I don't know about you, but when I pray, I don't usually expect the kind of answer that makes me go "OH RIGHT. GOT IT." Not that those kind of answers don't happen, but it seems usually to me the answers the Lord gives are vague, and left up to interpretation.
So when I opened my Bible to Joshua 1:5-9, I felt like the Lord had pulled out a hammer and was pounding at me. "Be strong and courageous." Pound. "Do not be discouraged." Pound. "Do not be terrified." Pound. "I will never leave you nor forsake you." Pound.
My pastor got back to me. What surprised me was that he sent my email home to his wife. Mrs. Pastor (as I will refer to her to respect her privacy) sent me an email inviting me to a church function tonight. It was a way to get out of the house, and refocus myself. Living alone, with my family an hour away, it's hard to convince myself that I'm not the total waste of space my previous boss made me out to be. The last thing I want is to sink into depression. I'm already a statistic in unemployment rates; it's probably a good idea not to be part of the suicidal statistics too.
So I went. And, of course, every time someone asked me how I was, I burst into tears. It's not that I wanted to, but it seemed to just happen. Embarrassing and frustrating and absolutely unavoidable. I wanted the floor to swallow me up.
The church function was actually a missionary conference. Interestingly enough, one thing I'd always wanted to do was travel. Unfortunately, life has spent a good chunk of time getting in my way, and I never have managed it. Usually, I have responsibilities here at home. After all, you can't simply take off when you have classes, or a full-time job.
So I listened. And I thought. But that's still something I'm not sure I'm ready for. I just don't think I'm missionary material.
Afterwards, I spent some time explaining to several people why it was I kept crying. It's not fun, but if I want to avoid turning into a crazy cat lady without the cats, I need to get out of the house. Interestingly enough, one of the women I talked to knows Sign Language. Now, I took a couple of semesters of ASL in college, loved it enough to seriously consider becoming a translator, but hit a bad teacher and ultimately switched to something else. She suggested that if I wanted some practical experience, there was a Bible Study for the Deaf that would welcome me in.
And then, talking with a missionary couple as I was walking out to my car, I learned that 'Missionary' is not the only job missions organizations look for when trying to find people to send overseas. There are job openings for people to teach English. They've offered to bring me more information tomorrow at church.
So when I opened my Bible to Joshua 1:5-9, I felt like the Lord had pulled out a hammer and was pounding at me. "Be strong and courageous." Pound. "Do not be discouraged." Pound. "Do not be terrified." Pound. "I will never leave you nor forsake you." Pound.
My pastor got back to me. What surprised me was that he sent my email home to his wife. Mrs. Pastor (as I will refer to her to respect her privacy) sent me an email inviting me to a church function tonight. It was a way to get out of the house, and refocus myself. Living alone, with my family an hour away, it's hard to convince myself that I'm not the total waste of space my previous boss made me out to be. The last thing I want is to sink into depression. I'm already a statistic in unemployment rates; it's probably a good idea not to be part of the suicidal statistics too.
So I went. And, of course, every time someone asked me how I was, I burst into tears. It's not that I wanted to, but it seemed to just happen. Embarrassing and frustrating and absolutely unavoidable. I wanted the floor to swallow me up.
The church function was actually a missionary conference. Interestingly enough, one thing I'd always wanted to do was travel. Unfortunately, life has spent a good chunk of time getting in my way, and I never have managed it. Usually, I have responsibilities here at home. After all, you can't simply take off when you have classes, or a full-time job.
So I listened. And I thought. But that's still something I'm not sure I'm ready for. I just don't think I'm missionary material.
Afterwards, I spent some time explaining to several people why it was I kept crying. It's not fun, but if I want to avoid turning into a crazy cat lady without the cats, I need to get out of the house. Interestingly enough, one of the women I talked to knows Sign Language. Now, I took a couple of semesters of ASL in college, loved it enough to seriously consider becoming a translator, but hit a bad teacher and ultimately switched to something else. She suggested that if I wanted some practical experience, there was a Bible Study for the Deaf that would welcome me in.
And then, talking with a missionary couple as I was walking out to my car, I learned that 'Missionary' is not the only job missions organizations look for when trying to find people to send overseas. There are job openings for people to teach English. They've offered to bring me more information tomorrow at church.
"Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted." Matthew 5:4
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