Finding God When Disappointment Knocks

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year from our family to yours!

I don’t know what it is. There are 365 days in a year and somehow we are professionals at getting sick over the holidays.  I have to think back before children and marriage to remember a time when I didn’t get sick during the winter months.  Disappointment threatens all attempts at joy, peace, and love.  The world, it seems, is having a party and we are stuck at home.  Again.

This year was no exception.  Monday morning, the morning after Christmas, we were awakened to the screeches of my eldest throwing up in his bed.  All over the sheets, the mattress, and the semi-shag carpet.  He was quarantined in his room the rest of the day and all seemed well.  We carried on with the other kids the rest of the day and all of the next day as the kids enjoyed their new Christmas presents.  Well, mostly enjoyed.  

I’ll spare you the pouting-because-everyone-else-got-better-presents-than-me drama.  And of course this was after my best attempts at warning my little sweet peas that Satan would be knocking on the doors of their hearts telling them to pout and be jealous.  Are we going to let him in, children?  “No!”  they had promised.  Loveable little liars.

Wednesday evening was when the next bomb dropped. I was grabbing my coat, about to head out the door to a decorating appointment when it happened.  Our littlest man lost his stomach on the couch and carpet in the basement.  In a split second I felt the excitement of creative freedom slip right through my fingers.  He proceeded to lose his stomach every hour or less until roughly 2 am, when he must have tagged our second born who took off where he left off until morning.  My second-born had to show up his little brother, of course, and lose everything out both ends.  At the same time.  Our saving grace was that our second born is like a bullet and never missed the toilet or trash can once.  He deserves a trophy, I tell ya.

Of course this took us to the morning of our nephew’s rehearsal dinner, my husband’s namesake.  The sting of disappointment hit hard.  It would be ok, though.  Surely we were through the worst of it.  We decided I would stay home with the kids and my husband would go alone, lest we risk infecting our babysitter (my mom) who was also watching the kids for the wedding. 

It was a crying shame, really.  My favorite thing in the world is listening to sentimental stories that make you cry one moment and laugh so hard you cry, the next.  I live for things like rehearsal dinners.  My husband on the other hand yawns through things like that and starts fidgeting for the exit the instant someone taps the mic.  But he needed to be there.  So I stayed home.

It turned out to be the right decision because praise God, we made the wedding!  I would show you a picture except I forgot my phone and we didn’t take a single picture on my husbands’ phone except for the picture he took of the DJ equipment.  Naturally.  Everyone is blowing up social media with their gorgeous pictures and we. have. none.  Not a single picture.  

I did make Scotty take one awkward picture of me when we got home.  Of course, I didn’t remember to ask my mom to take a picture of both of us before she left.  I couldn’t bare not documenting this rare occasion where I had a fancy dress on, make-up on my face, and even curls in my hair.  It was a Christmas miracle to get enough uninterrupted minutes strung together in a row to curl my hair!  

Here's the picture:  

Are you ready for the caption?  

“45 minutes before my daughter and husband started throwing up.”  

Lord have mercy!  I spent the rest of that night rocking my daughter and holding back her hair and cleaning up the semi-shag carpet in her bedroom as my hubby heaved up the beautiful fare from the wedding.  I must have managed to catch a few z’s because I didn’t even feel that awful when I woke up the next morning, New Year’s Eve, the morning of my son’s eighth birthday.  

We did our best to carry on without my husband as he slept off his horrible night.  The New Year’s Eve/Birthday party that was planned at my mother-in-law’s house was certainly out of the question.  Let me tell you, the tears were flowing.  I held my babies and tried to assure them that God was still good even if we had to miss the party.  We looked around and attempted to rattle off a few things to be grateful for.  It was mostly me forcing out the usual obligatory items:  we are all together, we have a warm home, we have food in our bellies (well, kind of).  I was trying hard to carry on and stay positive.  

By evening, my mother-in-law and I had decided my two eldest boys were far enough out of the woods that they could go solo to the party.  Of course, this caused our youngest littles to wail in agony at the unjustice of it all.  

"Life isn’t fair!  Why can’t we go?"

I busted out all the stops to halt the tears.  I brought home treats and we indulged on Amazon Prime kid movies all night until bedtime.  Then I went to bed at 10:00 pm on New Years Eve and tried to stay as far away from my husband as possible.  How romantic.       

The next night, Saturday morning at 2 am to be exact, my precious mama who had watched my kiddos so we could go to the wedding, got sick.  It hit her hard and took two days to fully recover.  Then, Sunday morning my eldest son got sick.  Again.  We were awakened to his shrills from the bathroom.  “Stomach bug!” he yelled over and over again.  This was, of course, after we had sent him to the party with all of our out of town relatives.  At least he had learned to high tail it to the bathroom and not freeze in his bed like he had the first time. 

This whole time I was trying not to worry and freak out that I was next.  I mean God had been so gracious to my baby and I.  It must have been the breastfeeding that gave us extra immunities.  

Until it didn’t.

Last night at around 2:30 am it began.  My luck had run out and I was down for the count.  I spent the rest of the night till 2:00 pm the next afternoon shivering, sweating, and losing everything out both ends.  My husband had to stay home from work and miss greeting his new students to their first day back of the new semester.  365 days, and I choose this one.  Of course.

It’s really quite interesting all you learn when trying to rest and recover upstairs in a bustling house of four homeschooling children and a baby downstairs.  It isn’t exactly tranquil, but somehow I sleep more soundly than I would in absolute silence.  

In the middle of the chaos all you notice is the fact that your four year old still doesn't have his shoes and socks on.  Upstairs I hear him ask for help, but his request goes unnoticed amidst the hustle and bustle of four others trying to get out the door.  When he erupts in frustration and throws himself on the floor, no one realizes he didn't decide to be a problem on purpose.  Dagger to my heart.

I hear the movement and noise of the kids and surprisingly don't hear the sound of my husband's voice. He's so good at that.  Remaining calm under pressure and not raising his voice.  The benefit of over 15 years of classroom experience.  Another dagger to my heart.  

I greet my little ones as they come to the door to check on me and I realize that they really do love me after all.  My little Xavier brings me a butter knife to break apart the ice chips that are stuck together in a massive chunk in my glass.  My daughter shares two of her saltine crackers with me and hugs my legs as tears fall down her face because I won’t let her get too close and she misses me.  Reece-man comes to check on me in business-like fashion and stays just long enough to let me know he hopes I feel better and leaves with a “God bless you”.  My eldest, Jadon, comes around often to check on me and kisses me on the cheek despite my best attempts to shoo him away.  

They really do care.  Despite all of my inadequacies and ways I utterly fail them, they love me.  “Love covers a multitude of sins.”  Just as Jesus promised, love is prevailing.  Thank you, Jesus.  

Wrapped up in the package of illness and isolation God is sending me a love letter.  My husband is growing even more in his understanding of me and the roles I play as he mans my post.  Grace.  He gets an up-close look at our kiddos in their school element and is just so proud.  Goodness.  God is working good out of circumstances I did not desire.  

Is #blessed only for those whose lives are going right?  Maybe social media would try to convince us so.  But it is not so!  It isn’t the material things I enjoy, good health, or smooth-sailing circumstances that alone give me reason to announce that I am blessed.  I am blessed because I have a God who goes out of His way to meet me where I am and communicate His love to me when I need it most.  I am blessed because all of God’s promises to me are “Yes” in Christ Jesus, my Lord. 

For we walk by faith, not by sight.  (2 Corinthians 5:7)  Lord, help me not to look around and compare my circumstances to another’s as I attempt to assess Your love for me.  You love all of us impartially and draw near to those who draw near to You.  Increase our faith and change our sight.  

Texas pastor Ralph Douglas West states,

To live by faith is to let God be God. God is not like the proprietor of a coupon store where you cash in the books of green stamps. You don’t exchange your devotion, obedience, and faith for the promised premiums in the catalogue (with the same premium for everybody, of course). God is faithful to His promises of peace, joy, and abundant life, but the fulfillment of them will be as surprising in your life as it will be in mine.

And so it was this Christmas.  Our lot was different than those who enjoyed a healthy holiday moving uninterrupted from one event to the next.  We were surprised by our circumstances that threatened to leave us in despair.  But God decided He wanted to meet us in the hurting places of disappointment, exhaustion, and illness.  My prayer for the new year is that I would continue to distinguish His face in every circumstance, even the bleak ones, because I know with certainty that He is there.

“God, who made the world and everything in it, since He is Lord of heaven and earth, does not dwell in temples made with hands. Nor is He worshiped with men’s hands, as though He needed anything, since He gives to all life, breath, and all things. And He has made from one blood every nation of men to dwell on all the face of the earth, and has determined their preappointed times and the boundaries of their dwellings, so that they should seek the Lord, in the hope that they might grope for Him and find Him, though He is not far from each one of us;”  

Acts 17:24-27

P.S.  There is much to update you on as far as decorating and design goes.  We went all country farmhouse in the kitchen last year with beadboard everywhere, we refinished our kitchen table, painted the fireplace, rearranged (again), and are updating the bathroom right now with what else--beadboard! 

Maybe I'll get to posting pictures and dishing on the details in 2017.  Maybe.  I know you understand:)  

Here is a semi-updated pic of the most precious interruptions to my life I could have ever asked for.  From left to right:  Reece (8), Xavier (4), Jadon (9), Liv Marie (10 months now), and Vera Grace (6).  

Thanks for patiently following along with me!  I appreciate you!  And to the handfull of clients I was able to help in 2016--thank you for your business!  You're the best.  I look forward to 2017!