The Blessed Agony of Waiting

I wish I were as good at waiting as Carson, my seven-year-old nephew. The other day he said with all the sincerity and excitement only a grade-schooler can embody, “I’m so excited about Christmas Eve, it makes my legs wiggle.”

His waiting is marked by eager excitement (okay, yes, mostly for the presents Santa will bring). But my waiting, I’m sad to say, is usually marked by impatient toe-tapping and eye-rolling. And sometimes even by dread or detachment.

At times I feel like I’ve spent the better part of my years waiting. I grew up in a family with three women and one bathroom. As the youngest of those females, I didn’t earn the best spot in line. I live a block from a train track, and I can’t count the wasted hours I’ve spent in my trusty Honda waiting for another line of train cars to pass. I’m a 38-year-old never-married woman, and the wait to find a good man who’s a good fit for me has at times seemed unbearable. And for the past seven months I’ve been waiting to hear back from the countless companies to which I’ve sent my resume, longing for one of them to hire me.

I don’t know when I went from waiting well and eagerly, like Carson, to being the impatient and sometimes gun-shy wait-er I often am now. Perhaps all the cumulative waiting wore me out. Or our culture, where waiting is unheard of, where we value our instant gratification and have founded entire industries and food groups on that value, has permeated my thinking.

When Carson said his leg-wiggling comment the other day, I wanted to rub his head, let some of his anticipation rub off on me. Especially in this advent season. When we wait for a holy, humble baby. When we remember those generations that waited with great expectation for a Savior.

Rushing around with our Christmas shopping, party-going, and concert-attending, we often neglect this part of the Christmas celebration. We so often forget that before “For unto us a child is born,” (Isaiah 9:6) came these verses (1-5):

“Nevertheless, there will be no more gloom for those who were in distress. In the past he humbled the land of Zebulun and the land of Naphtali, but in the future he will honor Galilee of the Gentiles, by the way of the sea, along the Jordan.

The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of the shadow of death a light has dawned.

You have enlarged the nation and increased their joy; they rejoice before you as people rejoice at the harvest, as men rejoice when dividing the plunder.

For as in the day of Midian’s defeat, you have shattered the yoke that burdens them, the bar across their shoulders, the rod of the oppressor.

Every warrior’s boot used in battle and every garment rolled in blood will be destined for burning, will be fuel for the fire.”

Only then do we get the famous Christmas verses. Only with these verses in mind do we truly appreciate what comes next:

“For to us a child is born, to us a son is given, and the government will be on his shoulders. And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.

Of the increase of his government and peace there will be no end. He will reign on David’s throne and over his kingdom, establishing and upholding it with justice and righteousness from that time on and forever. The zeal of the Lord Almighty will accomplish this.”

Remembering the oppression and strife and sin that came before helps us appreciate what Christ brought and changed with his miraculous birth.

I think back to my family’s wait for my leg-wiggling nephew to arrive. Years of infertility and miscarriages preceded his adoption into our family. And because we waited with my sister and brother-in-law so long for this boy, his presence is so cherished. (As is his sister’s, who was adopted a couple years after.)

I remember well waiting in the Kansas City airport with my parents to meet our new family member. When my weary sister and brother-in-law finally exited the plane with our wide-eyed Carson in tow, my dad kept snapping pictures and my mom kept saying, “He’s here! He’s finally here!” I just stood there silently crying.

The long wait made this moment all the more sweet and meaningful. And looking back, I know it formed us by giving us a huge object lesson in just how valuable a son/nephew/grandson is. A new family member! Our family member.

My waiting for a husband and for a job keeps me mindful of just how valuable these things are. Reminds me they aren’t givens. That good gifts come from God, and not from any of my own efforts. My waiting and longing for good things helps me not to take them for granted when and if they arrive.

And waiting for the Christ child helps us not take his saving presence lightly. Helps me remember why our God took on human flesh. Helps me marvel at this familiar story afresh.

The kind of marveling that brings me to my knees. And sometimes, if I'm lucky, even makes my legs wiggle.

Edible Benevolence

It was a good trade. I lent my friend Mark some DVDs and he gave me 12 containers of fish, chicken, and beef he and his wife had gotten on the cheap through their food co-op.

The government had Cash for Clunkers. We had Movies for Meat.

I obviously got the better end of that trade. I get to keep the meat; Mark’s eventually going to return my DVDs. But this wasn’t true bartering. This was benevolence.

As Mark told me, “We don’t have tons of cash to give to our unemployed friends, but we have lots of meat!” So that’s what he gave, and what I’ve been happily eating ever since.

It’s just he latest kindness that’s been extended to me during my six months of unemployment. The person I now think of as my Anonymous Caffeinator has sent me three different Starbucks gift cards in the mail. Twenty-five bucks each! Another friend—who lived through her husband’s unemployment years earlier—sent me a check out of the blue for $250. I was blown away. Another friend recently shared her Mario Triccoci gift certificate with me, allowing us both to get fancy manicures. I thought of her and smiled every time I looked down at my deep purple nails. A childhood friend sent me a care package filled with generous gift cards and other fun, thoughtful gifts.

Other friends have sent encouraging notes, taken me to lunch, fed me dinner in their homes.

And while all of this is testament to what amazing friends I have, and to God’s provision for me through all these folks, I think there’s something else going on here as well.

I’m realizing how much people want to help.

Right now I have a very visible, tangible need. So people are doing something about it. And I’ve been learning to be a gracious receiver—to humbly accept these acts of generosity. Without shame or a compulsion to reciprocate, but simply with gratitude.

These people have been able to help because of my willingness to receive and because of the visible need. My pastor summed this up really well a couple Sundays ago when he looked out at our congregation and spoke of all the needs present. He mentioned that some are really visible, like the high schooler who recently broken his arm and is now sporting a cast. And then he talked about his daughter-in-law who suffers from depression. Such a huge—and invisible—need. He encouraged us to be mindful of these silent hurts.

I thought of my loud, obvious struggle right now. And then I thought of all the other less loud, less obvious struggles I’ve had over the years. The ones I haven’t always shared with others, denying myself the help that’s been poured out on me in the past months. My pride, my fear, my self got in the way of the help I wanted and needed.

This season has been a great lesson for me in being real with others, even with our needs. Letting others be present with us in these broken moments. Because when they show up there—with a kind word, a prayer, a gift card—it’s a blessed thing indeed.

I’m vowing to be more open and more on the lookout for the silent needs in others. And as gracious and generous as my friends have been to me.

People want to help, I’ve learned. I have a freezer full of meat to prove it.

Jobless but Thankful

Unemployment came as a huge surprise six months ago. But that’s nothing compared to my surprise at the blessings that have accompanied this unwanted life stage. As we pause to give thanks today, here’s what this unemployed woman is thanking God for:

-the chance to go to China a few weeks after losing my job, preventing me from sitting and moping and forcing me to focus on others and our fascinating world.

-my Anonymous Caffeinator, who keeps sending me Starbucks gift cards in the mail.

-the time to volunteer with an English as a Second Language class twice a week, where the students (refugees and immigrants from around the world) fill me with joy and remind me that I’m a have, not a have-not.

-the friends who mailed me a check for $250 one overcast Monday, a humbling and blessing act of generosity.

-the free tickets to musical Young Frankenstein I won at Movies in the Park this past summer, providing me a lovely night of culture and laughter and friendship.

-friends who have mailed me encouraging notes, which have usually arrived just when I’ve started to get anxious or antsy.

-the blessing of finally getting enough sleep.

-time to chat with my Skype buddy in China twice a week, helping her practice English and allowing me to travel around the globe in my jammies.

-freelance assignments that keep coming to me, giving me a chance to be productive and creative and earn a little pocket money.

-unemployment benefits and cheaper COBRA payments thanks to a bill passed earlier this year.

-my sweet parents, who listen, give, pray, and love unconditionally.

-time to spend with my mom-friends and unemployment buddies.

-the blessing of losing my job in late May, so I could enjoy summer and have abundant sunshine in my first days and weeks of unemployment.

-my unemployment buddy Todd, who used some of his extra time and overflowing talents to create my website, www.CamerinCourtney.com.

-my childhood friend Amy, who sent me a care package with gift cards to Target, Borders, and Kohl’s—bringing back a pastime I’ve missed in the past six months: shopping!

-lessons in being a gracious and grateful receiver.

-Psalm 90, which was on my church’s reading plan one day when I was melting down, and provided encouragement, perspective, and direction for my prayers.

-all the friends who have generously bought me meals or drinks and have blessed me even more with their presence.

-my God, who specializes in bringing beauty out of ashes, and who’s obviously been walking with me in this unexpected season.

The Time-Closet Space Continuum

I know “I’ve been busy,” the excuse that’s practically as American as apple pie and snarky gossip, is a hard sell when you’re unemployed. As in, “Why haven’t you added to your unemployment blog in so long?”

Well, I’ve been busy. Really.

I taught a three-week class at Willow Creek church in October. I spent a week in Kansas City with my family. I’ve been writing a slew of freelance articles. I’ve been volunteering.

And, most importantly, I’ve been learning valuable lessons about the preciousness of our days.

This busyness thing is a surprise to me, too. I remember years ago when a friend of mine became a stay-at-home wife. Not a stay-at-home mom, but a stay-at-home wife. I was supportive of whatever made sense for her and her husband, but secretly wondered what she did all day. I was a working woman at the time, and couldn’t fathom how a person could fill those eight hours five days a week that I spent parked in my office chair.

My past six months of being a stay-at-home person has certainly opened my eyes.

Pretty much, I’ve learned that time is like closet space. Your stuff grows to fill however much you have. Like the apartment I lived in years ago, the one in which I had the master bedroom with two walk-in closets. When I first moved in, my things barely filled one of the two closets, and I had visions of turning the other into a reading “room.” Six years later when I moved out of that home, I packed up the contents of both over-full closets into too many cardboard boxes, shaking my head at myself the entire time.

The refilling and reframing of my days over the past six months has certainly been a work in progress. I admit that at first, in the days of shock and oh-crap-what-now, I filled my days with too much television and emotional eating. But I eventually feared that pattern would make me a 300-pound idiot. And I finally moved through the next stages of grief. And so, I thankfully became a bit more proactive about my days.

All that extra time felt like a liability at first. What on earth would I do with all those hours (besides desperately searching the web for a new job)? But with time, appropriately enough, I began to realize what a precious gift all these free hours and minutes are.

I love having time to give to friends who need a ride to the airport. To give to the tutoring ministry at my church, where I sometimes get bested by seventh-grade math. To leisurely spend at Starbucks reading a good novel, enjoying the people watching just as much as the rich words. To linger in a hot shower on cold Chicago mornings. To talk with a friend for hours over guacamole and fruity drinks. To pray for all my other friends who need jobs too.

When I was working and was over-busy, as most Americans are, the joy and value of these things escaped me. I didn’t have as much time to give to others, or so I thought. So many times in the middle of one event my mind was thinking ahead to the next. So often I wasn’t fully present.

I didn’t make near enough time for the little joys in life: a Sunday afternoon nap, a walk on a sunny day, a phone call to my parents just to say hello, an email to a friend who’s recently popped into my mind. If I ever made time for these things, I often felt guilty about it. I thought I wasn’t being productive enough. Like I didn’t have enough to show for my days.

And I certainly didn’t appreciate what a gift it is when someone gives you some of his or her precious time. Instead of just rushing through my weekends, trying to shoehorn in enough fun to help balance out the coming workweek, I now have more time to anticipate dinner with a friend, coffee with a former coworker, a walk with a mom-friend and her toddler. To anticipate and relish and remember.

Before my days were busy busy busy. But when my daytimer was wiped clean and turned into a blank canvas, I set my mind on a new goal for my days: full. Not with so many events that there’s hardly any breathing room. But full with meaning. And rest. And intentionality. And a healthy pace. And giving back. And things that reflect my priorities. With this new goal in mind, even when I still sometimes get it horribly wrong, I find my cup is full. And sometimes even overflows.

So, on my better days, I realize that although something was taken from me—my job of 15 years—something else was given. All this glorious time. And while at first it felt like a liability, I now realize it’s like a bag of magic coins. Of inestimable value. To be spent wisely and lavishly.

And what really gets me is that I’ve had these coins all along. I’m only just now realizing their great and precious worth.

If Found, Please Call Camerin

I’m on the lookout for telephone poles. And a really great staple gun.

Why? you’re likely wondering.

Well, I have a few notices I’d like to post. Thanks to my six-year-old nephew, Carson.

You see, a couple weeks ago I received the picture to the left in the mail. It’s the first letter I’ve ever received from Carson. Oh sure, I’ve received pictures he’s drawn. Of trains. Of stick-figure me (which I posted on my fridge for diet inspiration). Of more trains.

But this was the first letter.

I’m not sure why he started at the bottom and worked his way up. I like to think that he wanted to master the Asian style of writing first before tackling the more conventional American style all his classmates are working on. Give me a challenge, I imagine him thinking, his tongue sticking out in dogged concentration while he grasped his Crayola marker and made his magic.

And here’s what he wrote in his first epistle to me (in case you can’t read my sister’s helpful translation in the upper left-hand corner): Dear Aunt Cam, This is your work. I can’t wait until you come into town.

This is your work. I’m guessing that explains the building he’s drawn in the middle of the page.

When I chatted with my sister about the letter—when I was in town on that visit Carson and I were both anticipating—she explained that they’d told Carson I’d lost my job.

And suddenly it became clear: My sweet nephew wanted to help me find that misplaced job of mine. It’s lost. And here’s a picture to help me recognize it when I see it. How handy!

I feel like taking this sheet of notebook paper with me throughout the Chicagoland area—heck, across the country—and looking for this building. My missing place of employ. And perhaps posting it on telephone poles next to the missing dog fliers. Have you seen my job?

But for now this “prophetic” piece of paper is on my fridge. To remind me to keep a child-like faith that this building is out there somewhere.

And to help me look forward to the day when there is an office in which I can post this precious letter. And smile and say to my too-far-away nephew, “Yes, Carson. This is my work.”

Safe Landings (part 2)

So, what happened? You’re a smart person, and you know I didn’t get that job. Why else would I still be writing this unemployment blog?

The truth is, I honestly don’t know what happened. When I returned from my overseas trip, I eventually heard that they offered the job to someone else. The job it seemed so clearly that God was orchestrating for me.

I was disappointed, yes. But not crushed.

In the process of interviewing for the job, I learned I was pretty overqualified for the position. Sure, I knew I might have to take something less than a dream job, that experience and college degree aside, I eventually might need to work at Starbucks or Target to help pay the bills.

It’s just that mere weeks into this unemployment season, I wasn’t sure I was supposed to take a job that wouldn’t really satisfy me vocationally and financially. At least, not yet.

Still, it would have been amazing to land in a new job so quickly and easily.

Perhaps this potential employer knew I was a flight risk. Perhaps they sensed my less than 100% enthusiasm about the job. Perhaps they found someone better qualified or with a better personality fit for the staff.

I don’t know.

But here’s what I do know: God still provided this job possibility.

He knew I needed to see a potential future as I was packing up after 15 years in my old job, so I wouldn’t feel as much like I was in some big vocational free-fall. He knew I needed something to mention when well-meaning but clueless people asked, “So, what are you going to do?” only one, two, three days after I’d been laid off. (As if I was supposed to have it all mapped out already.) He knew it would be easier for me to leave the country and be fully present with my overseas friend if I knew there was something in the works job-wise back home. He knew that on that trip I’d be willing to talk about trust in the midst of unemployment to an audience filled with other job-less folks, both for their benefit as well as for mine.

He knew I needed to see his fingerprints in the midst of this sudden, astonishing turn of events.

There’s something I’ve always loved in those Bible stories where Jesus heals people: His touching the leper. His putting his fingers in the ears of the deaf man. His stopping and turning all his attention on the woman who’d been bleeding for years.

Before he provided a physical healing, he attended to the emotional needs. Because of their ailments, these people had been shunned, considered unclean, rendered invisible in their culture. They had missed out on so much. They no doubt craved the kind of touch and attention Jesus so readily and wisely and lovingly provided.

And he did this first.

Remembering this, I realize that in the end, that job wasn’t my safe landing. God was. He was attending to my emotional and relational needs first.

And this is why still-unemployed me is able to trust (at least most days) that the physical provision is still on its way.

Safe Landings (part 1)

The timing felt horrible. A few weeks after I was laid off, I was supposed to fly to the other side of the planet to visit a friend. Because isn’t that what people do when they lose a job—go on a two-week vacation?

Actually, we’d been planning the trip for months and the tickets had already been purchased, so it only made sense to go.

And, of course, the timing turned out to be perfect. What a great way to be forced outside of my own head and be prevented from the ultimate pity party.

While I was there, I was asked to share a brief testimony with a group of young people. I couldn’t help but talk about the new developments in my life, especially when I discovered that unemployment was a relatable topic for many gathered.

Here’s a segment of what I shared:


When I walked away from the office for the last time that Friday afternoon, I left behind a community, a sense of purpose, and in some ways, part of my identity.

My friend Kathryn runs a retail store, and I went there the day I was laid off to talk and to cry. I just didn’t want to be alone. She gave me tea and tissues and let me kind of hide out in the back room of her store.

While I was there, I received a text message from a friend and former coworker, asking me to call her as soon as possible about a job opening where she worked. I figured she must have heard about my job loss, but I didn’t know how… nor how news had spread so quickly. So I called her.

She told me some shifting roles and responsibilities at her workplace were opening up a job that might be a great fit for me. In fact, she had been in a meeting discussing who might fill that job when another one of our former coworkers texted her to tell her that I would be available and looking for a job. Not only that, but my friend had an appointment that very evening in the building right next to my apartment—so I could hand her my resume and she could give it to her boss the next morning.

I was stunned. And moved. Because surely only God could have orchestrated this amazing timing. Before the sun even set on the day I lost my job, God had provided a strong job possibility using my skills and experience, and right in my neighborhood as well. And I was able to express my interest in the job quite quickly, getting a head start on any other people who might apply.

I was still sad about my old job … but I was also hopeful.

In my experience as a Christian of many years, I’ve realized that’s what’s different about those of us who believe in God and his son, Jesus. Bad things still happen to us. We may lose a job, like I did. Or lose a loved one or wrestle with addiction. But we have hope.

I don’t know how this story is going to end. I don’t know if I will get the job my friend called me about, or if I will be unemployed for many months—like many of my friends have been during this difficult time for our country.

But what I do know is that the God who planted me in that job and who organized all those details on the day I lost that job will be present with me. He will provide for me. And he will continue to be my hope.

The Secret Samurai Code for Surviving Joblessness

“Don’t stop showering,” a former coworker told me in hushed tones before I left the office for good.

He’d been through an unemployment season of his own, and I knew from the rare serious nature of his demeanor that I was receiving some sort of secret samurai code for surviving joblessness. “When you give up on personal hygiene, you wind up in a Bad Place.”

Okay. Got it.

It seemed like needless advice. Sound, but needless. I’ve always been a fan of personal hygiene. Would being unemployed really change that? Would I soon be gathering up my five different daily hair products and dumping them in the trash?

Well, no. But after a few weeks at home I saw the temptation to let myself go start to sneak up on me.

I didn’t get completely coifed every day. I got to the end of several days and realized I’d never even put on a pair of shoes.

I could see the slippery slope. And the need for a credo or personal code of conduct. Not that I’m a huge rules person—only that I didn’t want to be an unwashed one.

Based on that former coworker’s words, several other people’s wise advice, and my own thoughts and experiences, I came up with . . .


My Unemployment Manifesto

I will shower daily and will not stay in my jammies all day.

I will not get addicted to soap operas, Springer, M&Ms, or Merlot.

I will ask for help when I need it.

I will finally clean out my front closet that looks like a garage sale threw up in it.

I will graciously accept people’s advice, remembering that they mean to help and encourage and not to imply that I’m not doing everything I can to find a job.

I will remember that my skills, experience, and value as an employee haven’t changed, only my employment status has.

I will remember that this isn’t the end of the world, that others have it much worse, and will seek to help those needy folks with some of my extra free time—for their benefit as well as for mine.

I will, for the time being, give up Starbucks, bookstores, pedicures, and, sigh, TJ Maxx.

I will let myself freak out from time to time, but after a few moments of crazy will calmly remind myself that I won’t wind up living under a bridge somewhere. Really. And if I need help with this reminding, I will call one of my level-headed friends.

I will continue to be happy for others’ successes.

I will not be embarrassed about my current status, nor unforgiving toward the people who made the tough decisions that put me here.

I will let myself enjoy the new freedom to sleep to my heart’s content, have leisurely lunches with my mom-friends in the middle of the day, and take walks to the nearby lake on beautiful, sunny afternoons.

I will remember that this turn of events was not a surprise to God and that he’s still in control. And when I have trouble believing this, I will lean into my friends’ trust and belief until my own returns.

At a Loss for Words

I got laid off 3 months, 3 weeks, and 2 days ago. I’d been in that job for 15 years. I was told on a Tuesday that Friday was my last day: 3 days to pack up and say goodbye in my haze of shock and grief.

On my last day, I walked out of the office carrying 6 magazines (evidence from my last year of editorial work), 3 framed pictures of my family, and 1 plant.

And there were tears. I don’t know how many.

As a writer, it pains me that numbers tell the story of my unemployment best. A fitting injustice. As if words have abandoned me altogether.

Well, this blog is my attempt to woo them back.

Because in those 3 months, 3 weeks, and 2 days, I’ve noticed stories and truths beneath the numbers.

I’ve experienced the glory of finally getting enough sleep. The need for a whole new category of clothes: daywear. The lessons of forgiveness. The introduction of new vocabulary, such as “unemployment tan” and COBRA. The absurdity of selling yourself on a single sheet of paper. The solidarity of un-friends. The staggering and sometimes silly revelations of unemployment dreams. The messy but necessary role of faith in this process. The hidden art of the cover letter. And so much more.

Since I find myself with extra time on my hands, and have several thoughtful and word-wise friends in the same unemployment boat, I thought why not journal this journey and create a community where others can share the ride.

So here we are: The Unemployment Diary.

Welcome.

And may none of us stay here very long.


What are your unemployment numbers?