After the football season ended at the SEC Championship game, I asked Josh to inventory his year. After some thinking, he summed it up as feeling like he was both torn and running on fumes. He had a great love for Auburn Athletics but also felt completely bogged down in its daily demands. His phone could never be ignored; his work laptop was always open. He never came up for air. When I asked him what was important to him in life, his response was similar to mine: having a strong relationship with God, raising our children to the best of our abilities, and influencing people in a positive way with his story. Yet we had skipped church for who knew how many Sundays and even stopped praying at night together for the entire semester. We didn’t spend time with our girls, we only bathed them (occasionally), fed them, and put them in bed. Influencing people? Not happening. The to-do list outweighed all human interaction. Josh agreed that these were real issues but didn’t think there was actually a solution to it. His responses had a flavor of defensiveness and discouragement. As earnestly as he could, he would tell me, “I’m doing all of this for you guys. I want to provide for my family, and that’s what I’m trying to do every day.” I was so confused. I respected Josh for how hard he worked. More than that, I was so unbelievably grateful that he had found a second career when we were certain the only thing he would ever be good at was infantry Army. But at the same time, I seemed to be the only one who remembered that our jobs didn’t require military-level commitment. Yes, SEC sports was a high-pressure industry, and you were constantly getting ready for the next game or season, but no matter how hard you worked, you could never leave the office with everything done. So, where was the line? How much was too much? How long could I do my job if Josh was going to work at this rate? How long could he last in his job if he never says no to anything or asks if something can wait? It’s not that I had any kind of solution, either, but day after day I thought, Surely this isn’t it.
The year came to a close, and even though Josh and I knew we desperately needed 2018 to be better, we hadn’t come to a decision together about what we needed to do. Regardless of how we could respond as a family, I knew my attitude was the first thing that had to change. Nothing was going to change until I started treating my responsibilities as great opportunities. After spending the holidays reflecting on my own growth, I decided to begin my year by participating in the “21 Days of Prayer and Fasting” program at our church. Every January and August, our church completes twenty-one consecutive days of 6:00 a.m. prayer that takes place at the Church of the Highlands campuses all over the state and online. Josh and I had participated in the event before, but it was mostly a way for us to form habits for our New Year’s resolutions, not get closer to God. This time, I was determined to stand in the gap for my family and seek a plan for the future.
I asked Josh to participate with me and told him of my new dedication to the next twenty-one days. Every morning at 6:00 a.m., Josh and I committed to thanking God for everything He had given us and asked for forgiveness for treating it like a burden. I brought to God my anxiety over my job and how I wanted to steward my tasks at work as opportunities better. A college volleyball player only gets four years in our program, and I didn’t want them all to remember me for obsessing over my tasks and not making time for them.
Once 21 Days of Prayer and Fasting ended, small-group semesters began. It seemed as if every time we turned around, someone was telling us to join a small group. Whether it was based on running, cooking, coffee, reading, Bible study, parenting, loving on homeless people, or prison ministry, we were constantly told to find meaningful relationships within our church. I felt like this was the next step, and that any other step would move me backward.
My dilemma was getting Josh to jump in, too. I gently brought it up a few times, but Josh always responded by looking into the distant future, when we weren’t so busy. So, I decided to trick Josh into going to this small group on the first day. On a Monday night, I informed him that we had a “church thing” that night and that I had already gotten a babysitter for the kids. When we were on our way to our leaders’ house, I told him it was actually a small group that would meet every Monday night until spring ended. Josh said, “Paige, are you serious? Mondays? You know Mondays are my busiest days.” I asked him to just give it this one night, and if he absolutely hated it, he would never have to come back.
JOSH
When we pulled up at these strangers’ house, I was annoyed and a little resentful. I felt like
