Want to work with military personnel overseas? How about foster care children in San Diego? Ever thought of writing for Anthropologie or working for a government subsidized housing program in New York? Want to work in the agricultural industry? Want to teach, preach, or lead in a church ministry? Want to do administrative work for a non-profit or various secretarial duties for a start-up business? Want to drive the grain cart in the harvest parade? How about freelance or contract work – thought about that? Want to work at a university exchange program in the Dominican Republic or for the booming windmill business? Thought about working part-time at a print shop, coffee shop, branding company, advertising firm, or babysitting?
I’ll stop because your brain is swimming.
It’s just that, I would say yes to all of the above. Everything. Actually, I did say yes when people asked me those questions this past year.
Every time I got an email, phone call, or networked connection through friends, I responded as quick as I could get my resume and cover letter re-formatted to fit the job description. I was willing to do anything – literally over 100 applications worth of anything. It was a long banquet table set with a feast of humble pie and I ate slowly and thoughtfully every single day. Every job held possibility to establish my purpose in the States, so I jumped at every job and envisioned the most beautiful version of how it could play out.
I went to San Diego and felt its darkness, but pointed out coffee shops I would frequent and community organizations I would join. I visited companies in Philadelphia and imagined myself saying hi to new neighbors. I went to New York and hob-nobbed with writers in a library bar. I went to Des Moines and talked about my farming experience with the Soybean Association.
I said yes to every open door long enough for it to get shut in my humble-pie covered face. My excitement jumped from one job to the next and my plans were peppered with different geographical regions and career fields every day.
And in the midst of all those slices of pie, God was weaving His story. He was drawing me closer to Himself and deeper into a sustainable joy. He was blessing me through closed doors that pointed me toward His open arms. He was weaving a story that told of His provision, His protection, and His glory.
I’m still learning what it means to be part of His story, but I cling to the blessing that He is the author. Today, He is authoring a story and I am acting out miracles that bring Him glory. Closed doors, humble pie, new dreams, change of plans… all drawing me closer to Him and deeper into a sustainable joy.
I hope I always say yes to that.