Tracey Marley

Many of you have inquired, “When is book two coming out?” and I usually respond with a vague answer like, “I’m working on it.” I wanted to give my readers an update and let you know what is going on with the story and in my personal life. I actually finished the bulk of Forgiveness for Yesterday back during the spring. Since then, however, I have been diagnosed with depression. There have been so many changes in my life this year, for some reason my brain isn’t making the right chemicals for me to process them. Things are slowly turning around and I praise God for that. In the mean time, I’m continuing to wrap the story up, listening for God’s direction on the specifics, and marveling at the way He is pulling things together.

On top of the many changes our family has undergone this year (selling our home, moving, losing a family pet, changing the direction of our ministry, starting to build a new home, and getting our youngest into preschool) I find myself sick….again. I’m sure stress is a major contributor, but with the allergies and all, the whole family is sick with me. I share the following story to offer a glimpse into my everyday life. Maybe it will help you understand why writing a book takes so much mental energy—the kind I can’t seem to find.

Tuesday as I picked up Anna from school and piled her and her brother, Avery, into the car, my life seemed to tailspin into crazy at a moment’s notice. Avery, who is extremely accident prone, climbed into the car as the arm rest of Anna’s car seat broke off. Because he was using it to hoist himself up and into the car, he tumbles backwards and out of the car head first onto the pavement. Now keep in mind school as been in session for two weeks and Avery has averaged one injury per week while we’re picking Anna up. The first week he fell up the steps and skinned his knees. The second week, he walked into a parked car and bruised his face.

I see Avery make this tumble, and like some kind of mommy ninja, I jut my foot forward between his head and the asphalt just as it makes contact. My foot is crushed, but I was able to break Avery’s fall and miraculously avoid adding head injury to our list of mishaps. I scoop him up and sooth the hysterical child all the while trying not to laugh, and thanking God we made no more of a scene than we did.

Eventually we make it to Wal-Mart where I have to pick up a handful of key survival items, namely contacts and laundry detergent. We make it as far as existing the car when Anna gets slammed by the door. I shift all my attention to her, but notice she is particularly whiny. This time we make it as far as the buggies. I put her in (she never wants to ride) and she complains of a head ache. I feel her forehead. She is burning up. She’s had a terrible cough, but no fever and hasn’t acted sluggish or sickly. I decide that a trip to the doctor was in order—immediately. Accomplishing such a feat could take hours. Anna is a child who has a serious phobia of doctors. (Last year’s visit to the health department for a flu shot left the staff traumatized.) Forgetting the groceries, we head back to the car and across the street to Urgent Care. Anna is sweating and her hair is all over the place. She looks terrible.

We check in amongst many tears, complaints and more hysterical crying. Finally the doctor arrives and starts to check Anna out. He leans in to look in her ear. Just as he does I see him stop and his eyes go large. “No!” he says to my son who is standing directly to my right. I turn. Avery has picked up something off the floor and is about to stick it into the electrical outlet.

Avery pauses, hearing he’s in trouble. The doctor grabs his chest like he’s having a heart attack. “He scared me to death,” the man says. Anna is still crying. I give Avery the look that says to knock it off or else. Turns out Anna has early pneumonia. The feelings that I’m a terrible mom wash over me. I should’ve picked up on this sooner. We have to do chest x-rays. More crying and fretting from Anna. We go down the hall where Avery entertains the nurse with chatter about a farm that he will one day own and operate. He’s chatting on and on about a litter of dogs we do not have and chickens  he plans to raise. “He is so cute,” the nurse exclaims. I don’t deny it. There is no telling what he’s confessed that I didn’t hear or what he will say if I get on his bad side.

Ten minutes later  we return to the first room only now it  has been fully equipped with safety plugs on every outlet. The doctor comes back in as Avery is examining the change. “Has something changed?” the doctor asked. Evidently Avery considers it a challenge. He starts trying to bump the magazine holder off the wall by jumping up and down under it. He hits it with his head while dancing a jig. The doctor is going over Anna’s prescriptions while Avery chatters like a chipmunk. To no avail, I tell Avery to stop. I give him “the look” again and the kid actually has the nerve to smack my hands away. I’m dumbfounded. He’s never hit at me. In a demonic voice only Avery can hear, I inform him what’s going to happen when we leave. I honed back in on the doctor’s words with my completely congested ear. Something about two tablespoons every three hours.

Avery starts jumping again, seeing I’m occupied and the magazine rack all but comes off the wall. Finally the doctor looks at Avery and kindly tells him not to break the magazine rack. The doctor then looks at me and quips, “He’s a busy little thing, isn’t he?” My reply? “You have no idea.”

If that isn’t enough, later during the week, my husband and I had an appointment to close on a construction loan for our new house. My mother was having eye surgery and could not babysit. I had to be at the signing and because Anna is sick, to my utter dismay I ended up taking both kids with me. I give them a lengthy lecture on how to behave, yet expecting the worst. Being that close to the jail, they will be able to walk me right over should I end up killing one of them.

Anna and Avery go in, see their dad, sit in the chairs their father instructs them to, and don’t utter a peep as Chad places a piece of chocolate in front of each of them. “Now if you behave,” he explains, “you can have the chocolate when we’re through.” The kids sit like angels. Even the guy from the bank comments twenty minutes later, “Those are the best behaved kids I’ve ever seen at a loan closing!” I’m thinking, “Boy have they got you snowed!” They eat the chocolate and experience the sugar high as dad goes back to work and leaves them in my care.

By the end of my day, I am sick, exhausted, and trying hard to muster up rational thoughts to get things in order for the next day. That day would be today—Avery’s first day of preschool. As the other mom’s stood outside their preschooler’s classes this morning, snapping photos and wiping tears, there was a song playing deep in my heart as I skipped from the building. I love my children, but this morning, I teared up and then quickly recovered. Parenting is hard work.

With that said, maybe you can appreciate the busyness of my life, the chaos that seems to find me, and how it is imperative that I seek out the Lord to write anything that has any sort of depth on a spiritual level. All my days aren’t as crazy as the ones described, but a lot of them are. I’m human. I write from where I am. If you’re there too, then my prayers are for you, sister! Anything good I’m able to accomplish is certainly by the hand of God!

I covet your prayers as I continue to transition through major changes and hopefully bring this story together in a way that will best honor God. Till next time,

Tracey