With my teaching certificate mocking me from the wall, I stare down at my steadily growing stack of rejection letters. Slipping my alma matter letter opener into yet another white envelope, I read, “Thank you for your application, we regret to inform you…” After fifteen rejection letters and a 400 person cattle call for only two slots open, my dream of teaching is slowly slipping away.
Sighing. I add another one to the pile. Why am I keeping these? I feel like I am beating my fist against a brick wall. Lord! Why am I here? What did you create me for Lord, if not to teach?
Resident Director
Say What?
Resident Director.
The thought had never crossed my mind before. I mean, I was an RA for two years in college. And I do love planning events, leading small groups, building and fostering relationships and creating fun and cozy atmospheres. For the first time in a long time, I feel a hint of joy in my heart.
Huh. Nice one, Lord. Okay. I will be faithful in this, if this is what you have called me to do.
Twelve cover letters with resumes, all in large manila envelopes, are spread out in my rental on my living room carpet. I pray over each one before gathering them all up to pile to carry to the post office. Twelve orange envelopes will go out today. Okay Lord, here it goes. I have nothing to lose.
A phone call, then another and another. Michigan. Tennessee. Kansas. Kansas? C’mon California!
As interview requests come in back to back, I make a list of everywhere I applied. Kansas on the bottom. Last on my list. In fact, I cross it off. A line straight through it. Kansas? Never! I draw a little tornado next to it on my paper. Nope. Eighteen years ago, I packed up my Penske truck (because they lost the U-Hal, with ALLL of my stuff sitting outside in the driveway and we had to wait another day) and moved to not even an option Kansas. Three years later, I said yes to marring a farmer and eight years later, we were blessed with a son. I traded all things French braids and bows for cars, balls and dirt. I traded lakes and beaches and trees, to flat farm land, combines, dirt road grids and sunsets. And I am finding joy, in my Someplace Else.