Trying to Hold Back the Tears

...and failing miserably.  But I guess a good cry (or five) can be therapeutic. 

It started last week when we had a couple who "loved the house!  It's everything they are looking for" made another low ball offer (that was our third).  It brought us to the realization that after six months on the market and a decreasing desire to go so low it would feel like giving the house away, the only option left was to take the house off the market.  I cried.  Cried for the lost hope of more square footage.  Cried for the months of wasted stress and anxiety.  Cried for the hours lost scouring the MLS.  Cried for the lost chances I had missed to be more involved at the elementary school this year.  Cried for my own wavering faith and patience.

The next day I felt a little better throwing myself into a new project and rearranging the basement furniture in an effort to bring the digital piano in from the garage.  Then once that project was over I cried some more.

I made it a few more days without tears, but more were shed over the penetrating messages of General Conference.  My best friend Emilie and I spoke between sessions.  She confirmed my feelings that this conference was tailored just for me.  (My Dad later asked, "Because you are a late twenty-something man that needs to get married?")  I was hearing all the parts about faith and trials and personal revelation that comes slowly - line upon line.

Then today Mason insisted on watching the animated video of Abraham and Isaac.  I cried another round of big tears as Abraham faithfully, despite his clear pain, prepared to sacrifice his son on the altar.  I cried for Isaac and his purity and faith.  I cried for Abraham as a parent and cried, uncertain that I could do the same.

Then came tonight's latest events.  The first counselor in the Bishopric came to extend a calling to me.  The bishopric would like me to continue serving as the Compassionate Service Leader and also begin teaching the Sunbeam class on Monday.  I was able to stay calm and composed as I expressed my willingness along with a heavy heart at the difficulty I would experience in this calling. 

It might seem silly to those of you that love teaching (or at least like teaching) in Primary.  For me, this is perhaps the most dreaded of all church callings (second only to ward missionary and followed closely by nursery teachers).  Put me up in front of the Relief Society sisters and I shine!  Put me in a class with little kids and I will be a great teacher - all while I am falling apart from the inside out. 

Last time I taught Primary was the closest I have come to losing my testimony.  I need the interaction and companionship of the Relief Society sisters and even more pressing is how I struggle with small children.  Most days it takes everything I have to keep it together for my own kids.  Having to put out even more of my energy for other kids, every week, is a burden that is hard for me to explain and even harder for me to bear. 

As we said good-bye and sent the Counselor out of our door I turned to Shem and burst into tears.  This is not a calling that I will joyfully take, but like Abraham, I am willing.  I wonder how as I am struggling in so many ways why another difficulty is placed upon me.  But I am willing and I suppose that is really all I have to give anyway.