This has been one strange year. It really kicked off last December and I guess to get a feel of the strangeness, let me start there.
I learned right before Christmas that my dad had lost his job due to alcoholism and prescription drug abuse, which we suspected back in September 2015. My mom threatened divorce on Christmas day, I had a shouting match with her in her front yard (not my finest moment- but it apparently resolved a bunch of issues between us. Go figure), and then January. At this point, I thought I was progressing in a pregnancy that I shortly learned thereafter was not viable. My baby had died.
We bought a new car on a whim (hello debt we didn’t need but oh do I love this car).
Mark interviewed for the job he now has.
I had a D&C.
My dad is somehow still unemployed and drinking.
My parents list my childhood home on the market.
Slowly, things start to resume some semblance of normalcy. We named our baby girl and honored her with a brick at Deanna Rose Farmstead (near the chicken coup!). We begin thinking about trying again, wanting G’s sibling to be somewhat close to her in age.
My mom files for divorce in April. Things haven’t improved. My dad is now living in the basement of their house – my old bedroom.
Summer begins and, honestly, I simply did not have the mental space or energy to linger on my parents’ situation. It was probably for the best. I needed to heal. To recover.
I get pregnant again.
We hear the heartbeat (whew!)
We celebrate 8 years of marriage.
My parents’ divorce is finalized.
They sell the house.
My dad is now sober (and on the brink of bankruptcy) and unemployed.
And as of yesterday, homeless.
My mom has a beautiful brand new house to call her own.
Donald Trump and Hillary Clinton are our presidential nominees?
Jessie’s due date is approaching.
And all my neighbor friends are moving (yes, I’m talking about you MH!)
Oh, and my brother is going to be deployed to Cuba in November (which opens up a whole other bunch of questions regarding his precious family that I can’t even begin to talk about).
Weird, weird, weird year.
I can’t help but see God’s grace in the midst of all of this. He provided a network of support during my miscarriage. Friends who had been there, were going through it too, who sympathized. He gave me the grace to not worry about my parents when I would have been a basket case otherwise. He allowed me to talk about their situation, when ready, and know that there was nothing I could do but only prayer could help.
In this I see brokenness. I see hope. I see such sadness. And the potential for redemption.
So, if you pray, pray for redemption, especially for my dad.
And may 2017 be more in my favor.