The Rollercoaster: Part 1

I feel like I just got off the Voyage at Holiday World: a ride that takes you from the highest heights and plummets you deep into the earth only to shoot you skyward once again. 

May 5th was a low. I got an email from Westfield with an update in their interview process. Basically, they had offered one of the jobs to a different candidate and they were waiting on her response. Not necessarily a closed door, but certainly not optimistic. They kindly concluded that they forwarded my information onto another principal at a different school. That most certainly felt like a no. My spirits were crushed.

That same day, I got to speak in chapel about the comfort I had found in my Taylor community (see here). The speech concluded with all my job rejections and how people kept pointing me back to THE Comforter, the one who wipes our tears and handles our messes, and how we all had the privilege of running to him as we grieved. I had no idea I would get to live out that speech so palpably within hours of its delivery. Yet there I was, on my grey-and-yellow comforter, mourning the job I had so desperately desired.

To make matters worse, that night, I was scheduled to speak on a panel for upcoming student teachers about the job search and interview process. I got to relive that rejection over and over. After the talk was over, I came back to an empty apartment, so I crawled into bed and cried. Hard. and loud. I was pillow-punching mad, dejected, bummed, and frustrated that I had been drug through such a process only to have my application forwarded to another school. Where are you God? I whispered through puffy eyes and gritted teeth. I was angry.

Not only that, but Joe had gotten his letter of intent the exact same day. For that school. My dream school. What a joyous celebration of God's victory through Joe House! Seriously, I mean that. But as desperately as I wanted to rejoice, I was in pain. Celebration was not coming naturally. 

I texted Joe to see if he was awake, but it was late and  he had already fallen asleep. I was desperate to talk to someone, so I reached out to Jeff and Steph- the couple doing our premarital counseling,  my  longtime mentors, friends, and co-planters in this future church launch.

By the grace of God, Jeff was awake. He called and I sobbed almost uncontrollably. "I so desperately want to walk with Joe," I squeaked through sobs, "but how are we supposed to walk in step when I am in the valley and he's on the mountain???" 

I felt like Satan was trying to drive a deep wedge into our relationship. Our wedding was now less than a month away and it seemed like the enemy was putting full efforts into making me as bitter and resentful as possible. Not only with Joe, but with God. 

But God in his rich mercy showed up. He turned my pillow-punching to peace. Jeff reminded me that even if I do end up losing this job opportunity, I haven't lost Joe. I haven't lost my identity in Christ. I haven't lost salvation. 

And he said something that God used to bring repentance. 

"Joe hasn't always been on the mountain, Cali. He got this job because he has been through two really hard, really challenging years of teaching." 

I was broken. I hadn't even considered that. How selfish was I that I had not even paused to consider the sufferings of my soon-to-be-husband?  I had only turned the spotlight on myself, wanting everyone to pity me and comfort me and see how hard my situation was - not for a second stopping to see the hardships of my sweet baby's first two years of teaching.

Weirdly enough, I woke up the next morning with puffy eyes and a heavy heart. My roommate, Reyna, saw me and asked how I was doing. Tears filled my eyes as I told her how sad I was: sad that I probably wouldn't get to work with Joe, sad that I didn't think I would get the job I wanted, sad that I had struggled for so long for what seemed to be no good. 

and of all things Reyna could have said to comfort me, she went with this: 

"Well, Joe's journey hasn't always been easy. He had two really hard years of teaching before this." 

Cue the meltdown of my hardened heart. Thank you Jeff, thank you Reyna, thank you God. He was moving in a mourning-to-dancing kind of way that I hope I never forget. How easy it has been for me to  mourn with those who mourn while I am  mourning; how rejoice with those who rejoice while I rejoice.

But to be in mourning and yet rejoice with my fiancé? To be mourning my thought-to-be loss and rejoicing in the faithfulness of God for someone else? Someone outside myself?  That was going to require an act of the Spirit. 

Stay tuned for part 2.