Soul Sista Prayin'

I've had a few weeks to have this "no longer employed" thing sink in. This has certainly been an identity shift for me; and I haven't taken it lying down.  After all, I've only ever worked in this field since my first job when I was 15.  I never waitressed or worked at the mall with my friends.  Instead, my far-too-serious teenage self was volunteering with art therapists at a children's hospital and working in residential facilities for children with severe needs. Part of me regrets never having learned how to make a proper Orange Julius, or blowing off my shift at the boardwalk snack stand, but I've always known where my passions lie.  This is why I've done some kicking and screaming over the past year and a half as I have watched my beloved work slip away.  Now that the slow bleed is finished and I have licked my wounds I'm starting to feel sense of relief.  It's behind me, for now, and it's time to stop whining and move forward.  

I'm trying to rely on God to fill in the gaps.  Parenthood has been extremely isolating in ways I never could have predicted, and shelving my career has exasperated this.  But I know God has a plan, and that my job is to find myself in him.  My job is to find balance in the places where I am--not where I believe I wish to be.  And right now, today, tomorrow, I am here parenting Noemi. 

A wise friend recently referred to my parenting Noemi as "holy work."  That sits well with my soul.  Her 4-hour scream session yesterday certainly did not feel holy, but I suppose the moment where she threw the small, hard box that my Bible came in at my face could be considered baptismal.  It's been a rough few weeks again with lack of sleep and the return of bulldozer-worthy control and aggression.  It's highlighted how much I need a day to focus on something outside of our home.  But perhaps the balance will come when I find balance within myself first, rather than relying on outside experiences to bring me relief.  No doubt, a night out with my husband or a girlfriend is long overdue, but I shouldn't exclusively blame the externals.

As I was on my knees praying yesterday during the seventh inning stretch of our tour of Hades, I begged God to give my tired self strength and to help me remember the big picture and surrender my fear to him and ...and...and...   I was reminded that I don't do this enough.   Sure, prayer is a part of my daily life, but soul-sista praaaayin' on my knees complete with mascara running down my neck isn't.  I've written about reaching the bottom before, and yesterday I felt like my heart was on fire and my brain was going to split in two.  As another wise friend has said: Julie, we now know the soundtrack to hell.

But Noemi and I eventually passed out together on my bed and we woke up less effected.

Last night I sat Noemi on my lap, put my lips to her forehead and prayed out loud for her--for her brain to keep on healing--for her to be able to feel safe and relaxed enough to fall asleep--for her to trust that Mommy keeps her safe and that Jesus always loves us no matter how much we whine, cry, kick and scream (that one was for me as much as it was for her).  And then I felt an eensy-weensy bit more balanced.  I regularly pray for her, but not with her.  Sure, we pray together every night to thank Jesus for her favorite people and the events of the day, but I usually don't focus on her struggles.  Perhaps I should so that she learns not to be ashamed of her struggles and to stare them in the eye and shoo them away.

Perhaps she and I both need a little more holy work--a little more of this kind of prayer in our lives.