I am at a difficult place. I am questioning my worth as a spiritual being and the responsibilities as a wife, mother, citizen. Our family finds itself choking on debt. We have assets that the economy our esteemed leader has thrown us into, has rendered either worthless, or unattainable for a reasonable price. Our needs pile higher than our income and I find myself struggling with my faith that God will see us through and deliver us on the other side, to a place of comfort. Harder still, the difficult task of trying to keep my husband's eyes towards heaven, as opposed to being dragged down by frustration, and despair.
How can I continue to tell him, "God will see us through. It will be okay." When in my heart, I feel doubt, like the cold fingers of winter, creeping around my heart to crush it. Out of the depths of sorrow and the most harsh circumstances, I have seen miracles arise and wonder, "When will our time come?" "Have I not been faithful enough?"
Such doubts swirl in my mind, like the dust motes rising and falling in the sunshine on a silent afternoon. I feel like I cannot cry, because it would scare my kids and further hurt my husband's pride. I am bound by new life, from working more and harder to assist with our financial need. None of our creditors are feeling generous and in fact, seem bent on extracting more than the previously agreed upon terms had outlined. This financial atmosphere has robbed many of charity, generosity and humanity and I feel so alone, yet surrounded by so many with even more need than I. So, then I feel guilty. I am not in as dire a situation as some, how dare I beg anyone, God or man for assistance and compassion? Yet, here I am. Wishing some mysterious benefactor would hear my plea and cut our debt in half, freeing us to move into a healthier home before the new baby comes, and for my boys to grow in. For the lines of worry and hurt to melt from my husbands face. For the racing of my heart and fear in my mind to pass and feel at peace through this pregnancy. How I wish, just one pregnancy could be without so much inner turmoil. She may never wish to emerge, for fear of what this world may do to her, sensing her mother's anguish from the womb.
Where is my miracle?