A Vision

In Proverbs, the Psalmist declares that "where there is no vision, the people perish" (Pro 29:18). I can tell you--not having a vision is sticky. Life becomes swirls of redundant, dreary wasteland that gets traveled again and again--eg, a rut.  When we moved to Colorado, T's vision was clear. He would start medical school. Period. My vision was a bit foggier. I was leaving a great job, fabulous friends and family, and had been applying online for jobs since March. When we got to Utah for a three week hiatus from life before the journey to the Mile-High City, I still had not a clue what my future would hold, but I did find out that I was pregnant.

This news, while joyous for certain, added to my uncertainty of my vision for my Colorado experience. Who would want to hire a pregnant lady, a high-risk pregnancy lady no less? The first two months here left me tired, sick, and job searching to little avail. After a couple of job interviews in my field of mental health, I started wondering if my own mental health would prevent me from contributing to lives of clients in a meaningful way--I was discouraged. Worried about the pregnancy. Worried about money. Worried that the 2 years of school, year of internship, year of work towards my license as a family therapist was all a waste.

So back to the vision. When I applied to grad school, I had just miscarried for the first time with Sterling. My heart was in mourning, for the vision I had of motherhood seemed snatched away literally in the middle of night, leaving me barren of so many things, hope included. The vision then was this: I was to reap the blessing of an education regarding human emotions and relationships. I never knew if I would work in the field of counseling. I hoped I would conceive and bear more children, possibly while still in school (crazy what we sometimes hope for, right?).

Two years of unexplained infertility lead me to believe we would adopt children, probably children with emotional needs that would need my degree and skills. When I graduated and got a job, we started saving money for adoption, only to discover that I was expecting again. When we lost Truman, through months of tears and observed grief, I knew with greater assurance that my degree was not in vain. I knew what I needed to do to understand my loss. Continued healing came (and comes) from both my knowledge of God and His perfect understanding of what it means to lose a Son--and from my experience obtaining my masters degree in family relationships.

What is the vision now? It's still a little foggy, and that is really okay, because I don't feel like I'm perishing. I got a job at a Title 1 elementary school in their before and after program. 50+ kids who are at school for 12 hours a day because their parents are trying to make ends meet. Behavioral and emotional needs galore. The pay is pennies to the job I had before and it's not helping me towards a professional license. But the feeling of trying to meet a child's emotional needs in little ways is rewarding, and it is giving me purpose for now. The children are extremely excited that I am pregnant, asking daily if I am having a boy or a girl (I find out next week). I try not to go down the path of how confusing it would be for them if I were to lose this baby. They are so hopeful, so happy. It's hard not to be anything but that, too, when I see their smiling faces, faces that already know a lot of pain and the separation from parents and family, whether from divorce, displacement, or seriously spending the majority of their wakeful hours at our school.

Vision. I never envisioned being here. It's a pretty great place to be for now.