🎵TURN THE SOUND ON😭🎵
I closed my eyes, willing the hurt away.
The words stung.
“We have decided to pursue other candidates who we feel are a closer match for this position. We understand this is disappointing news…”
This was my nth rejection letter to serving in Africa.
I carried a heavy heart all afternoon, holding back tears.
I took my children for ice cream nearby. We played. We laughed. Cliff went for swim training in the evening while I put the girls to bed. I felt depleted- physically and emotionally.
It had been a trying fortnight, with multiple night awakenings from sleep regressions due to nightmares, midnight poos and pees.
As I lay in the dark with my girls, aged 6 and 4, with my eyes closed, I let out a sigh, “All right girls, time to pray. Pray for good sleep, OK?”
“BUT HOW ABOUT MISSIONS?” my 4-year old, Esther-Praise, cried out in the dark.
“What did you say?” My eyes popped open. Tears welled up in my eyes.
For months, I’d wondered how to explain to them what missions was. Why this whole concept of Mama applying for a job in a developing country was important to us. For months, I tried to explain but to no avail. “No missions, no moving, Mama. Don’t want.”
This time, even Sarah-Faith chimed in. “You have to pray for missions too, Mama. Not just good sleep.”
😭😭😭
Tears streamed down my cheeks in the dark, “OK, pray what you want, my dears.”
This was what they prayed.😭😭😭
*Turn the sound on.*