Zamboni

Yesterday I quit my job.

Five and a half years ago, a seventeen year old walked into an office complex on the southside of Lexington, and listened to a manager say, "I guess we'll give you a try."

Their "try" would last almost six years.  I grew up within the walls of that office.  Fell in love and climbed back out of it.  Started college.  Quit college.  Started college again.  I got sick and learned how to bite my tongue.  On some level I learned how to stand up for myself because of this job.  

One of the greatest lessons this job taught me, however, was that I was made for so much more.  Different things are important to me.  This 9-5, cubicle job was not what I wanted for my life.  It had, literally, become my safety net.  My comfort zone.

And yesterday I quit.

I woke up yesterday morning to the craziest of wind storms.  I was about to make one of those crazy, life-altering decisions.  You know.  I'd been teetering on the edge of trust and safety, carefully walking the line of my expanding comfort zone.  And I'd been hearing God tell me to wait... it wasn't time to give up the job yet.  That safety net was there for a purpose.

And then I in an exaggerated gust of wind I heard Him say: go.  Go now.

I wanted nothing more than to jump up and down.  That is, after the initial urge to vomit subsided.  

After talking to my boss, I sent my Dad a text message.  

I was remembering being eleven years old.  My Dad resigned from his position as a pastor at our church.  This decision completely rocked our worlds; one of those pivotal moments that changes everything.  Vividly I remember the first time I walked into my living room and Dad was sitting in a chair reading a book.  I slowly, quietly backed out of the room.  I found my mom who was cooking in our old, steamy kitchen.  "Did you see what he's doing??" 

I had never seen Dad rest anywhere but on the beach before.  Dad used to be so tired, all the time, that he'd walk in his sleep.  Talk in his sleep.  Eat in his sleep.  He was empty.

After Dad quit his job at the church, he got a job at a local lawn service company.  That first season their main job was to aerate rich people's yards.  In other words, dig small holes.  All day long.

Dad went into this job knowing it was not permanent.  But he would come home at night and spread his map out on the kitchen table, grab the cordless phone, and we would sit together and map out his route for the next day.  He did his job well.  He smiled more.

Not long after that he started teaching DUI classes here in town.

Today, eleven years later, he is a LPCC.  He is a counselor, working in a private practice, doing what he was created to do.

So I sent him a text yesterday morning that said: "time to aerate some yards".

And he responded by saying, "vacuum some tennis courts, paint some dumpsters, drive a zamboni..."

Those jobs were the jobs he had when he was in his early twenties.  When I was a baby.  That was the work he did to provide for our family when I was still very small.  Jobs that had a beginning and an end.  Where progress could be marked.  

Yesterday I quit my job.

The job I'd had for almost six years.  Which kept me from seeing the morning sun.  A job that had me sitting down for nine hours a day.  Alphabetizing xray reports and sorting mail.  A job that was a huge blessing in it's time.  With a flexible schedule and good pay.

Yesterday, I thanked God that some things have an end.  That there are seasons in our life that are meant to happen and then be done.  They are there to change who we are.  A transportation device - to get us from here to there.  A safety net.  I am so thankful that at some point, God calls you out it, though.  "Come on, let's get outta here..." I heard Him whisper.  "Say thank you, but we need to go now."

I have two or three jobs lined up.  Jobs, which will have me on my feet.  Working with kids and delicious frozen yogurt.  With people who love Jesus and love me.  I have entered into a state of detox.  A change of pace.  A state of trust.  Time to shake it off.  (Throw off everything that hinders...)

One day, maybe eleven years from now, I will look back to my resignation from the first real job I ever had and I will smile.  Then, even more than I do now, I will understand how deeply imperative it was for me to to leave.  To "drive a zamboni" for a season.

Yesterday I thanked God that while some things are meant to end, His faithfulness never does.