It happened. I got a job. And, it turns out, the wait was well worth it. I found a job where I can use my skills fully and invest my heart into the cultivation of proactive, loving young people. And to top it off- I still get to reserve my time away from work as my own. No papers to grade, just the occasional evening concert or event. The details? I'm working at a large church as an administrative assistant for the student ministries. It's both administrative and ministerial work. I'm excited for the adventure in front of me and grateful that God gave me the patience to wait for the right opportunity. Dang, it was hard but I'm feeling good now.
During my commute home from the first full day on the job I experienced an unfamiliar sensation. It was a lightness I had only had a couple times before: perhaps the best example is the moment after college graduation when I realized I had no more homework to do (and before I realized that now I had to get a job, and fast). As I drove across I-70 toward my exit, I realized that when I got home I didn't have anything I HAD to do. I didn't need to feel guilty for doing crafts instead of looking for a job. I HAD a job. The rest of life outside of the job was mine to play with, like molding clay or fabric scraps. I get to choose how to piece things together and what shape life will take. I'm not waiting for the next step anymore- I'm in it!
I was reminded of a Raymond Carver poem that once reshaped my ideas of poetry:
No other word will do. For that's what it was.
Gravy, these past ten years.
Alive, sober, working, loving, and
being loved by a good woman. Eleven years
ago he was told he had six months to live
at the rate he was going. And he was going
nowhere but down. So he changed his ways
somehow. He quit drinking! And the rest?
After that it was all gravy, every minute
of it, up to and including when he was told about,
well, some things that were breaking down and
building up inside his head. "Don't weep for me,"
he said to his friends. "I'm a lucky man.
I've had ten years longer than I or anyone
expected. Pure Gravy. And don't forget it.
My life- from day one- has always been gravy. Every day, a gift. Long and sweet. I shouldn't need a near death experience to remind me of that. I shouldn't even need a 6 month ditch of unemployment and depression. But wading through those darker parts of life sure helps the bright seem that much brighter. It's gravy. And I'm so grateful.
Optimism is back, baby. Despite the harvest dust.
Coming soon: the result of more time on my hands MORE CRAFTS.