My Father's Daughter

Most often, the follow-up to the "What are you doing with your life?" question is the "So, what do you do for a job?" question. Because, in case you were wondering, following Jesus doesn't always pay the bills and this girl's got a degree that she'll be paying off until she's 90. Give or take.

When I left my job at the end of July, I sort of floated for a while. I filled my days with an internship at my church, my evenings with friends and long runs, and took some time to catch up on sleep. To be honest, it was necessary. The past year has been, in a word, difficult - and while I don't have any desire to unpack that here, the time off and reduced schedule was so very necessary for healing body, mind, and soul.

So I rested for a month, worked at church, and finally started applying to jobs. And got rejection letter after rejection letter after rejection letter. Nobody, it seemed, wanted to hire me. Toward the end of September, I started to get nervous. I have never been one to doubt God's provision for me in physical and financial matters, but I was really starting to question whether or not He would show up "on time" - which is to say, before my bank account hit zero.

Then, one Monday morning, I got a job offer. It went a little something like this:

Mom: Jessica! Come downstairs, please!

Me: [grumble, grumble, grumble, stomp, stomp, stomp] Whaaaaaaaaaaat?

Mom: So you still don't have a job?

Me: [grumble, grumble, grumble, way to rub it in, lady] No.

Mom: Well, your father and I would like to hire you at the office. I'm going to be working out of the office more and we need someone to take care of cleaning, invoices, answering the phone, and eventually start doing electrical drawings.

Me: Okay.

Mom: You start Wednesday.

So that is how I came to work 35 hours a week in a dusty machine shop, breathing in particulates that are probably considered carcinogens in the state of California, and picking up lunch orders for the most insatiable carnivores I have ever met.

I joke that my job description is that of "glorified gopher" - but the truth is that I am incredibly blessed. Incredibly blessed to have a job at all, incredibly blessed that my parents have a business that is doing well enough that they can hire me on for a season. It has also been an incredible blessing to have this simple, daily connection with my family again. I was running around at 100 miles per hour for the past year, rarely seeing my parents, the three of us like ships passing in the night or trains passing in the suburbs or... something.

Now, I see my parents every day for hours a day. It is a reminder that I am a part of a unit, something bigger than myself. I am reminded of that every time I pull open the file cabinet and find the files written in no fewer than six different scripts - both parents, plus all of the kids having done their time at the family business over summers or school breaks. I am learning the business. Learning what my father does. Learning what that symbol on an electrical drawing means and how to strip furniture. Learning the inside language of machine building and how to draw up packing slips and invoices.

In short, I am learning to be my father's daughter.

And in all the quiet moments, mundane activities, and challenges that present themselves, I am learning to become my Father's daughter as well.

This season is a blessing on so many levels.

I am trying not to waste it.

The Grand Life Plan

Something about being 25 years old and three years out of school means that most times when people see me, I am asked one question:

So what are you doing with your life?

I guess it's a question that is valid enough. From the outside looking in, I'm really not doing much.

I don't date, so I'm clearly not on the "married with kids" track.
I work for my parents because nobody else on the East Coast will hire me, so I'm not on the "high-powered career" track.
I spend my free time running, reading, and volunteering, so I'm not particularly "ambitious."
Furthermore, I'm not in Africa, so I don't look at all like the "missionary" I thought I would be by now.

I think people probably assume that because I'm not on the mission field now, I misheard - that missions was never really the plan. And I don't fault them for that thought at all. Heck, *I* thought I misheard.

I didn't. I'm more sure of that today than I was two years ago. I'm called.

But here's the thing: I'm also human. So when God speaks, it gets filtered through my own desires and wills and sinful nature and it ends up looking like a schoolyard game of "telephone."

God might be trying to tell me that to "go to Canada next summer to meet the love of your life."
But by the time it is filtered through my fear of looking ridiculous, my insatiable desire to "be successful," my need to so something bigger than myself, and my [totally God-given] desire to serve, I might hear something more like, "hop a train to Mexico and build houses for the rest of your life."

All this is to say that I didn't misunderstand. I'm called. I'm not in Africa now, but that doesn't mean I'll never be. And it certainly doesn't mean that the last two years has been a waste - the process of applying for missions and the subsequent counseling they suggested have brought out the best and worst parts of me.

These years have highlighted just what tight grip I hold on my illusion of "control" and how desperately I need to let that go.
They have left me floundering, looking silly, taking major hits to my pride - and realizing that it was never about what everyone else thinks of me to begin with.
They have taught me what it means to be flawed and broken and painfully messy.

These two years have been God dragging me into the wilderness (kicking and screaming, to be sure) and stripping me naked. It has felt like an act of violence, but in the end has been the purest act of love.

So now what? Now, as I'm finally coming out on the other side of two of the most gut-wrenching years of my life? Now what's the plan?

To be honest, I've rejected any plan. This seems strange for someone who was, at age 12, planning how to get into Harvard Medical School. But I simply don't know what to do anymore. My plans certainly haven't been working. So I quit.

I'm following Jesus.

I'm getting up each morning and surrendering my crap.
I'm praying and learning to listen for replies.
I'm obeying in the best way I can.
I'm accepting the fact that I probably look really foolish to a lot of people.
I'm learning to give myself some measure of the same grace that God gives me.


It's not perfect.
Most days, it's not even pretty.

But the yoke is easy and the burden is light.
I'm following Jesus.
THAT'S what I'm doing with my life.

That's all I can hope to do.