The other title I had in mind for this post was “Somebody is Always Screaming,” but I wanted to set the right tone. This is not meant to be a complaint, but a story.
Here’s the truth, though: my theory is false. I thought God would give you a mild-mannered baby after a high-maintenance baby. That He would alternate between the two. Maybe two weeks is too early to make a call, but this is our fourth night of pacing the living room with a screaming baby, and I’m looking down a long, dark tunnel of five or six months of torturous bedtime routines. That’s how long we struggled with Princess doing this very same thing at night, and leaving restaurants, grocery stores, and other public places early during the day. Sweet Pea is swiftly becoming the inconsolable screaming baby who won’t be pacified by any known method except for diligent pacing and time.
That’s one.
Then there’s Princess, who screams for Mommy if Daddy is caring for her, and screams for Daddy if Mommy is caring for her. She screams if she has to sit in the stroller. She screams if she has to sit at the table. She screams if she has to eat … anything. (She used to eat Prince’s leftovers … she won’t eat anything now.) She screams a lot. She sits in Time Out a lot. She screams if she has to sit in Time Out.
That’s two.
And now Prince, who is so loving and protective of Sweet Pea and so very patient with Princess. He helps around the house and wants to do more and more on his own, if we can just let go and trust him. He screams if he has to walk … anywhere. He wants to sit on the front of the stroller. He screams if we have to leave when he is having fun. He screams if he can’t take his Puppy to the park. He screams all the way home if we make him walk, and heads turn not only to count our children, but to watch his progress.
Three.
Daddy really wants to scream if all three kiddos are screaming, just to join the club. He really wants to scream when he gets another email from a school he had interviewed with informing him that he was “a very strong candidate” but they hired somebody else and best of luck to him in his job search. He really wants to scream when we are told, again, not to worry about my missing salary, our shipping allowances, our transportation to the airport, and our Turkish bank account accessibility when we are out of the country.
Four.
And me? I feel like screaming, because we are five days away from flying back to the States, I still have not been paid my salary for the past two months, we just got emails from China and Nigeria requesting interviews, and the prospect of flying home only to pack up and move to a new country a few days or weeks later makes me want to scream.
But this story is about counting fish, which comes from a post my friend Shannon forwarded to me about a Bible study. The passage was John 21:11-12.
Simon Peter climbed aboard and dragged the net ashore. It was full of large fish, 153, but even with so many the net was not torn. Jesus said to them, “Come and have breakfast.” None of the disciples dared ask him “Who are you?” They knew it was the Lord.
The author of the post was struck by the fact that the number of the fish, 153, was mentioned specifically, meaning someone had counted the fish. She applied this to her own life and counted her fish, or blessings, whenever she felt rejected or broken or torn. It helped her remember every grace that God had given her.
So let me count my fish.
-my family
-my friends, both near and far
-success with every necessary appointment in the past two weeks, from a six-hour total journey to the U.S. Consulate for a passport, to a city-wide search for a hospital to do the infant heel-stick test before Sweet Pea was too old
-precious time spent together with my children and husband, planning nothing more each day than a picnic or wading in the surf before we have to leave this beautiful city, this amazing country
-coffee and God’s Word every morning and some ice cream at night, to beat the heat and build my faith as we continue to wait on the Lord for a job for next year
So whether or not we can live in the States for a few years, reconnecting with family and friends and enjoying a more familiar lifestyle as our family grows … whether or not we have to fly home for a brief visit before moving on to a new country, new language, new school … whether or not we pace the living room with Sweet Pea each night for months, Princess eats only french fries, or Prince rides the stroller until his feet drag on the sidewalk … I am going to count my fish.
