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?