Everything is necessary that he sends. Nothing can be necessary that he withholds.                           –John Newton

There are adjustments to be made when you find yourself carrying a tiny person inside you, just like there are adjustments to be made when you find yourself without a job to go to each day. I’ve been starting most of my days with a walk–the pregnant person’s version of a run–and my footsteps fall to the rhythm of Tim Keller’s voice as I listen to his sermons. Not a bad way to wake up. And The Kid has found his footing as well, using those tiny heels to kick up a storm. He’s already like his dad, getting especially animated at night and around food and coffee. When I sit in his room for my daily prayers on his behalf, he seems to calm down in reverence, his own tiny acknowledgment of holiness. Either that or he’s like his dad here too, likely to fall asleep in stillness.

Speaking of him, The Husband has been in spreadsheet overdrive since I lost my job, and as I sit typing away or researching new dinner recipes or querying agents, he is hammering away at Excel and re-budgeting our lives. And as previously discussed, I battle guilt over this fact, even though neither of us could have expected to be lied to so magnificently or treated so disrespectfully. And like any good introvert who loathes conflict, I battle the urge to nurse this guilt and let it grow into animosity and fear. Which means remaining vigilant in the form of prayer, and talking to TH, and…posting my innermost thoughts on the web, apparently. You’re welcome.

Money is one of those areas from which even the most fervent in belief back away slowly, whistling with a “there’s nothing to see here” attempt at diverting the eyes of God. It’s fine to talk about faith in suffering, faith in trials, but when the budget is busted, it’s time to get real–not wait for manna/dollar bills to rain down from heaven. So the challenge for me right now is to reconcile where practicality and faith meet. Because part of the time, my palms are open, and part of the time they are thrown up in frustration. We’re doing fine, especially compared to a single girl I knew a few years ago living in New York–that girl married a practical man, a great provider. (So don’t start freaking out, Mom.) But to have lost a chunk of planned income the year that we bought a house and two cars, and are having a baby? Not ideal.

These walks of mine include a stretch of sidewalk that opens out from the shade of trees and bathes me in sunlight, and as the gold hits my face I feel warmth and love. I feel seen, acknowledged. Then there was this morning, covered in clouds and a light dusting of rain, and I stepped into the open space with no greeting from the sun. And maybe it’s the practice of gratitude seeping through finally, or maybe it’s just that grace works, but I didn’t feel absence; I noted the ability, in this time of diminished light, to open my eyes fully and see the world around me more clearly.

I’m finding that being practical and faithful looks like…well, often, it looks like something close to insanity. It looks like continuing to give, even when you’re getting less. It looks like starting a new project, the words flowing like water, even when an agent hasn’t taken on your last one. It looks like spilling your guts online, even though some say, “Look who drank the Kool-Aid,” or “Wasn’t she smart at one point?” It means walking forward even when the forecast looks bleak.

Sometimes, it means being that person forging ahead on the sidewalk as rain pelts down and drivers pass you, wondering why you’re out in this and not headed home. Because here’s the thing:

How do they know you’re not?