We received some wonderful news last week regarding my husband's job. He was given an exciting promotion, and I'm so, so proud of him. He's not one to sing his own praises, so I guess it's up to me to that sort of thing. (Which I will most surely do!) He's an incredibly hard worker, he is motivated and organized and eager, and he's great at what he does. He doesn't really bring his work home, so I don't always know what is going on from day-to-day (which can be both a good thing and slightly annoying), but hearing this good news from him was pretty much the best thing ever. It took such a weight off of both our shoulders.
I think this promotion is good both for his peace of mind, and for our family as a whole. As I'm sure I mentioned before, when I quit my job towards the end of my pregnancy with Eisley, our income was essentially cut in half—and although I knew it was the right thing for our family, it was a little bit scary. Just not as scary as perhaps it should have been. Surprisingly, I was covered with that peace. That peace of knowing I had made the right decision. The peace of knowing we would be able to make ends meet, no matter what. That peace of knowing it would somehow be okay.
It's odd to me that my optimism shows itself most during big picture, life-changing moments. Times when I probably should be more worried about what is to come, or generally freaking out about bad things that could happen—scrambling to come up with several Plan B scenarios. But it's in those moments (moving to California, marrying young, switching jobs, deciding to stay at home with my daughter, and so on and so forth) that I've always found myself confident and calm.
The thing that always crosses my mind is, The peace that passes all understanding. Peace that doesn't exactly make sense, and inexplicably replaces all the worry and stress and holy-crap-what-did-I-get-myself-into?
I'm the girl who freaks out when our weekend plans change at the last minute, when I miss an exit on the freeway, when all the elements of a meal I'm preparing are finished at completely different times, when I have an overdue library book, or when I'm doing any sort of traveling with my daughter. I'm in no way a roll with the punches kind of a gal. But the big things? No problem. It's like my brain slows down and is all, "No, it's cool. You've got this. Move along now."
I wish more than anything that I had my husband's unbridled optimism when it comes to the little things. The day-to-day situations that get me all riled up while he just stands there like, "Um, you need to calm down. You're being ridiculous." (In a way, though, I think that it's good we are both at different ends of the spectrum when it comes to worry. I like to think that we manage to level each other out most of the time.) But a lot of this sort of thing seems to come down to personality, and as much as I work on it, I'm not sure I'll ever be as carefree as my husband. Still, I hope to try a bit harder than I have in the past.
We'll see how it goes.
In any case, this good news has left me with this reassurance that things do work themselves out at the right time—that God is listening those prayers you feel like you've repeated over and over (and over and over). And it's worth it to make sacrifices to give your family the one you so desperately want them to have.