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Crying it out.

EDIT: I just re-read this, and I realized I didn’t make this very clear – we never let Kenneth cry it out, which is why this particular episode was so painful for me! Please don’t think I’m promoting this practice in any way 🙂 Love on those babies, mamas!

Last night, as I was leaving the church parking lot, baby began screaming his lungs out and just would. Not. Stop. Even after I pulled over to feed him and comfort him, he continued to sob. I made it halfway home before I called my husband – “What do I do? Is there something wrong with him? Can you meet us somewhere?” I felt completely lost and, for the first time in a long time, like an inadequate mommy.

“Turn the music up,” he said. “He’ll be okay. He’s just tired, he’s had a long day. Don’t get anxious, that’ll only make it worse.” So that’s what I did. I listened to him bawl in his carseat, then to his little hiccups as he gave up screaming and his breaths steadied.  My heart rate began coming down, and I started thinking clearly again.

I wonder if this is what God feels like when he listens to me crying it out?

When I considered the last 24 hours, I knew that was exactly right. Yesterday, and the day before that, felt very much like a nightmare.

Things in our marriage had come to a tipping point.  I’ll spare you all of the ugly details, suffice it to say that both my husband and I felt hurt and that things were beyond salvaging.  I wasn’t convinced it was time to give up, and though in my heart things felt hopeless, I held onto this insane conviction that we weren’t brought together to be torn apart. He, on the other hand, was very much ready to walk away.

We went to two counselors yesterday, and at the second appointment, the counselor asked to speak to him alone. I took baby out to the lobby, and we played and giggled and laughed. But the nagging feeling that my future was hanging in the balance swept over me each time I glanced at the clock. An hour passed. An hour and ten minutes. Fifteen. Twenty. Finally, the door opened. We discussed continuing counseling, then returned to the lobby and made separate appointments for ourselves.

I don’t know what was said behind those doors, but when we got out to the parking lot, my husband spoke to me. I don’t even remember what he said to me at that point. I just remember the kindness and compassion in his voice that I’d been longing to hear since the very beginning of us. He had hope again.

Have you ever felt relief in every bone of your body? When baby finally stopped crying last night, I felt it all at once. I’m just so glad that when my life feels like a nightmare, and when I can’t imagine that anything good could possibly come out of the wreckage, and when I can do nothing but cry it out…

God is not inadequate. He knows exactly what I need. He’s walked this earth, and knows exactly how I feel. He’s powerful enough to mend my brokenness. And merciful enough to wrap his healing arms around me.

When I question my faith, and question if my God is truly bigger than THIS, whatever ‘this’ may be, he never fails to amaze me. Yesterday, after my husband and I took a step in the same direction for the first time in, well, what seems like forever, I was overwhelmingly amazed. And relieved. And so, so thankful.

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