Someone I love and trust and who knows about such things counselled me that the two most important things about one's job is feeling they are making a difference and that the people they work with and for care about them. I am so glad to now know that firsthand. I was very blessed to be offered a great job back in August and now that I have been there for six weeks, long enough for the honeymoon phase to wear off a little bit, I think I am ready to declare it a total win. While my work is most certainly not rocket science it is important enough that I am reminded regularly that I am appreciated. I am doing things in a slightly different setting than the last thirty something years but many aspects of my work are familiar. I get to find and solve problems and use skills I acquired during my years of full-time mothering in the areas of organization, conflict resolution, efficiency and cost savings. Some things are just pretty much the same no matter the setting. Also not unlike my years at home, I am surrounded by really wonderful people. I have the remarkable distinction of working for one of my sons' peers! Yes, my boss is someone I have known for 17 years, since he was in fifth grade with my second son. I have watched him grow up, go off to college, marry his sweetheart and embark on parenthood. He is smart, kind and very good at what he does and it doesn't hurt even a little bit that he loves God. Imagine sitting at lunch in a restaurant, across the table from your boss as he prays a blessing over the food or working nearby while he taps his pen and sings along with the Jesus music playing in the background. These are not qualities designed for show. He really is that guy. So is his Dad who co-owns the business. I thank God every day that in this loooonnnnggg journey He did not give me what I thought I wanted. This was the job for me. I am glad to go to work every day. I feel a real sense of belonging and accomplishment, maybe even that I make a difference, and that I am valued and cared for.
While I do enjoy going to work, there is the downside of seeing less of my husband and kids. As it happens, Mr. B has found ways to stay busy in my absence and even makes dinner now and then. I determined when I went back to work that I did not intend to drop any of the things I do for my family...hopefully I am doing pretty well. Hubby cooks because he wants to, not because I expect it. Only once or twice has he had to tell me he was out of socks or work shirts. I've had to change up my schedule a little bit but meals are getting cooked, laundry done and the house looks nice most of the time. Dating is still a priority as well. I checked with the remaining offspring living in my home and he assures me he is fine with me being gone as much as I am. No one in my family liked that I used to spend most days alone with not nearly enough to do. He knows where to find me, as does hubby and all the other kids who live nearby, and my work is flexible enough to allow for visits, texts, phone calls, etc. Didn't I say it was great?
This job has also afforded me a car and that makes hanging out with kids and friends a little bit easier. The money isn't bad, either. It's sweet that my honey likes to pack me a lunch for a change, something I've been doing for him for literally decades as well as serve me breakfast on his days off. And he seems to really likes to hear all my work stories. I'm pretty tired when I get home on some days but all in all this has been a wonderful transition. I love it when a plan comes together, especially when it was His plan.
Sunday, October 2, 2011
Saturday, October 1, 2011
Nine Years
I started to write this blog post two days ago, on September 29. Pretty soon it will become clear why I chose not to.
I'm one of those people who remembers where they were on significant days...I even remember what I was wearing and maybe what we had for dinner. Recently most of us recalled where we were and what we were doing on September 11, 2001. Others have vivid memories of natural disasters like earthquakes, tsunamis or fires. Some recall all too clearly the loss of a loved one. I have recollections of days not nearly as impactful as that.
Nine years ago, on September 29, 2002, we had just enjoyed a great lunch with our whole growing up family. I had a Caesar Salad with Grilled chicken and our waiter's name was Rex. I might even have bribed our college boys with such an outing if they came and heard their Daddy preach a really awesome sermon. I may or may not have done that before the date in question and even since. This day's particular sermon would turn out to be very apropos, we just didn't know how much. The sermon compared discipleship with military service, two areas of life in which my husband has accumulated quite a bit of experience. He made observations that often such service and commitment can be frightening and contain assignments we may find daunting. Nevertheless, we should press on, trusting God for the grace and strength to carry out each "mission."
After our great lunch we settled in for a rare Sunday afternoon nap and were soon interrupted by a call from oldest boy. He was in pain, probably a sports injury or the result of some stunt. Turned out he had been for several weeks, he just wouldn't come home from college to see the doctor. We told him to meet us at the nearby ER since we had good insurance and an X-ray should uncover the problem and get him back to school shortly. No need to wait for Monday and miss classes. We jumped in the car and expected to be home quickly. Since the boy in question was now a man, Dad went back to the exam area with him this time. Imagine my surprise when midnight came and went and I sat alone in the cold ER waiting room. I was reading with shock a Newsweek article about an uninsured college student diagnosed with cancer. I remember remarking to myself how glad I was we had good insurance on our college boys. I also remember noting that the nail polish on my left big toe was chipped, that my shorts were a bit too short for a woman in her early forties and that the hem was trying to come out of my navy blue T-shirt. It was then that the big doors opened and a doctor and my sweet hubby beckoned me to join them. I choked down worry....I entered the exam room to find college boy clearly enjoying some pain meds and a video game while standing in his sock feet wearing a hospital gown. Then I heard that ugly, ugly word, Lymphoma. The earth trembled, the walls closed in and suddenly I couldn't hear anything. I tried hard not to cry or be sick. I didn't want to frighten Nintendo boy. The next couple of weeks were a blur filled with many, many doctor's appointments, surgical procedures and treatment plans. The journey, the "mission" lasted a long seven months of chemotherapy, radiation and several hospital trips and now that wonderful boy is a great man, healthy and serving faithfully in Hospital Administration. It was very hard. We were sustained throughout by other "soldiers" and our able Commander and we are all different, in great ways, for having participated. Sadly, every September 29 for the years since that fateful day, I have felt those tremors, aftershocks if you will, recalling the sights, sounds, smells, and my chipped nail polish and too short shorts! Some years it was harder than others. Sometimes hubby would mark the day with a card, flowers or some time alone to reflect. A faithful friend who was there all the way would sometimes call or send an e-mail. There have been a couple of scares along the way, fearing cancer had returned. This year, however, the day came and went without any fanfare. No one reminded me and I decided not to mark it either. I just noted when I wrote in the date on a check, smiled and moved on. I don't know why really. Maybe time actually does heal or maybe there are just so many other big things going on now. Whatever the reasons, I am glad. The aftershocks have diminished, and tears flow only when I recall the event in detail such as this. God was a faithful friend then and continues to be now and that's really the best part of the story. Guess I'll soldier on. The missions await.
I'm one of those people who remembers where they were on significant days...I even remember what I was wearing and maybe what we had for dinner. Recently most of us recalled where we were and what we were doing on September 11, 2001. Others have vivid memories of natural disasters like earthquakes, tsunamis or fires. Some recall all too clearly the loss of a loved one. I have recollections of days not nearly as impactful as that.
Nine years ago, on September 29, 2002, we had just enjoyed a great lunch with our whole growing up family. I had a Caesar Salad with Grilled chicken and our waiter's name was Rex. I might even have bribed our college boys with such an outing if they came and heard their Daddy preach a really awesome sermon. I may or may not have done that before the date in question and even since. This day's particular sermon would turn out to be very apropos, we just didn't know how much. The sermon compared discipleship with military service, two areas of life in which my husband has accumulated quite a bit of experience. He made observations that often such service and commitment can be frightening and contain assignments we may find daunting. Nevertheless, we should press on, trusting God for the grace and strength to carry out each "mission."
After our great lunch we settled in for a rare Sunday afternoon nap and were soon interrupted by a call from oldest boy. He was in pain, probably a sports injury or the result of some stunt. Turned out he had been for several weeks, he just wouldn't come home from college to see the doctor. We told him to meet us at the nearby ER since we had good insurance and an X-ray should uncover the problem and get him back to school shortly. No need to wait for Monday and miss classes. We jumped in the car and expected to be home quickly. Since the boy in question was now a man, Dad went back to the exam area with him this time. Imagine my surprise when midnight came and went and I sat alone in the cold ER waiting room. I was reading with shock a Newsweek article about an uninsured college student diagnosed with cancer. I remember remarking to myself how glad I was we had good insurance on our college boys. I also remember noting that the nail polish on my left big toe was chipped, that my shorts were a bit too short for a woman in her early forties and that the hem was trying to come out of my navy blue T-shirt. It was then that the big doors opened and a doctor and my sweet hubby beckoned me to join them. I choked down worry....I entered the exam room to find college boy clearly enjoying some pain meds and a video game while standing in his sock feet wearing a hospital gown. Then I heard that ugly, ugly word, Lymphoma. The earth trembled, the walls closed in and suddenly I couldn't hear anything. I tried hard not to cry or be sick. I didn't want to frighten Nintendo boy. The next couple of weeks were a blur filled with many, many doctor's appointments, surgical procedures and treatment plans. The journey, the "mission" lasted a long seven months of chemotherapy, radiation and several hospital trips and now that wonderful boy is a great man, healthy and serving faithfully in Hospital Administration. It was very hard. We were sustained throughout by other "soldiers" and our able Commander and we are all different, in great ways, for having participated. Sadly, every September 29 for the years since that fateful day, I have felt those tremors, aftershocks if you will, recalling the sights, sounds, smells, and my chipped nail polish and too short shorts! Some years it was harder than others. Sometimes hubby would mark the day with a card, flowers or some time alone to reflect. A faithful friend who was there all the way would sometimes call or send an e-mail. There have been a couple of scares along the way, fearing cancer had returned. This year, however, the day came and went without any fanfare. No one reminded me and I decided not to mark it either. I just noted when I wrote in the date on a check, smiled and moved on. I don't know why really. Maybe time actually does heal or maybe there are just so many other big things going on now. Whatever the reasons, I am glad. The aftershocks have diminished, and tears flow only when I recall the event in detail such as this. God was a faithful friend then and continues to be now and that's really the best part of the story. Guess I'll soldier on. The missions await.
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