Breathless Haste

Jay went away for his annual duck hunting trip with his friends and our beloved chocolate Labrador, Genny. The first night he was away, I woke up and looked over at the old brown plastic clock next to my bed. The bright red digits read 4:30. It was very dark outside. The children were still young, and they were typically the only reasons I would wake up in the middle of the night. But they were both asleep. This was highly unusual for me, but I rolled over and went back to sleep.

The second night of his absence, I woke again. I glanced at the clock—the big red numbers showed 4:30 again, not 4:25 or 4:32. Once more, I rolled over and returned to sleep. The third night, another awakening—it was 4:30 a.m. I finally tossed back the covers and very irreverently said, “Okay, God. What is it?”

I got up and plopped into the red chaise lounge chair right next to my bed, the place where I most often read and prayed. The book The Power of a Praying Wife by Stormie Omartian4 was lying face down on my chair, open to chapter 9. I had been praying the prayers outlined on the pages almost daily, but I hadn’t been reading the actual text of the chapters. Not knowing what else to do, I began to read the contents of chapter 9, titled “His Purpose”: “Everyone has a purpose. It’s the reason we exist. . . . When [your husband] discovers that purpose, and is doing what he was created to do, becoming what he was created to be, he will find fulfillment. This can only contribute to your happiness as well.”5 The tears began to flow as I turned each page. It was as if God were writing on the pages of this book with a black marker, “Go to Chicago!”

Surely God wasn’t asking me to leave everything I had ever known. My quiet tears turned into sobbing.