Waiting

Our baby is due any day now.  He would already be here, if I had my way.  For anyone who has ever been pregnant, you know what I'm talking about when I say that my body is so sick of its current condition that I'm actually, in some way, looking forward to labor and delivery. 

Well...maybe I can't go that far.  I can't imagine looking forward to labor.  I'm at least looking forward to not being pregnant anymore; to the day when I can say to my husband, "Honey, could you please hold the baby for a while?"

This waiting game is driving me crazy.

And yet, I think I'm going to have to get used to it, because I have not one, but two sons that I'm waiting to see delivered from their present circumstances.

We had word from Mr. J's school that he's been acting out horribly.  A "terror", they called him.  We aren't surprised, as the choices he's been making for the past six months have been overwhelmingly horrible.  But it is a bit unsettling to hear this description from a school that deals regularly with unmanageable teenaged boys; they've seen it all and are phased by little, and yet our son stands out from the crowd. 

I have mixed feelings about this news.  It's a good thing that he's not hiding this side of himself from other people like he used to, pretending to be perfect.  He needs to be honest about what he's thinking and feeling if he's ever going to get to a place where he's ready to work on healing....until then, all the therapy and common sense in the world would fall on deaf ears. 

I feel sad for my son, obviously.  He's an emotional wreck teeming with hormones and rage that he can't handle.  The traditional mental hospital couldn't handle it, the police couldn't handle it, Juvenile Detention couldn't handle it, and the state of Michigan refused to even try.  As much as it pains me to say it, our family could no longer handle it either. 

Which leads me to the other overwhelming feeling I'm flooded with on a daily basis: relief.   Our family is safe, our other children are starting to relax, and I've finally stopped jumping every time I hear a noise from somewhere in the house, adrenaline pumping with the expectation of a full-blown rage.  For a while, at least, someone else is dealing with the behavior that's dominated our lives for so long.  Somewhere where there are many, many adults to help at any time, and no small children to be caught up in the middle of the fury.

And so we wait, and we pray. 

We place our faith in Christ, trusting that in His own time, he will deliver both of these sons into our hands.  

If I had my way, the waiting would be over, and they would both be healthy and whole in my arms at this very moment.