Happy April Fool’s Day, everyone!
He returned. I’m engaged. I’m pregnant. I got a book deal. I won the lotto. I grew six inches. I got a tan. I have a six-pack.
There I think that about covers it.
I am glad spring break fell on April Fool’s Day. Most of the time, fortunately, my students aren’t very suave in their April Fool’s Day jokes. Unfortunately, their teacher is pretty gullible, so they don’t have to be.
I already fell for two lines on other’s face books pages. I about keeled over when I discovered one of my friends was pregnant, and how calmly she was handling it. Then I realized what day it was. Of course, the joke could be on me tomorrow when she is still talking about being pregnant.
I am always asking for prayer it seems. Which is silly in one way, because I don’t much believe in it anymore. God does what God wants. However, as I have told him so many times, what choice do I have? I have to believe in him. I have to believe, at least at little, that prayer matters, that he actually gives a shit. Well, I do believe he gives a shit, I guess the question is whether he really can/will do anything about it. The one beautiful part of it all, is that I used to be so afraid that I wouldn’t have enough faith in my prayers, in God hearing me—that I would jinx it or something. After having experienced perfect and strong faith all the while running to the rock walls that have been erected and mountains that moved, only to crash back down on top of all, I no longer hold to those certain verses that talk about how strong faith has to be and turn more to the ones speaking of faith the size of a mustard seed.
All that to say, please pray for my family. Some of you here are aware of the situation. Those of you elsewhere probably aren’t. However, I don’t believe a person has to have all the details to turn it over to God—how’s that for cliché? We need a miracle, truly, within the next week or so, or things will get much, much, much worse—and I honestly don’t see how my folks will survive it. It has been terrifying to realize how much the past weeks have aged them (and I’m not even being dramatic). We had dinner last night, and it was a shocking and painful realization.
Sadly, my favorite book in the Bible, as we all know, is Job. Always has been since the latter years of high school. So, I am also a believer that things usually get much worse before they get better. Even if the miracle doesn’t come, I pray that the five of us make it through the worse time, if it is coming, together—so that we can all be a unit when things get better. And I have to believe they will get better. I have no proof of that over the past while, but I hold to it nonetheless.