Honesty Pants

I like to refer to myself as a Mid-West Mexican: I crossed the border. Or to put it another way: God led me to Kansas (from Oklahoma) for college by leaving a trail of corn dogs and fabulous people and somehow, I stayed – mostly because my friends are amazing and share my love for corn-dogs and red is my favorite color sparkly shoes are my jam. Dorothy, you my home-girl.


But all of those above items are irrelevant. See below:

Relevant: What my professors left out. Somewhere along the way, my professors either omitted the lecture about quarter-life crisis or I just skipped class that day. Regardless, this is the story I want to tell. This is the story that is five months late; but as e-cards would state: late is better than ugly. Or rather, late is better than never.

For me, the transition from college graduate with an expensive piece of paper to pay-your-own-bills, stop-living-with-your-parents was less like a multiple choice test and more pin-the-tail on the donkey. The donkey, however, was not a stationary one dimensional cutout, but rather the Shrek-like donkey that laughs and moves whenever you get close to his tail-less behind.

This particular season was embarrassingly difficult and in my selfish, egotistical world, I was the only one who was having such a hard time discovering what was next. Some people pop out of the womb and declare law school is their peanut butter and crushing tiny civil souls is their jam – and then they waddle off to Harvard before they can even drive. Other infants naturally gravitate toward red pens and declare they will crush academic dreams while molding future minds, so on to education they go.

But as the spring sprung and chameleoned into summer, I could not seem to celebrate with the change. I couldn’t identify with it. I felt stuck, the worst kind of stagnant. The kind of stuck you feel after you have been camping for a week without a shower. It’s the kind of stuck no one wants to smell, the kind no one wants to be around.

I chose to boast in my expensive brain, my steady streak of unemployment, and how many books I could read at the same time. I watched a borderline unhealthy amount of Netflix and got really, really good at writing introductory e-mails and making phone calls to strangers. I thought I prayed a lot, which I did, but it was more like ordering at McDonald’s: Dear God, I would like the #1 combo– hold the cheese ‘cause you know you made me lactose intolerant. Thanks, I’ll pay you at the second window.

I applied everywhere, including Canada. (Twice). And even though I mentioned the fiscal cliff and The Hunger Games and pot-roast in my fabulous and unforgettable cover letter, I was left at the end of May singing along with Fergie Ferg – “Where is the love?”

I was discouraged under the weight of my own expectations and then if those weren’t soul-crushing enough, I chose to carry everyone else’s as well. I perfected the art of explaining to people how I am a licensed secondary English teacher but still unemployed. Tim Tebow, I would say, just needs to realize he is missing his rib, then all of my unemployment problems would disappear – [exit side stage – curtain].

Twitter Version: I packed everything, including my twin mattress into my car at the end of May and moved to Manhattan to live with my Tabor College Seesters from Otha Meesters. God provided a barista job until He blew my mind away with a social work job in Manhattan. I started at a foster-care/social work agency on July 1 and God has granted me the grace to see now, what I did not see then – the truth.

It is easier to say now than it was to say then, simply because time has been a buffer between the frustration and today’s reality, but God has granted me the grace to see that my trust in His sovereignty, while I waited, was less like an exploding time bomb and more of a gradual, silent unraveling. The more I tried to make something happen, the more undone I became. It was like pulling at a nagging loose thread on your favorite sweater only to realize ten minutes too late that you’re naked as a jaybird because in your desperation, you’ve unraveled the entire sleeve – while the idea of stopping never crossed your mind.

I see now God lovingly appointed me to walk through those unknowns. I stood on the edge of my own Red Sea, growing increasingly angry because I couldn’t seem to make the waters part, no matter how hard I dug or paddled or divided. I was the elder brother in the Prodigal Son story – silently angry because this part of life wasn’t going as smooth as I had wanted or imagined. But God doesn’t owe us a smooth ride just because we play by the rules. In The Prodigal God, Timothy Keller writes that anxiety is trying to do for ourselves what we do not expect from God. Exodus 14 and Keller caught me, rung me out, and hung me up to dry. It was the most needed kind of cleaning, the most necessary kind of change.

Starting a new job felt, and will probably always feel, like freshman year of high school – the veterans of the work place being the high school seniors, seasoned like a nice steak on the career grill of life. But that is the one thing that I brag about most to those who inquire about my job: my co-workers rock. I wouldn’t be able to do this job without their help and friendship. This is a specific prayer God has answered – and each day my gratefulness grows a little deeper, like tree roots reaching into the earth.

Sometimes when I’m out driving in the middle of nowhere in Kansas, the sky is so blue, like the kind of translucent blue that you could swim in. And when I see that far, the moment feels like a panoramic picture – sweeping, endless, colorful.

When I find myself in those moments, I feel like God is holding me in his hands, like the height and width of what my eyes capture is just a snow globe view – even though I know, cognitively, there is more. I picture God cupping his giant hands around the earth like a child holds a puppy.

Confession: I live close to the Flint Hills and I may or may not have considered singing and dancing around the Great Plains like Julie Andrews in the Sound of Music. But I have refrained. (You’re welcome). I would probably twist a cankle and ain’t nobody got time fo dat.

But I love that area because the endlessness of it all reminds me to breathe. The expanse and the marsh mellow-wave clouds silence the anxiety that bubbles inside. Inhale, the clouds say as they float along. Exhale.

I am asked a lot if I like my job: I reply it is a great fit for me right now. I love my co-workers and I can commit the time required of me. It’s not your normal 8 to 5, but I guarantee you my stories are x10 better, so that automatically makes me the favorite at Christmas gatherings - so there. I have great stories and fabulously straight priorities.

I’m currently learning and re-learning that gratitude is God’s gift that silences grumbling. And thank God for the rear-view mirror and the Flint Hills – tangible reminders that He does indeed prepare the way for His children and hold the entire world in his hands - just like a child holding a puppy.

Psalm 105: 1-5

Give thanks to the Lord,
call on his name
Make known among the nations
what he has done.
Sing to him, sing praise to him
tell of all his wonderful acts.
Glory in his holy name
let the hearts of those who seek the Lord rejoice.
Look to the Lord and his strength,
seek His face always.
Remember the wonders He has done.