It's been a big couple weeks in the heart of this Nebraska-girl.
Last Tuesday there was a phone call with a certain young man that lasted over 50 minutes. This soothed the fraying edges of my hopelessly romantic heart. His general concern for my well-being is comforting. Just yesterday I received a letter from said young man. These pieces of life that we keep sharing...I can't help but wonder at the greater picture. And still I pray that God's Hand sew the pieces into place without my own hand trying to force the pattern.
I also baked and delivered a cake that a new relative had ordered for her birthday. Baking is good for the hands that are itching to do. My hands have been so idle with unemployment that they were thankful for the fun task. Baking is also good for the inner homemaker in me that doesn't have a lot of opportunity to shine just yet.
This Tuesday I had an interview with one of the local elementary schools at 8 am. It had been so long since I turned in an application to the district that I had mostly forgotten about it, and had certainly thought it was a dead end. The interview went very well and I was expecting an answer sometime in the next couple days. Two hours later, I got a phone call from the administration building offering me the paraeducator position. All I could think to say was, "Wow, that was fast," to which the lady on the other end confirmed. With a thankful heart, I accepted the position and am excited to begin working with kids that are struggling with reading and math and other areas. This rejection-sick heart is glad to be accepting an offering, a calling.
When I look back at my past experience I see that God was whispering all along, Just wait, I've been preparing you for something specific. You have to trust Me to show you what you're supposed to be doing. Trust Me. And that trust was incredibly hard, but worth the wait. I've been a Writing Center tutor, I've been an administrative assistant, I've been a teacher's aid, I've been a person who struggled with reading at a young age. All of these things, and so many more, have been shaping me for this moment. God is good.
Wednesday I was able to spend some time with a few of the ladies in the family. We went to get pedicures, something I've never done before. It soothed the worry-weary heart by healing the dry-heat abused feet. There's something to be said for healthy feet--the washing and care-giving is Biblical, after all.
I fell asleep to thunder and lightning Wednesday night, and I slept easy knowing the thirsty ground was getting some much needed moisture. And this morning I was woken by thunder and lightning at 6 am, an hour before my alarm would go off, and I didn't mind at all.
My heart is abundantly thankful for the answers to so many prayers, for my heart was as thirsty as the land, and God is pouring out the rain and grace that we so desperately need. Let it rain.
"For greater things have yet to come, and greater things are still to be done in this City." [Chris Tomlin, God of This City]
Showing posts with label rejection. Show all posts
Showing posts with label rejection. Show all posts
Saturday, August 4, 2012
Saturday, June 30, 2012
I do dread other people's remarks...
The following post may seem disjointed and possibly slightly bipolar...for that I am sorry.
I didn't get the job at the car dealership. Even though I wasn't fired and was just not hired, it feels like I was fired because I wasn't hired for the job I have been doing (and doing well) all week. The worst part of the whole thing is that I'm still going to work on Saturdays and I'm going to be training the lady they hired on Monday.
It would be a lie to say that I didn't cry in Brian's office, I did. Not an ugly cry or anything, just watering eyes and a red face. I am grateful that I was able to hold in the sobs until later. Normally I can keep myself pretty well put together for this sort of thing...it's just a bad week, though.
When I come to work on Monday people are going to ask if I've heard about the job yet...and I'm going to have to tell them that I'm training the new lady. And I want to tell them so much more. I want to tell them to treat with the same kindness and courtesy that they treat me. The Service people really liked me and told me over and over again that they wanted me to be hired.
God and I... we're still working on this issue of trust. I thought I was finally understanding, but apparently not. While I was talking to Brian about the job situation he told me that everything happens for a reason, and then asked me if I was a faithful person. He told me about his life story, and that just about made me want to cry more. He's a devout Catholic, and while I don't agree with everything about their denomination I could see the light of Christ in him. Yet another reminder from God that He is in everything, and that He has something better for me.
Brian told me that he really does believe that everything happens for a reason. So do I, so do I feel the Divine Hand at work.
There have been people in my life recently trying to force this on me. It's not that I don't know it, but I don't always need to hear it. For some reason Brian's adamant confession didn't bother me as much as someone telling me to be content with where I am. Honestly, with all do respect, I know that I should be content with whatever phase of life, but this one is so incredibly hard. I'm doing everything I can to try and stay positive, but a year of rejection is hard to swallow. It's hard to get past the disappointed hope. It's hard, so don't tell me to be content, tell me you understand.
I'm reading some great literature right now that is really helping me to embrace this God-lesson of trust. Ann Voskamp, you should follow her blog, wrote a wonderful book called "One Thousand Gifts." You should find it and read it if you're struggling with anything remotely like this or any kind of disappointment. She understands how hard life can be and how hard it can be to be content.
There was so much anger built up inside last night that it kept leaking out of my eyes and my face was so tired from the salt-drenching. When it came time to actually go to bed, I couldn't do it. I couldn't close my eyes because I didn't want to face today. But here I am, sitting at the desk that I will have to abdicate come Monday. And I'm smiling the best that I can.
I didn't get the job at the car dealership. Even though I wasn't fired and was just not hired, it feels like I was fired because I wasn't hired for the job I have been doing (and doing well) all week. The worst part of the whole thing is that I'm still going to work on Saturdays and I'm going to be training the lady they hired on Monday.
It would be a lie to say that I didn't cry in Brian's office, I did. Not an ugly cry or anything, just watering eyes and a red face. I am grateful that I was able to hold in the sobs until later. Normally I can keep myself pretty well put together for this sort of thing...it's just a bad week, though.
When I come to work on Monday people are going to ask if I've heard about the job yet...and I'm going to have to tell them that I'm training the new lady. And I want to tell them so much more. I want to tell them to treat with the same kindness and courtesy that they treat me. The Service people really liked me and told me over and over again that they wanted me to be hired.
God and I... we're still working on this issue of trust. I thought I was finally understanding, but apparently not. While I was talking to Brian about the job situation he told me that everything happens for a reason, and then asked me if I was a faithful person. He told me about his life story, and that just about made me want to cry more. He's a devout Catholic, and while I don't agree with everything about their denomination I could see the light of Christ in him. Yet another reminder from God that He is in everything, and that He has something better for me.
Brian told me that he really does believe that everything happens for a reason. So do I, so do I feel the Divine Hand at work.
There have been people in my life recently trying to force this on me. It's not that I don't know it, but I don't always need to hear it. For some reason Brian's adamant confession didn't bother me as much as someone telling me to be content with where I am. Honestly, with all do respect, I know that I should be content with whatever phase of life, but this one is so incredibly hard. I'm doing everything I can to try and stay positive, but a year of rejection is hard to swallow. It's hard to get past the disappointed hope. It's hard, so don't tell me to be content, tell me you understand.
I'm reading some great literature right now that is really helping me to embrace this God-lesson of trust. Ann Voskamp, you should follow her blog, wrote a wonderful book called "One Thousand Gifts." You should find it and read it if you're struggling with anything remotely like this or any kind of disappointment. She understands how hard life can be and how hard it can be to be content.
There was so much anger built up inside last night that it kept leaking out of my eyes and my face was so tired from the salt-drenching. When it came time to actually go to bed, I couldn't do it. I couldn't close my eyes because I didn't want to face today. But here I am, sitting at the desk that I will have to abdicate come Monday. And I'm smiling the best that I can.
Saturday, March 17, 2012
Hope's not giving up....
This is the story of a girl with a large heart. She filled her head with dreams of fairytales--knights in shining armor, rugged heroes, ladies of high esteem. A place where anything you dreamed could be attained if you worked hard enough.
She put off one dream (the dream of her heart) to pursue her mind's dream. Instead of being content in her place she went to further her knowledge of the fairytale. The time she spent reading and learning was well spent, but occasionally she would get a glimpse of the other dream. It didn't take much--a weekend or a break from her scholastics spent at home was all she needed to awaken the old dream.
Her arms elbow-deep in hot water, eyes looking out over the harvested fields, she wonders why she ever wanted more. A breeze pushes through the screen of the window as she dries her hands on the white tea-towel and suddenly she's somewhere else.
She's a pioneer out on the frontier, or a simple maid in a medieval town. And she is not alone. Instead of preparing for her brother's birthday, she's baking for a child's name day and a husband that's been working hard under the sun. Whomever she prepares the table for, it matters little. The table is prepared--the food a blessing. And that is enough. God is good.
Where did this hope come from? This is the story of a girl that had clung so desperately to hope that she didn't realize when she had let it slip through her fingers for her eyes were squeezed tight--scared to face the truth. She knew the words--God provides--but somewhere along the way she let them grow hollow. Trudging on, day after day, she forgot to offer thanks for the blessings. And the trials. And the rejections, though three there be.
The radio was turned up, louder than it should have been, and the windows rolled down. A song began to play that she had heard a million times--and she loved it all along. Something was different this time around, and words of one of her professors came echoing back, "Read it again, the words won't have changed. But my, you have." How she'd changed, and she didn't even realize it was happening. The song was poignant. Her finger pushed the back button again and again--letting the lyrics be a heavy hammer through the dimness she had been facing. And tears press against her eyes because it's been so long since she's felt anything.
Daylight proved to chase away the darkness and contentment settled in. Peace came over her mind and settled in her heart. Though the days she will face may be difficult, she will not be alone. This is the story of a girl alive with hope.
"Hope, sweet Hope, how much more can she take being our strength when our hearts run out of faith?... Hope is with me in my time of trouble, when it all comes crashing down she will stay by my side digging through the rubble. She's not giving up, not giving up, not giving up..." [Hope, Remedy Drive]
She put off one dream (the dream of her heart) to pursue her mind's dream. Instead of being content in her place she went to further her knowledge of the fairytale. The time she spent reading and learning was well spent, but occasionally she would get a glimpse of the other dream. It didn't take much--a weekend or a break from her scholastics spent at home was all she needed to awaken the old dream.
Her arms elbow-deep in hot water, eyes looking out over the harvested fields, she wonders why she ever wanted more. A breeze pushes through the screen of the window as she dries her hands on the white tea-towel and suddenly she's somewhere else.
She's a pioneer out on the frontier, or a simple maid in a medieval town. And she is not alone. Instead of preparing for her brother's birthday, she's baking for a child's name day and a husband that's been working hard under the sun. Whomever she prepares the table for, it matters little. The table is prepared--the food a blessing. And that is enough. God is good.
Where did this hope come from? This is the story of a girl that had clung so desperately to hope that she didn't realize when she had let it slip through her fingers for her eyes were squeezed tight--scared to face the truth. She knew the words--God provides--but somewhere along the way she let them grow hollow. Trudging on, day after day, she forgot to offer thanks for the blessings. And the trials. And the rejections, though three there be.
The radio was turned up, louder than it should have been, and the windows rolled down. A song began to play that she had heard a million times--and she loved it all along. Something was different this time around, and words of one of her professors came echoing back, "Read it again, the words won't have changed. But my, you have." How she'd changed, and she didn't even realize it was happening. The song was poignant. Her finger pushed the back button again and again--letting the lyrics be a heavy hammer through the dimness she had been facing. And tears press against her eyes because it's been so long since she's felt anything.
Daylight proved to chase away the darkness and contentment settled in. Peace came over her mind and settled in her heart. Though the days she will face may be difficult, she will not be alone. This is the story of a girl alive with hope.
"Hope, sweet Hope, how much more can she take being our strength when our hearts run out of faith?... Hope is with me in my time of trouble, when it all comes crashing down she will stay by my side digging through the rubble. She's not giving up, not giving up, not giving up..." [Hope, Remedy Drive]
Thursday, March 1, 2012
Says She's Got Hope...
The month of February was a rough one. I wish I could say it was just me, but it isn't. If I were the only one struggling it would have been more bearable, but nearly everyone I interact with was having some kind of problem too.
Really, it all started to unravel the week of Valentine's Day. Please don't take this as a single hating on the holiday devoted to couples--it's not. I really have no problem with Valentine's Day, except that it means there is way too much chocolate just floating around. In fact, I was even determined to have a good February 14th because, honestly, the week before had been awful for some people and I didn't want the trend to continue.
I went to bed that Monday praying I would get a letter from a graduate program. In my dreams I would be accepted into the Literature program at my top choice of school. It would be a day to write home about.
Well. I did call home, several times that day, but it had nothing to do with grad school letters. I was having some chest pain that was worrisome. I spent Valentine's Day morning in and out of various medical locations. Alone. (And I wasn't pining for a special someone, I just wanted my momma.)
A couple days later (Thursday) I had mail. An envelope from my preferred school. It was small, average letter size. Why do we put so much of our fate into the seals of envelopes? Inside was a perfectly creased rejection letter. My heart sank, and all through my British Literature class I was distracted. At one point, my professor called on me, and I scrambled to find the answer to a question I hardly heard. When I apologized after class for being distracted I cried. In front of a professor, whom I love but have no emotional connection with, I cried.
Since that day I've been riddled with thoughts of rejection, and in the back of my mind I can hear Professor Reek chanting, "They don't know what they're missing!" But as the days go on, his voice fades away and I'm left alone with the self doubt. What if I didn't get into the literature program because I'm not ready? I'm not passionate enough? I don't have what it takes?
This last week I found out I didn't get into one of the Creative Writing programs I applied to...and the questions started up again. (It was even the program that I was least interested in, and I still got upset about it.) Maybe this is all God's way of telling me that I picked the wrong career path.
That's just my stuff. And my stuff this month seems pretty lame compared to every thing else that my friends are going through.
I've started drinking tea again--like, every night and day. I also turned on some Anberlin. I don't know why I forget that they are one of the few bands that lets me wallow for a little while before convincing me it's time to get back up again. I need to put that in a hubby letter, something like this: "When I'm upset or depressed, put on some Anberlin and it will probably be okay in a few hours." (This rut is taking longer than a few hours to work myself out of.)
This will be a better month. March means spring is coming, and spring means there is hope.
"You're so brilliant. Don't soon forget. You're so brilliant. Grace marks your heart." [Anberlin, The Unwinding Cable Car]
Really, it all started to unravel the week of Valentine's Day. Please don't take this as a single hating on the holiday devoted to couples--it's not. I really have no problem with Valentine's Day, except that it means there is way too much chocolate just floating around. In fact, I was even determined to have a good February 14th because, honestly, the week before had been awful for some people and I didn't want the trend to continue.
I went to bed that Monday praying I would get a letter from a graduate program. In my dreams I would be accepted into the Literature program at my top choice of school. It would be a day to write home about.
Well. I did call home, several times that day, but it had nothing to do with grad school letters. I was having some chest pain that was worrisome. I spent Valentine's Day morning in and out of various medical locations. Alone. (And I wasn't pining for a special someone, I just wanted my momma.)
A couple days later (Thursday) I had mail. An envelope from my preferred school. It was small, average letter size. Why do we put so much of our fate into the seals of envelopes? Inside was a perfectly creased rejection letter. My heart sank, and all through my British Literature class I was distracted. At one point, my professor called on me, and I scrambled to find the answer to a question I hardly heard. When I apologized after class for being distracted I cried. In front of a professor, whom I love but have no emotional connection with, I cried.
Since that day I've been riddled with thoughts of rejection, and in the back of my mind I can hear Professor Reek chanting, "They don't know what they're missing!" But as the days go on, his voice fades away and I'm left alone with the self doubt. What if I didn't get into the literature program because I'm not ready? I'm not passionate enough? I don't have what it takes?
This last week I found out I didn't get into one of the Creative Writing programs I applied to...and the questions started up again. (It was even the program that I was least interested in, and I still got upset about it.) Maybe this is all God's way of telling me that I picked the wrong career path.
That's just my stuff. And my stuff this month seems pretty lame compared to every thing else that my friends are going through.
I've started drinking tea again--like, every night and day. I also turned on some Anberlin. I don't know why I forget that they are one of the few bands that lets me wallow for a little while before convincing me it's time to get back up again. I need to put that in a hubby letter, something like this: "When I'm upset or depressed, put on some Anberlin and it will probably be okay in a few hours." (This rut is taking longer than a few hours to work myself out of.)
This will be a better month. March means spring is coming, and spring means there is hope.
"You're so brilliant. Don't soon forget. You're so brilliant. Grace marks your heart." [Anberlin, The Unwinding Cable Car]
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Were hearts made whole just to break?
Rejection. It's been the tune of my summer. And believe me when I say that this has nothing to do with romance, again. No, it's something a little more shallow, but still a bit painful.
I've been filling out job applications like no one's business. To no avail. Either I don't meet the requirements (how do I not make the requirements at a bookstore?) or they aren't hiring (even though they're handing out applications like cheap candy).
Now, I suspect the requirements I'm not making having something to do with going back to school in the Fall. Who would have thought that going to college would cost me job opportunities? Didn't think of that negative.
Who would have a big sign when you walk into their store: "Pick up your application today!" if they weren't actually hiring? Talk about false hope...
As bitter as I am about this this morning, it has given me a lot to think about. How could the constant "no" be teaching me? What should I be learning from this experience?
Well, when I get to graduate school applications I probably (and by "probably" I mean "definitely wont") get into every school I apply to. And when I am in grad school not everyone will like my writing style or subject matters. When I get to the publishing world, not every agent will like my stuff. And when I have an agent, not every publisher will like my story. When I get a publisher, not every editor will be helpful. When I'm done editing and book is published, not every reader will enjoy my fantasy either. There will always be disappointments.
Perhaps this summer I am learning to handle those issues. I am preparing for my life. Why didn't anyone tell me the start pistol had fired?
I'm going to leave you with a short poem I wrote last night, when I was trying to work out the next seen in Morning Star. It's just a ditty, really, it needs work. But it's a start.
It is not for lack of paper,
That I do not write.
I have drawer upon drawer
Of books waiting to be written.
It is not for lack of heart,
That my voice is silent.
I have tear after tear,
Of love and pain to be heard.
It is for lack of courage,
That I shrivel in fear.
But stand up,
Silent poet,
Be strong.
Well, when I get to graduate school applications I probably (and by "probably" I mean "definitely wont") get into every school I apply to. And when I am in grad school not everyone will like my writing style or subject matters. When I get to the publishing world, not every agent will like my stuff. And when I have an agent, not every publisher will like my story. When I get a publisher, not every editor will be helpful. When I'm done editing and book is published, not every reader will enjoy my fantasy either. There will always be disappointments.
Perhaps this summer I am learning to handle those issues. I am preparing for my life. Why didn't anyone tell me the start pistol had fired?
I'm going to leave you with a short poem I wrote last night, when I was trying to work out the next seen in Morning Star. It's just a ditty, really, it needs work. But it's a start.
It is not for lack of paper,
That I do not write.
I have drawer upon drawer
Of books waiting to be written.
It is not for lack of heart,
That my voice is silent.
I have tear after tear,
Of love and pain to be heard.
It is for lack of courage,
That I shrivel in fear.
But stand up,
Silent poet,
Be strong.
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