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Print By Leann Guzman At our small group church meeting every Wednesday, the first thing we do is an icebreaker, a short question to get everyone talking about themselves as a way to build unity. Our question one week was, “Describe your week in colors.” The result was interesting and revealing, as everyone shared way more than they would have with a simple, “How was your week?” Using this question, I thought I would use this column to give you a very personal and unique look into my life, my family, and my work during a recent week—my week in colors. Monday: Joyful bright red. The women in my family take our annual outlet mall shopping trip. I buy four pairs of shoes for $65. How much better can life get? Tuesday daytime: Foggy grayish white. Last night Olivia didn’t sleep well, and I only got three hours of sleep. The day is spent in a complete fog of exhaustion. My husband starts back to college today, where he intends to get his engineering degree. I’m very proud of him for taking this step, and a little stressed about losing his full-time income. But I know that God will make a way. I make it through work without falling asleep on the job, and go to pick up Olivia from her beloved babysitter from our church who tells me she’s quitting the child care business. Tuesday evening: Deepest darkest black. I go home and sob all evening while my husband does the best job he can to comfort me (when he is also upset about this). We have no backup plan for Olivia’s child care and we’re devastated at the thought of having to put her with someone who none of us knows and who doesn’t know Olivia. It’s a terrible thing to have to be a working mother. I think of selling our house and all our belongings and going to live on my in-law’s ranch. Who cares if there’s no electricity or running water, there’s a shelter there and I would get to be home with my daughter every day! We could live off the land, and I could cook things that my husband kills for dinner! At this point, I know I’m insane (my husband heartily agrees) and I go to bed. Wednesday early morning: Serene blue. At 3:30 in the morning, I wake up and go to my prayer closet (which is literally my closet). I am determined to not get up until I feel peace about this situation. I weep and pray and claim every promise in the Bible I can think of for my daughter and for this situation. In about five minutes, the Lord blesses me with the peace that passes all understanding. If I tried to feel upset or stressed, it wouldn’t work at this point. Thank you, Lord, that You will work this situation out to be the best thing for Olivia! Wednesday daytime: Bluish black. With my face swollen to three times its normal size from all the crying the night before, I go to work still feeling peaceful. But the peace the Lord gave me is threatened when God closes every door to every possibility of child care that I can think of. I struggle to hold on to that feeling I had in the middle of the night. I start to cry in front of coworkers at the thought that I’ll have to start looking at an actual daycare. At lunch I tour the day care across the street from my work. It’s my first time to ever be in a daycare. My first thought is that it looks like the pictures of orphanages in foreign countries. Dear God, why are you doing this to my child? Thursday: Greenish blue. I’m doing better now, and God’s peace is holding steady. I get distracted from my child-care crisis today when I have a trial against a crazy defendant who represents herself. I prosecute her for not using her turn signal, which she claims was broken and therefore she used her arm out the window to indicate her intention to change lanes. During the trial, I ask the police officer if he recalls seeing her arm stick out the window. He says, “No, I didn’t see her arm, and I would have clearly been able to see it from my position.” When it came her turn to testify, the defendant says (I promise I am not making this up), “I did use my arm to signal. Now, the police officer may not have seen it because sometimes God makes my arm disappear, but I did use my arm.” (Did she just say what I think she said?) The judge looks at me and asks if I have any questions for the defendant. “No questions, Your Honor,” I say, trying to hold in my laughter. One great thing about my job is it is endless free entertainment. Friday: Joyful pink. I’m not quite back to the joyful red that the week started with, but I’m close. It’s Friday, and I get the next two whole days with Olivia. My babysitter tells my husband when he drops Olivia off that she may not get the job she applied for, so she may not be quitting after all. I find a person at work whose son is at the day care across the street and she says she loves it and so does her son. The day care tells me that they do have an opening for Olivia. It seems like whatever happens with the babysitter, God is indeed going to work it all out. TGIF! ninetyandnine.com © 2005, Leeann Guzman ---------- Leann Guzman is ninetyandnine.com’s “Family / Work Issues” columnist. If you have suggestions on topics to explore, email her at Family@ninetyandnine.com. Leeann is wife to Jonathan and mother to Olivia, and she lives and goes to church in North Texas. She is a licensed attorney who works as a municipal court prosecutor. Although fluent in English and Legalese, the meaning of the term “spare time” escapes her.
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