I’m sitting in a room of about a hundred women, wiping tears that have gone from a light misting to a straight up downpour in a matter of seconds. I’m trying my best to keep the scene I am making within the “socially acceptable” category. I can feel sobs expanding within my chest like balloons, waiting impatiently to be released, a sound similar to an obese dog moaning, which I know will force all eyes on me. Or at least the eyes that aren’t already on me.
I have no idea what the speaker is saying. The topic might have something to do with the argument my husband and I got into the night before, but I’m honestly not sure it does. I know my instability has to do with the fact that I’m PMSing (thank you, Jesus, for that impeccable timing). But also, I know I am just hitting a wall.
The seventh move in seven years wall.
The my husband got another new job wall.
The it doesn’t pay as well as his current job wall.
The we just bought a fixer-upper wall.
The I’m going to have to live by myself with three kids for a month wall.
The our savings account is gone wall.
Okay, so I am hitting a lot of walls.
The class ends and the two mentors assigned to my table scoot their chairs over to me and look me in the eyes. It’s go time. These are two of the wisest women on the planet, which I know is why God has forced me to show my hand this morning. He needs me to hear what they have to say.
I try to gather myself. They wait a few beats for me [to] collect the most sane of all the words bouncing like lottery balls around my brain so I can form a coherent sentence.
“I’m just overwhelmed,” I finally squeak out. “Clark and I got into a fight last night. About floors. I don’t think we can afford new floors in the new house, but he thinks we can. And watching our savings account disappear makes me feel all kinds of out of control. I like having a cushion. I think it’s an irresponsible decision, and all I want right now is to feel stable. In case you haven’t noticed, I am feeling unstable.”
I laugh, but it comes out more like a bark. I make a mental note to google “How to Cry Adorably” when I get home.
We talk for a while. They ask questions and hold my hand. They pray over me. And then they give me the best marriage advice I’ve ever received.
“If those floors aren’t going to put you into a financial hole, let it go. Let him lead and make this decision. It sounds like he wants those floors because he loves you, because he wants you to love your new house and because he knows he’s the reason y’all are moving again.
“And if it ends up being the wrong decision, which it might be, maybe the Lord is trying to teach him something here. Don’t stand in the way. He will learn from a mistake a lot better than from a preaching wife.
“And if you do end up struggling financially because of it, don’t say, ‘I told you so.’ Figure it out together; trust that God is working for your good. In marriage, there is no such thing as sides. When you make a decision, you decide together and support one another.”
I let out a breath. My body relaxes. My load feels lighter. I no longer feel as if our very livelihood depends on me convincing my husband to “LISTEN TO ME BECAUSE I AM RIGHT AND YOU ARE WRONG.” My fists unclench and I realize just how little I trusted my husband, and how little I trusted God.
I recently read a book (one I can’t recommend enough) called More Than Just Making It: Hope for the Heart of the Financially Frustrated. So much of Erin Odom’s story parallels ours. The book, which also offers oodles of practical tips on saving and making money, is Erin’s story of financial struggle, surprise babies, marital strife, God’s faithfulness to provide, and the way he uses their journey to chip away at her pride and entitlement. I immediately felt like we were kindred spirits.