Dave had a job interview Tuesday in which they pretty much told him they’d call by the end of the week with an offer.
But yesterday (Friday) dragged by, hour by snail-paced hour without a phone call (I’m sure the acid in my stomach increased by the fluid ounce with each passing minute once the afternoon hit.). Based on the way they talked at the interview, we figure that either a mud hole suddenly opened up and swallowed Philadelphia, or Bill Gates put in for the job right after Dave, agreeing to do it for free.
From the time that I figure all business offices in the Eastern Standard Time zone close for the day, I curled up in my green La-Z-Boy and cried until dinner. I ate a tiny bit of whatever Dave threw together, and then cried some more. And, I must admit, I felt just a teeny, tiny bit madatGod.
We’ve been at this for five years now (including three years of full time grad school, which is dignified poverty, but still poverty). That’s 40 years Israelite wilderness time, right? We should be done. Haven’t I learned my lessons?
I don’t need more shoes. Check.
I understand people who are unemployed. Check.
The purpose of wealth is to help those in need. Check.
I must pray for and bless my enemies—those scrumptious darlings that seem to know exactly what Dave should do to get a job, and why he doesn't have one. Check. [This was one of the hardest lessons to learn. But the day I realized that “God turned Job’s captivity when he prayed for his (judgmental) friends” was the day I decided to forgive mine.] See Job 42:10 (parenthesis mine).
I am NO DIFFERENT than those who don't. seem. to. care. Check.
I need to learn patience, and to trust God in times of perplexity. We’re still working on that one.
There I was last night, telling God that I’d learned my lessons, and stating all the reasons this job is perfect for Dave. And what did I get? Silence.
Then I had one of those “Peter moments,” like when a bunch of disciples got offended at Jesus and ran off for good, and Jesus looked at his closest friends and said, “Are you going to bolt too?”
And I found myself saying--like good old temperamental, unstable, double-minded Peter--“Where else am I going to go?”(John 6:66-68).
So I stood there at my kitchen island, chopping tomatoes and onions for salsa, tears streaming down my face—partly from the onions and partly from my dilemma: The source of my utter frustration and borderline despair was also my only source of hope. I saw myself beating His chest with my fists and finally collapsing into Him, surrendering in His embrace.
And then I did the only thing I know to do when nothing makes sense:
I rejoiced. It hurt at first. But I kept priming the rusty pump.
I thank you that Dave just came bounding in the door, knowing he didn’t get the phone call, and yet he’s happy. I thank you that my husband has never once in five years been depressed over this.
I thank you that we are all healthy. We haven’t as much as a cold.
I thank you that we all love each other.
I thank you that we have everything we need, and more. In fact, we are filthy rich.
I thank you for this fresh salsa.
I thank you for this happenin’ log house.
I thank you that you have our back.
I thank you that you won’t let Dave get the wrong job.
And on I went. Within minutes I felt something that I hadn’t felt for a while. It was better than what I’d felt two nights ago, when we all went out to celebrate the job we thought for sure he’d bagged.
That was happiness. Which always depends, of course, on what’s happening.
But this---this was Joy.
On Monday Dave will call and tell them that he is in fact better than Bill Gates for the job. If they don’t agree, I’m still good.
"Why are you cast down, O my soul? And why are you disquieted within me? Hope in God; For I shall yet praise Him, the help of my countenance and my God." Psalm 43:5