Honest Confessions Disbelief

I'm a firm believer that our struggles make us human, reveal the depth of the grace and power of The Almighty, and help dispel the social media myth that life is perfect.  In an attempt to be transparent with my readers, I'm going to start a multi-part confession of what life is really like lately.  Not that I've been trying to hide anything, but I finally feel that I'm at a place to find words to describe how the last 6 months have gone down for Team Ozinga.  It hasn't all been peaches and roses.

First of all, before anyone deems me a complete monster, please read about my struggle with endometriosis.  For years, I had no doubt in my mind that my calling from the Lord on this earth was to be a wife to Isaac, impact as many 6th graders as possible through my world cultures class, love on teens at church, and maybe someday adopt older kiddos when God said 'go'.  See, we had a failed adoption attempt over the summer of 2012 that had begun a year ealier that very, very few people even know about.  It shattered both of us to lose the darling 7 year old girl that we knew and loved so well.  While it didn't take long to see God's fingerprints all over the situation, the healing took a long time.  But since then, parenthood just wasn't on our radars.  Isaac and I both had peace about this in our lives. We can think of several instances where God confirmed this for us. Nothing from any of our prayer times ever led us to believe God might be calling us to something different, especially so soon.

In November, when we were in Arizona and learned we were pregnant, my life literally fell a part.  Everything that I thought I was supposed to be doing with my days on earth completely unraveled.  Never, not once for even a moment in all my breathing days, had I ever, ever wanted to have my own biological children.  I celebrated with great joy every time one of my dear friends would become pregnant and have a baby.  It was beautiful, wonderful, sweet, precious, and a gift from the Lord.  Isaac and I would sit up late at night talking about if we wished God had not allowed my body to become so diseased, and the consensus was always no.  We were content to wait and hopefully foster to adopt someday, and maybe even continue fostering, once his job placed him in a salary bracket that would allow me to stay home and mother full time.

The pure, raw anger that developed so quickly in my heart towards God and what was happening to us left me crushed and broken.  No part of me wanted anything to do with what was going on.  I was too furious to cry much, and too desperate to wake up from this nightmare to divulge to many how I was truly feeling.

We weren't in a place financially for me to yet stay home for the next school year.  This fact alone ate me into a tizzy daily.  Isaac and I have always taken Proverbs 22:6 and Deuteronomy 11:19 to heart and feel that it is the parents' job to be with their children to lead them in the ways of the Lord, not a caretaker's.  While we realize this can't be reality for everyone, the thought that it wasn't going to happen for us did me in emotionally in ways I never imagined.  The idea of leaving my child to be raised by others while I go to work, even briefly, sends me into a crying melt down each time I think about it.

If the financial circumstances weren't enough, the thought of leaving my classroom to be a mom left me bitter and a mess.  Since I can remember, I've wanted to be a teacher.  While Isaac and I scrambled to find ways to quickly (within a year) get me at home, the tug to still be with my 6th graders did not loosen its grip.  It was complete agony to think about not having the deep conversations and hands on learning experiencing with my kids anymore.  How could this possibly all be over?  Already?  It burned!  The dual war of wanting to stay at home with the baby and also be in my classroom devoting my all to my other 150 children has left a toll on me that is hard to begin to even summarize.

I promise you life didn't stay this way, but I've kept you long enough for now.  Just remember peace comes after the storms and Sunday always follows Friday.  To be continued...