cold, hard numbers

Nothing quite like doing finances to give oneself a dose of reality-- kind of like a slap (or two) in the face.

That's what I did last week. After sorting through receipts and bills for the past few months, I came face to face with the cold, hard numbers that we were spending more than we were making.

Granted, it included large expenses such as traveling overseas to my grandfather's funeral and my husband's college tuition. But with this being just the beginning of his academic pursuits and with a baby on the way, my mind began to spin, wondering how long it would be before we exhaust our savings going down this road.

This morning, our pastor preached on the story of Abraham offering Isaac to the Lord (Genesis 22). I don't know how many times I've read this story, but this time I was faced with a cold, hard number of a different kind. Abraham had one son-- that one represented the culmination of everything God had promised him and everything God had given him in life. God also has one Son-- and He gave up that Son for a world that still can't comprehend His sacrifice.

It doesn't make sense for my husband to be pursuing another degree on a lower salary while we're preparing to have a baby... but it didn't make sense for Abraham to offer Isaac as an offering to God either. We know God led my husband back to school, and we know that this child is a gift from Him. I don't know how we'll pay for it all, but I can still learn to be supportive (and thrifty) now.

And someday, I'll look back and see how God took care of those cold, hard numbers one day at a time.
_____________________

"The dearest I have known, whate'er that may be
Help me to tear it from Thy throne and worship only Thee."
-- William Cooper

weathering our first tornado

"Smells like a tornado."

I looked incredulously at my friend, but she was right. That afternoon, the tornado sirens went off as I was preparing for dinner, so we tuned into the local radio station.

The next hour felt like an eternity. We listened anxiously as tornado after tornado developed around the greater Oklahoma City area. I glanced up nervously at our skylights while I finished chopping lettuce and green onions, realizing that this beautiful blessing made me particularly vulnerable in the kitchen. We went through the house gathering emergency supplies, squeezed into our little laundry room, and shut the door.

Being a relatively new Okie, I felt fear rising in my heart. A tornado had ripped through our neighborhood before—and it could very well happen again.

Rumor has it that over 20 tornadoes developed throughout Oklahoma state that evening. While God chose to protect us and our skylights, other families are picking up debris from their demolished homes. Does that mean God loves us more?

No. This experience reminded me a lot of the days leading up to my husband's layoff. We heard rumblings of it, but we weren't quite sure who it would hit. That time, it was us.

Even though it one of the hardest trials we've faced as a couple, now in retrospect, we thank God for it. God allowed that "tornado" to hit us to help us reevaluate our purpose as individuals and our direction as a family. And we're still praying. Turning in the right direction is only the beginning.

buying vs renting

When you're going through unemployment, there's a period of "floundering," when you aren't quite sure what to do with yourself, so you reach out for something-- anything-- that might help restore your sense of normalcy and security.

After my husband got laid off, we went through that-- trying to figure out what kind of work he could do, how we could maintain the income we needed, whether or not to pursue various job opportunities...

At the same time, however we wanted to make sure we didn't jump into something simply to establish a false sense of security. We knew God led us to here. We knew God led my husband to work at this specific company. We knew God allowed him to get laid off. Why? Does God want to direct our paths in a totally different direction? If so, how do we go about figuring that out?

A couple weeks ago, we traveled to Minnesota for my husband's grandfather's funeral. As we drove through the barren corn fields of Iowa, we listened to this song:

But if my life is for rent, and I don't learn to buy
Well I deserve nothing more than I get
'Cause nothing I have is truly mine

Hmm... What does that mean? Are we "renting" or "buying" right now? We've often talked to our friends about living without regrets-- but what would that look like for us?

I thought back to the week my husband was laid off. We found ourselves unpacking boxes from our move last September. While he worked through numerous boxes of books and collections (that I laid eyes on for the first time ever), he began carrying on an online debate with a group of atheists. That led to a formal blog debate, in which he and one of the atheists posted back and forth for a total of six times.

While I would have avoided that kind of situation, my husband dove in with great relish. He researched his arguments, discussed them with friends, and mulled over it throughout the day. For the first time in our marriage, he entered a zone where I couldn't quite reach him.

I mentioned that observation to him as we began discussing the concept of "buying." If he enjoyed that mental stimulation, that research, that debating so much... what if that was what God designed him to do? What if he were to go back to school for that specific purpose?

He paused before responding with "Huh."

We sank into silence, him processing the new idea and all its implications and me watching his mind at work.

And so, we have begun praying in this direction. If this is what God created my husband to do, then we want to get ready to "buy."

________________________

For those of you who have been asking about his second interview, it seems to have gone well. He has another one tomorrow and has also submitted his resume to a number of other places. All of these are for temporary positions to tide us over until the summer. Thank you for your love and prayers!

seeking re-employment

"The only people who never fail are those who never try." (Ilka Chase)

My husband is the type who is willing to knock on the door of any possible opportunity. Over the last couple weeks, we've discussed everything from looking for another full-time position to starting our own business to going back to school.

The reality is that we have a commitment to host a group of international students this summer for one month. Most full-time positions would not allow anyone to take that much time off, so my husband's been looking for a temporary job to tide us over until the beginning of the summer.

But neither of us expected Temporary Company #1 to turn down his application.

I was washing the dishes when he announced that the low point in his day was when he called Company #1, and the manager informed him that his application had been filled out unsatisfactorily and that he would be barred from applying there again for the next 90 days.

What?! How could it have been that bad?

My husband explained that the online application had included a variety of multiple-choice questions, which required him to say what he would do in various situations that may arise at work-- including employee disagreements. Ah. Maybe that's why my "fix-it-myself-and-help-others-come-to-the-right-conclusion" husband was denied this position.

Even so, the rejection stung.

...which is why I sent him off to job interview #2 this afternoon with a bit of trepidation. I didn't want him to go through that experience again. And yet-- I need to let him try. This is life for those who are seeking re-employment.

I guess we'll see how it goes.

"do something fun..."

Post-employment advice #1 (from Papa): "Do something fun."

What Papa had in mind when he gave me this bit of advice was that we go out for a meal or take a trip somewhere fun. So Friday afternoon, we packed an overnight bag and drove out to the "sticks" of Oklahoma, where my husband dropped me off at the home of one of his former colleagues (one of the directors in the company), while he took our exchange student to motorcycle safety school.

It wasn't the typical weekend trip, because we ended spending much of it apart from each other. While my husband sat through lectures on horrible bike accidents and practiced doing figure eights in a church parking lot, I got a taste of life with eight kids. We spent hours in the kitchen, talking about their perspective on the week (and how they braced for possible lay-off), swapping stories about our families, making homemade ice cream, playing games, and cutting hair (they were brave to hand me the scissors).

It was therapeutic to live life with someone else, to hear how they survived unemployment in the past, and to recognize that one of life's most precious resources is not money but the people who weather the storms with you, who not only cry with you but help you to trust and to laugh no matter what the circumstance.

And laugh we did-- even after they begged my husband to perform some of his songs for the fifth time. As I watched him play "one last time" with just as much gusto as the first, I couldn't help smiling-- and thanking God for blessing me with a man who knows how to trust... and laugh... and love.

the wall

A unique characteristic of the company my husband worked for was their strong sense of community. It wasn't just a work place. It was a family. That's what made the cuts even more painful.

I know that most people don't work in that kind of environment. Perhaps for most people, what follows the cut is alienation and therefore an intense sense of loneliness. I must confess, however, that even with the tight-knit community at my husband's company, it was just as easy to project the same kind of wall in my heart.

When my husband's supervisor-- and our good friend-- dropped him off at work that fateful day, the last thing I wanted to do was see someone who hadn't been cut. Why my husband? Why not you? Yet I knew in my mind that it wasn't his decision. It wasn't even what the company wanted to do. So when he looked at my swollen eyes and asked, "So...are we still friends?" I blinked back tears, swallowed hard and answered, "Yes, of course."

Yesterday evening, we had several friends over, because our exchange student wanted to cook them a Chinese meal. That group included my husband's former supervisor, his wife and child. When we introduced them to our friends from church who didn't know about the lay-off, I found myself struggling to switch from the usual, "He's my husband's supervisor" to-- to what? My husband came to the rescue with "Actually, we didn't want this to be too awkward, but we worked together-- until yesterday."

Sometimes embracing awkwardness is the best step towards normalcy. Because my husband has an amazing ability to shrug things off, we had our friends over last night, he encouraged me to go watch a movie with another friend this afternoon, and then we spent the evening watching an amazing Round 1 of March Madness.

By engaging deliberately with people who also felt that same awkwardness, but from the other side, I am finding the courage to step out of my natural protective instinct and restore that sense of community we valued before.

crying for two

For the past couple of weeks, we've been hearing rumblings of "budget constraints" and "work force reduction." When my husband came home on Monday with news that the inevitable would take place over the next week, it began to hit me for the first time.

So when I kissed my husband good-bye yesterday morning, I didn't know if he'd come home with a job or not. Even so, he turned before he got in the car, smiled and waved at me optimistically... and then he was gone.

I went about my business trying not to think about what could happen. But when I heard the song I had chosen for his ring tone in the late afternoon, my heart sank.

I answered as cheerfully as I could and asked how he was doing. "OK," he responded before breaking the news to me. It wasn't long before I couldn't hold back the flood of tears anymore.

When we hung up, I braced myself against the desk and cried. Pain. Disappointment. Fear. Shame. Pride. Anger. Helplessness. The worst part was not the lack of job security but the fact that I wasn't there to hold him and comfort him when it happened.

That night, I sat on the bed playing my guitar while my husband answered a couple calls from family and friends. I was fine till they asked how I was holding up. I tried to grin bravely, while tears splashed off my face and onto the guitar.

Seventeen months ago, I made a vow to love this man for richer or poorer, for better or worse. I didn't know then how it might feel or how soon I'd experience it or what it would look like. Today, it means crying for the two of us.