Just because I have kept a positive attitude during this process does not mean it is PLEASANT. Nothing angers me more than people justifying their position behind my prosecution or in supporting those who slandered me during the investigation and the case by saying that this blog is proof that this has been good for me. This process will ultimately turn out for the good of everyone involved, because my God loves me and is sovereign. But that does not in and of itself provide absolution for every evil thing that was done and said during this entire scapegoating. Job’s friends were all wrong.
It is only by a supernatural power that I am keeping it together. My faith has grown deeper than it has ever been in my life because I KNOW where I would be right now if God were not even more real than the judge, jury and prosecutor. I can feel the tormenting sea of insanity brewing just beneath my breast. I can hear the voices of rage screaming murderous hatred just behind my ears. I can smell the smoke of pending devastation within my fists. I am a crazy woman restrained.
I have begged God for justice. I have searched in my wake for a victim and found none. I have scanned the horizon for a place of refuge and find it only in His arms alone. I have bottled a million tears and slept without a home or a bed for over a year. I have felt the branding of being a burden to everyone I meet. I have watched my children shoulder the pain of adult cares. I have felt the sting of a child support check that doesn’t even fill my gas tank after six months of nothing. I have swallowed the tyranny of the cubicle with a wide open mouth.
And in the end I can only say that for the life of the baby girl that was saved, I would still do it all exactly the same way if I had to do it all over again. Because I could not live with her death. Because her life is worth this pain. Because the struggle of midwifery and the exposing of the inconsistencies in our midwifery law is worth this pain. Because the cause of parental rights is worth this pain.
Today I met a woman who put her husband in the hospital and got half the hours I got. She also got a misdemeanor.
Helicopters hovered overhead and we all wondered if they were awaiting a verdict in the Michael Jackson case. Everyone was discussing it. I felt nothing but a pit in my stomach, remembering the day the jury deliberated less than two hours for me.
I told one of the staff that I might be out of a place to live soon. He’s been hearing more about my situation lately and today he got really angry and told me that he feels so bad for what is happening to me and my kids. My response was to panic internally. Having a skid row shelter staff worker tell me it’s bad, is like an oncologist tell you that you your tumor is bigger than he’s ever seen. It removes any doubt about whether or not you are going to make it.
To get out of the slump I was in I wrote a note to encourage Eric because I imagine the case workers don’t get thanked very much. As I was writing it, Charlie was telling me how much he loves his job at the shelter. How he can’t imagine doing anything else. How you gotta love what you do so you do it well.
I hope that Eric loves his work like that and I told him so in the note. Then I paused, looked up so I could choke back tears, and said, “I loved what I did before I came here. Really loved it. Could work 70 or 80 hours in a week and it didn’t even feel like work…”
I found my purpose, my calling, in midwifery. God told me to go there and do it. And I did it. To the very best of my ability. But like King David, God told me this temple will not be built by me. That answer is not GOOD for me, but it is God’s goodness that holds me as He says it. He holds me while I sob and pour out the futility of all those years of study and devotion and selfless hours of not being paid. All that time and care given for no reason but just to love families with all of my heart. My heart wide open.
Chastening does not have to be for a reason. Sometimes it is the simple hand of the potter cutting off a piece of the clay that is in the way from it becoming the perfect piece it’s intended to be. Sometime the potter crushes the whole thing on the wheel and starts over agian.
God has some purpose beyond what I can see right now. The struggle of chastisement is not, in itself, the best thing God has planned for me. The end result is the best thing. Just as Christ’s death on the cross was not for His own good, but for the goal of the prize God had ordained on the other side.
Resurrection. That faith is what keeps this phoenix alive in the fire. A faith of weaker substance would have rendered me suicidal.