The sound of my baby’s little heart beat, and the warning of an imminent disaster awaiting if I don’t get a job soon.
I’m thrilled that we have a little muffin baking in Andrea’s oven. It’s humbling to imagine the delicate chemical reactions that are building the baby’s heart, nerves and eyes. Nature and Andrea are doing their parts. Now the weight of responsibility to provide for this child is bearing down on me.
Andrea and I grew up in with our mothers at home. We decided early in this marriage that we wanted the same division of labor for our future family; Andrea would stay home, and I would (hopefully) bring home enough bacon to feed the family. In the abstract, that sounded like a great idea. With the legal economy in the shape it’s in, however, our plan is proving incredibly difficult in reality. I can’t find a job for the life of me.
People tell us that if we “do the right thing” and have faith that “everything will work out.” But what does “everything will work out” mean?
At a minimum, I think it means that we’ll always have food and shelter. I know that we have a safety net with our families. We will never starve. We will never go without a roof over our heads. But the thought of relying on our families to take care of us is emasculating. I candidly admit that my pride would have a difficult time with that.
I want it to mean more than that, though. I want it to mean that I’ll be able to take care of my family independently. But maybe that’s where the faith component comes in. Maybe exercising faith means surrendering my pride and being willing to accept what’s best for my family, regardless of how it affects my career, and my view of myself?
In any event, wish me luck finding a job. I’m going to need it.