Wednesday Words

My friend Becky posted this blog yesterday morning and inspired me to share my similar, yet different story.

A traditional marriage has a stay-at-home mom, kids, and a 9 – 5 working husband.  In this model the husband works all day to provide for the family while the wife stays at home caring for the kids and then they all get to spend the evening and weekends together.

A couple of years ago, within a month, Josh and I both transitioned into full-time self-employment.  A year later Citizen Way, Josh’s band, was signed and I had to wean off of most of my part-time/freelance gigs to put enough time into my business, a Sunshine Moment.

As a result, in my marriage, I am the bread-winner right now, which is a joke because I am an artist, and my husband sometimes spends weeks at a time away from the house.  This makes me responsible for taking care of our home, making the money, doing our budget, paying the bills, taking care of the dogs, and taking care of myself. I’ve become all too aware that this wouldn’t be nearly as difficult if I was single and only paying bills for one person while splitting the rent with a roommate or two.  Not to mention, I’d have people around.

So, as Josh is gone for days or weeks at a time I work overtime in my little corner to pay our bills.  I don’t complain anymore.  Yes, this means I used to.  I used to take it hard when Josh left for a few days at a time.  Now our normal is weeks at a time so I push any inconvenient feelings into a box in the back corner of my brain and lock them back there.

Most people think what we have is ideal.  I mean we’re doing what we love and getting paid for it right?  Yes we are doing what we love.  But, currently, Josh isn’t really getting paid for it and I’m barely getting paid for it.  It’s the fact of our life and a risk we have to take in hopes that money will come eventually.

So this is my norm.  And after this past week, I would take that every day if I didn’t have to live what I’m living right now…

On Thursday Josh left for 4+ weeks of nonstop touring.

On Friday my mom called to tell me my Grandma decided to stop dialysis (this means she has about 2 weeks to live).

On Sunday that knowledge, despite my best efforts of to contain it, traveled from my head to my heart and spilled over as buckets of messy, snotty tears.

Yesterday I was pushed further.  Sam first snatched a chocolate chip cookie right off the table while I was in the bathroom.  When I found him all that was left were crumbs and chocolate smears all over my couch.  A couple hours later I came home from running a vital errand for the band to find he’d managed to get into the bathroom and distribute the contents of the trash all over the house and snatch the box of donuts off of a different table and polish them off.

Something in me snapped.  After almost throwing Sam out of the house to be in time out I melted to a puddle of wailing in the middle of my kitchen floor.  I picked myself up only to crumple again onto the more favorable, carpeted floor of the living room.  When I finally reached a state of numbness, I let Sam in, and spent the next two hours completely still and silent on my couch.  I dozed in-between bouts of just staring at the wall.  I have never felt so alone and helpless.

The worst part is I told myself I would be strong because there’s nothing worse than having a needy wife at home making a mess of herself.  But it appears I can only manage for so long before succumbing to my black hole of remorse.

My grandma does not know Jesus.  So even though she is still alive my fear and grief for her soul is consuming my whole body.  I have prayed for her consistently for a year and a half and now and with only two weeks left to reach her I simply feel hopeless.

Perhaps this is me reaching out for help. But all I really want is for my grandma to find Jesus so I ask that you simply pray your hearts out for her because the prayers of one broken-hearted girl is not enough anymore.