Stirring the waters part 1

Stirring the Waters—Part I
For some time now, I have felt that God was leading in a direction other than what I was going. People at church were being prophesied over, and it was preached that God was calling us to a new place where we have never been before. The ministers invited those who felt the calling to come forward for prayer. Though I felt the tugging at my heart, I stayed at my seat.
I didn't know if I even had a calling, and I highly doubted that was God was calling me into anything because every position I thought I could be used in was already taken. So, carefully, I weighed my options. Prayer warrior? No, that wasn’t for me; I didn’t spend enough time in prayer and Bible reading for that. Besides, it seemed everyone who could be a prayer warrior had already been appointed. (Pride? Maybe. There was a good possibility that was holding me back.)
I felt the calling to be an altar worker, but I never went through with it because I felt I wasn’t good enough to lay hands on anyone. I figured I had to have the ability to lay hands on someone and guarantee they would feel a touch from the Holy Ghost--just like I do when certain people lay hands on me. My thoughts went toward working with the young people at our church. I had a very difficult time as a young person and felt, if I could give my testimony, it might help another young person. But, as it turned out, that calling did not belong to me. I guessed I would just have to be satisfied with doing periodic photography for church events.
Then the unthinkable happened: A storm so big in my life, it threatened to crush me beneath the weight; a storm that affected my marriage and, therefore, my life. At that point, whether I had a calling just didn't matter. I decided I was just good enough to exist and nothing more.
See, my husband had been suffering from something, I don't know what, for a very long time. Perhaps it was depression, or maybe it was PTSD from childhood trauma. Because of it, he lived a very separate life from me even though we dwelt in the same house. My life consisted of church and church activities; his consisted of working, eating, sleeping, and a few other things in which I was not included. Things got so bad, we talked about divorce, but I wasn’t ready for that. We also talked about living in the same house as roommates. I didn't want that either, but I finally decided that would be best.
I got up one morning with every intention of telling him we would live like roommates. But before I did, as a last-ditch effort (and with very little faith it would matter) I gave him a hug on his way out the door for work and asked if he wanted to pray. He did. This was the first time we had prayed together in years. Later that day, he sent me a text telling me that it felt good to pray with me. Those were comforting words. I wish I could say that became a daily habit and a permanent attitude change, but the struggle continued. I'll tell you more tomorrow.