Worrywart, Be Gone

Network. Network. Network.

Human-resource experts say in today’s market a jobseeker should not expect to find a job by using only a home computer and job boards. He must get out there and network.

Did I emphasize network?

Let me also emphasize my focus for this blog post isn't really about finding a job. But I don’t want to get too far ahead of myself, so let me just say I made a significant dent in my search for employment today. Well, it wasn’t exactly my job search that had a dent put in it. It was my tendency to worry that was impacted.

You see, three weeks ago I interviewed with a recruiter for temporary employment. Although her staffing agency places people mainly in office jobs, she’d made a note of my strong writing skills. A week passed and I didn’t hear from her, so I sent an email. Today marked two more weeks without a word, and I sensed I needed to call her even though I felt uncomfortable doing so.

I figured this recruiter was just like the one I contacted five years ago after moving back to Texas. That person never returned my phone calls, so I assumed I didn’t measure up to her company’s standards. That I wasn’t a good fit for their clients. Or that I performed poorly on their assessment tests. I allowed feelings of rejection to cloud the fact that I do make a good first impression and perform well on tests.

And then God stepped in, and I stopped my job search in order to hone my writing skills. All I can say is that it was a God thing. And it wasn’t a coincidence that the doors to potential jobs closed as well.

So, as most of you know, I went back to college, graduated in 2011 with a journalism degree, and now have published articles under my belt.

However, I’m still looking for a full-time writing gig. At times, worry plagues me. And you know what's weird? I thought I overcame that type of worrying a long time ago.

Yet, that worrywart mentality has a habit of rearing its ugly head when I take my focus off the Lord. When I scan my bills, but forget God’s assurance He’ll never forsake me. When I look into the eyes of a homeless man, and forget God’s promise I’ll never have to beg for bread.

Yep, the worrywart stronghold that once consumed me crouches on my doorstep just waiting to take me prisoner again.

With that said, I’ve sensed a stirring in my heart to become a mentor to younger adults. To console and counsel them in areas I’ve struggled with and overcame. So, last night I attended the first session of a program at my church dealing with “freedom recovery.”

My heart leapt when the facilitator testified he used to worry about finances. How he worried his salary as a pastor wouldn't be enough to support his family. This spiritual leader, who was once a worrywart, learned to stop focusing on outward circumstances. Instead he began to focus on the wisdom of God found in scripture.

The scriptures talk about how the heart can be deceived, even the heart of a Christian. And worry is a heart issue.

As sinners with fractured hearts, we see our lives and the world around us through fractured lenses. However, God’s word is truth. Our trust and focus must be in the wisdom of God.

I really needed to hear that again. I’m so thankful I went to last night’s gathering.

And I’m glad I obeyed the prompting inside me this morning to phone the recruiter I met three weeks ago. She never received my email. My negative experience five years earlier with the other recruiter hindered me from reaching out sooner this time around. As I talked with her, my eyes opened to the fact that there was probably nothing I did wrong with the other recruiter all those years ago.

In hindsight, I believe doors were supernaturally closed back then because the Lord wanted me to concentrate on becoming a writer.

God knows everything about me, even my natural talents. And He knows my future.

The right job will come along. Just wait and see.

Therefore I say to you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink; nor about your body, what you will put on. Is not life more than food and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air, for they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? Which of you by worrying can add one cubit to his stature? (Matthew 6:25-27; NKJV)

Gettysburg, a Ford Mustang and Family Folklore

I let slip through my fingers many chances to pass along family folklore and history to my children. I began to wonder if they would ever care about their lineage once they were adults.

Nonetheless, I believed God’s promise to restore what was lost. I had no idea He’d do that in a muscle car with me riding shotgun.

The first glimmer of hope that one of my kids was interested in their ancestry came when my son, Zak, texted me regarding his ethnicity. During his last year of college he worked a summer internship in Pennsylvania. Many Americans living in the cities, towns and boroughs of the colonial states treasure their heritage. So naturally somebody asked him about his background.
  

The Kane Family farm in Orrtanna, PA (June 2011)

A few weeks later, I had an opportunity to spend a weekend with him in that state where our family roots run deep. Our time together would include touring the Gettysburg battlefield from atop a double-decker bus. Years ago I’d taken my daughter on the same tour during a road trip to visit our family farm nearby. Sadly, I’d never had the chance to share our ancestral history with my son.
 

Zak met me on a Friday night in June outside the gym where he exercised. I hadn't seen him since Christmas and was amused by his unusual smile. The inside of his mouth was tinted bright blue from gulping a colored energy drink. We laughed, and then laughed some more over that social blooper.

Deciding to head south toward Gettysburg that evening, he tossed me the keys to drive his souped-up Ford Mustang. We passed Hazleton, the town where my father was born. I told Zak about visiting my dad’s birthplace earlier in the day and finding the church in Freeland where he was baptized in the 1930s. I shared the blue-collar history of our Irish ancestors who lived in that coal-mining region.


Zak on Round Top overlooking the Gettysburg battlefield

The next morning we toured historic Gettysburg and the Civil War battlefield. That afternoon we drove toward the farm that has been in my mother’s family for at least one-hundred-and-fifty years. My daughter was one of the first in her generation to sleep in the farmhouse when she and I visited over a decade earlier. Unfortunately, on this trip Zak would be unable to go inside. Now tenants rented the house since the last of my grandmother’s siblings passed away.  

My son decided he would drive during the search for our ancestral land. Even with printed instructions, finding the farm near the town of Orrtanna proved to be difficult. We were on old Route 30 one minute, but not the next. The valleys and hillsides all started to look the same. I suggested we stop to ask somebody for guidance. Zak wasn’t keen about that idea.

As he drove down a country lane, I spotted an old woman sitting on a porch rocker. A young couple stood nearby.

“Let’s stop. That lady is old enough. She might remember the farm.”

“Oh, Mom.” Zak rolled his eyes. “Let’s not.”

“Just pull over.” I pointed to a patch of dirt near the house.

“You’re just going to stop and ask a total stranger for directions?”

Thankfully, I was able to avoid a gender battle of asking for directions when the couple crossed the road and climbed into a pickup truck.

I shushed my son's protest. “Hurry. Pull up next to them.”

The pair eyed us suspiciously as Zak parked his Mustang beside their truck. I wondered if they’d be surprised seeing me jumping out of a muscle car.

“I’ll tell you who you need to talk to. Her.” The man nodded toward the woman rocking in the chair.

The twosome stepped down from the truck, walked with me toward the porch and introduced Mrs. Vander. A dog lay near her feet, snoozing. I explained to her my search for the Kane Family farm. The widow revealed she rode the school bus as a child with my great-aunts and -uncles. She called them by name. After several minutes, Zak got out of the car and joined us.

“I also remember twin girls coming to visit the farm,” said Mrs. Vander.

“That was my mother!” I playfully punched Zak. “She knew Grandma. I told you she would know.”

Eventually the man left with his wife after giving us directions. I reminisced with Mrs. Vander about my relatives long gone. Several minutes later I thanked her for the hospitality and petted the dog goodbye.

We passed many orchards driving up and down hills on a winding road. Around a bend I glimpsed an old red caboose sitting in the middle of a field, abandoned.

“I remember that caboose from when Rebecca and I came.” I referred to my daughter. “I think we're close.”

As Zak rounded the next curve everything looked familiar: tall evergreen trees, a two-story white farmhouse, and a red barn. And still standing was a large, rusty water tank shaped like half a wine keg cut from top to bottom.

“This is it. This is it.” I clapped excitedly. “We found it.”

My son raised an eyebrow at my child-like joy. Since the renters appeared to be home, I suggested he drive to the newer highway running along the backside of the property and stop on a hill overlooking the farm. Decades ago when the state opened that freeway, traffic dwindled on the old route next to the farmhouse. Hence the era of our homestead also being a family-run tollhouse came to an end.

I took many pictures of the old place that day. I captured it at the same angle as two others prints hanging on my wall at home. One is a watercolor painted from a distance. The farmhouse and barn sit on one side of a country lane. Across the road is a small red fruit stand. The orchard behind the house hints of a plentiful harvest. Autumn colors nestle the foothills in the distance. In the other black-and-white picture, a photographer snapped the same view of the property during a snow-covered winter. Someone told me that years ago one of those photos was featured in a calendar of Pennsylvania farms.

My new print of the summer landscape has lush green trees hugging the foothills. However, the fruit stand is long gone. So are the fruit trees. Now a farmer leases the land to grow crops. One day I hope to return to the farm and photograph it in the springtime to complete a four-season pictorial.

Some things remain the same: the solid farmhouse with its stone chimney, the iconic red barn, and the thin evergreens standing tall. And the water tank, too.

“What’s that?” Zak pointed to the rusty cistern.

“That’s where Grandma used to skinny-dip when she was a little girl.”

My son’s eyes popped wide open at hearing his grandmother swam naked outside. His interest perked as I told the story of Confederate soldiers marching by the farmhouse on their way to Gettysburg. A different branch of our family claimed it was Union troops and Ulysses S. Grant. And that the future President of the United States plucked and ate some fruit from one of our trees. Regardless of which tales were fact and which were sprinkled with folklore, I wanted Zak to know his forefathers witnessed Civil War history in the making.

I described the house once full of antiques and heirlooms. I explained how our relatives canned fruit in Mason jars, and then stocked them on wooden shelves in the cellar. How the women washed clothes with the old wringer washing machine in that same dirt-floor basement. I told him about the farmhouse being a tollhouse also. How family members dreaded their turn at collecting tolls in the late evening and early morning hours. How they served cookies to motorists. Zak tilted his head as I explained how the term Toll House Cookies evolved. A few miles down the road, I showed him the cabins my great-aunts once owned and maintained—a safe haven for weary travelers during the 1900s.

I forgot to mention that one of those aunts concocted a secret recipe for peach brandy that packed a punch.

Photos of my son with the farm in the background remind me of God’s tender mercy. The Lord healed the regret in my soul as I retold the family stories to the next generation. What history I missed sharing with Zak during his youth, God made happen by orchestrating an impromptu visit faraway from our home out west. Our Father does exceedingly abundantly above all we could ever imagine.

Habakkuk 1:5 “Be utterly astounded! For I will work a work in your days, which you would not believe, though it were told you.”

Do It Again, God!

The following encounter normally occurs not where I was in Florida but farther south along Alligator Alley!

A couple days after driving to Florida to attend a family funeral, I ate lunch with several of my relatives. The restaurant overlooked a cove on Tampa Bay—a perfect opportunity to hone my outdoor photography skills. A blue heron perched on the roof of a boat pier held my attention. However, unbeknownst to me, seldom-seen marine mammals lurked nearby.

The restaurant manager pointed out a manatee in the waters below. I focused on it from my lookout spot in the open-air lounge on the roof. As I hurried down to the dock to shoot close-ups, a stingray slid across the water. I knew at that moment what I was experiencing could only be explained as a God thing—seeing two rare sea creatures within minutes of each other.

Because I had driven to Florida from Texas, I decided to stay in the “Sunshine State” longer than originally planned. A couple hours after finishing lunch and saying goodbye to everyone, I started my drive to the east coast to visit other family members and friends.

I hopped on State Road 70 and settled in for the three-hour trek across Florida. My mind often wanders on such drives where long stretches of highway pass without seeing another vehicle. That Saturday was no exception. I recalled a story I recently heard by a well-known inspirational speaker. While in Africa, she went on a safari. She passionately described graceful animals gallivanting into view. Awestruck by the splendor of the moment, she said to God, “Do it again.” And He did, bringing more displays of grandeur her way.

I thought about the manatee and stingray. And so, I too said, “Do it again.” As I slapped my palms on the steering wheel for emphasis, I could feel a smile spreading across my face. I didn’t know how God could possibly top my earlier encounters with the marine life.

An hour into the drive I passed a herd of grazing cattle. Fixing my eyes back on the pavement in front of me, I saw something large in the distance moving low to the ground. Lumbering across the road was an alligator.

Tapping the car brakes, I unzipped the case on the seat next to me and started tugging at the camera inside. By the time my Mazda Miata came to a complete stop in the middle of the highway, the alligator had made its way into the grass. I struggled frantically to free the camera before the car that was at least a mile behind me drew near. After removing the normal lens, I grabbed the zoom, twisted it into place and aimed the camera. Click. Click. Click.

The reptile swaggered away from me with its shoulder muscles rippling. Viewing those three back-to-back pictures, I noticed the alligator’s tail swishing from side to side as though I were thumbing quickly through the edges of an animated flip book.

My alligator friend on Florida State Road 70 west of Lake Okeechobee

That evening I arrived at my aunt’s condo on Singer Island. Relaxing on her sixteenth-floor balcony, I soaked in the breathtaking views of the Atlantic Ocean and Intracoastal Waterway. The beauty of dusk and the vibrant sunset made me thankful for all God created. It was then I remembered my earlier request for God to “do it again.” Little did I know He had more in store.

Two days later I traveled to Palm City to spend Independence Day with old friends before heading home to Texas. That afternoon a friend and I lounged just inside her patio doors looking out on the Saint Lucie River. The wooden dock extending beyond her property added ambience to the lazy, humid summer day.

“Look! Hurry!” she exclaimed. My heartbeat quickened as she directed my gaze to a fin disappearing below the water’s surface. She pointed. “There’s another one.”

I grabbed my camera—zoom lens already attached—and ran to the dock. With the naked eye, I saw a bite-size chunk missing from a dolphin’s dorsal fin.

I shared my do-it-again story with other friends arriving to watch the fireworks from her backyard.

God does indeed bless with wondrous gifts. He grants desires in ways too overwhelming for the human mind to make happen. Surely He delights in seeing joy on the faces of His children.

“Delight yourself in the Lord and He will give you the desires of your heart” - Psalm 37:4