology. If I ever want one.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaand I'm spent.

Also during September, Rosy had puppies, Jeff's knee took a turn for the worse, I had the post-hysterectomy blues, Jonathan's teacher announced there would be less homework this year because she had listened to the parental complaints heaped upon her last spring, and an MRI on my shoulder led us to the happy conclusion that I'm just about ready to obtain my associate's degree in PT and transfer to the University of Lake Stevens Athletic Club.

While all this was going on, God repeated the same truth to me over and over again.

See, Jeff's knee kept him from working for a couple of weeks.

(He will have an MRI and orthopedic consult this month, and it's very likely that a long overdue knee surgery draweth nigh.)

Anyway, I loved having him around, but I also spent a few days worried about cash flow. One evening while we worked together in the kitchen, I asked him, "What are we going to do?"

He pointed to the words I posted on my refrigerator several months ago. "It's not about what we're going to do," he said calmly, "it's about what He's going to do."

"Be still my soul. Thy God doth undertake to guide the future as He has the past."
~Ka­tha­ri­na A. von Schle­gel, 1752.

Oh. Right. I have years and years of proof that God is with us, providing for us, taking care of everything.

And then, halfway through September, James couldn't find clean jeans because the clean clothes were in a giant pile that he didn't want to dig through. This resulted in a meltdown which concluded with both of my children accusing me of being an unreliable nurturer.

Twerps. Spoiled, entitled, first-world children.

Jeff, of course, would have none of that. Not only did he set his sons straight as only he can, but he summarily dispelled all my post-hysterectomy-induced self-doubt by pointing again to the phrase on the fridge.

"Has there ever been a time when you haven't given our sons everything they need? Have they ever gone without a meal? Have they ever gone without clean clothes to wear? Have they ever gone one single day without hearing you tell them you love them?"

Well, no.

"You have always met their needs, and you will keep meeting their needs. They can trust you."

Yeah. Take that, spoiled twerps.

I mean... Be still, my sons. Thy mom doth undertake to nurture you in the future as she hath nurtured you in the past. I know beyond the shadow of a doubt that I will always do my very best to give my children their very best life, their very best chance, their very best mom. And just as I will always do my very best for my sons, my Abba will always do His very best for His daughter and her little family.

As the remainder of my emotional endurance drained away at the end of the month, my sister-in-law invited me to try Bible Study Fellowship. I wanted to try it, but the designated day was already packed with psychiatric appointments for James. I felt pretty nervous, and I wanted to spend my morning hunkered down, fortifying myself emotionally.

But God was like, "Go to BSF."

So I was like, "Fine."

So I went. And I heard a lecture on Moses. At the burning bush, Moses told God that he was unworthy and inadequate to lead the children of Israel out of Egypt. God didn't say, "Of course you're worthy and adequate. You can do it!" God said, "I am the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, and I will be with you just as I was with your forefathers."

And God whispered in my ear, "And as I was with Moses, so I will be with you."

"I will be with you..." In two hours. At our psychiatric appointments. "I will be with you..." as we decide treatment options for James. "I will be with you..." as we start to navigate the teen years. "I will be with you..." as our cash flow straightens itself out, which it has already begun to do.

My God doth undertake to guide the future as He has the past.

"Just as I was with Moses, so I will be with you. I will not leave you or forsake you." ~Joshua 1:5b

Yep. I'm definitely looking forward to October. Onaccounta God will be with me all through it, just as He was with me all through September. So that's happy.