Just a quick post from Colorado State University in Ft Collins, CO where I am shadowing the planning team (cause I am on next year's planning team) and running the powerpoint and a/v stuff for the conference.
The weather is hot but there is very little humidity so it is comfortable. Everyone here is so nice and things are going so smooth thus far. The conference starts tomorrow afternoon and I am sure it will be a whole different level of excitement when all the youth are here.
Thursday was quite a long day. I worked a full day and then rode Marta from Dunwoody to the airport. I caught my flight to Denver (which of course was running late). Once I arrived in Denver I then had to catch a shuttle to Ft Collins. When I got to the dorm, it was 12:15 Moutain time (2:15 AM eastern time to me). The lady at the front desk couldn't hear me banging on the door and the only phone number I had, no one was answering. I finally broke in (climbed in an open window). Then I went to find my room and my roommate was already asleep. He didn't know I was coming that night, so he had stuff all over my bed so I had to turn the light on, which woke him up, make the bed, brush my teeth and then climb into bed. I quickly realized there was no A/C, so I lay there trying to think cool thoughts. We got a fan on Friday and it made it sooooo much cooler.
I really love being here. This is the kind of stuff I most enjoy doing. I feel like this is what I am supposed to do with my life. The theme for the conference is 'Called by name'. Maybe I will hear God saying my name this week.
Love,
Frank
Saturday, June 25, 2005
Tuesday, June 21, 2005
Now they know...
I have been miserable for the last few years while I have been trying to hear God's calling. At first, only Morgan knew about my struggles. After we moved to Decatur, most of our new found friends learned of my struggle. I got more and more frustrated and finally I went to see a funny farm specialist (that is what I call a counselor). Then I started this blog to help me in this struggle so many of you learned of it. Finally, after many teary conversations with my counselor, Morgan, and with God, it was time for me to face my dad.
This may sound cliche, but I honestly was worried that by telling my dad that I hated my very successful job that I would in some way be letting him down. My dad should understand, more than anyone, because he quit his successful job and brought me and my mom and my brother to the village apartments so he could follow his calling just 24 years ago. However, I think it was the fact that he had done this that scared me most.
All my life, as most kids do, I have strived to make my parents proud of me. Deep inside I know that they could not be prouder of me, but for some unexplainable reason, I still have that childish need to please them. My dad calls it the 'first born curse'. That my role in our family is to please everyone, no matter the sacrifices I make for myself. Now, don't get me wrong, I don't believe I 'sacrificed' anything, but I know that my dad isn't too far off in his psychological analysis of my behavior. I always have and still do try my hardest to make my family proud of me. Further, I go out of my way to 'not rock the boat' and to try and make everything easier on everyone else but me. I believe it is one of my many gifts. I have always enjoyed, not only with my family but also with my friends, being the person who does the organizing and logistics so that no one else has to worry with it. In college, I was treasurer of my fraternity and I gained the most satisfaction from standing at the back of a band party and watching everyone have a good time at the best band party on campus partly because I had been so fiscally efficient. I am normally the person who organizes family logistics at holidays. Most recently I even planned the spring break trip for all of our friends to Montreat. It is in my nature; 'First born curse' or is it a gift.
Anyways, I digress. So, I was at a breaking point and I could barely function I was so caught up in trying to discern Gods path for me. And to top it all off, I was scared to talk to my dad about it. Finally, last Tuesday I sent him an email (several pages long) highlighting (or lowlighting depending on if you are half-glass full or half-empty kind of guy) my past few years and what I have been struggling with. I spoke of how hard a struggle it was to leave a good JOB to do something GOOD as a job. I then asked him to email that he received the email and to tell me a good time that we could chat that night so I could call him. I emailed him first because I wanted him to have time to think and digest before just saying the first thing out of his mouth or, even worse, not saying anything at all. When I told my parents I wanted to ask Morgan to marry me, my dad was silent and couldn't speak. Also, when we told my parents that we were moving to Decatur so Morgan could attend seminary, neither of my parents could speak. At the time, I felt as though their silence was disappointment. I later learned that it just caught them off guard and that they needed time to digest these 'life changing' events. My parents love Morgan (sometimes I think more than me, j/k) and they absolutely know that Columbia was the right thing for Morgan. So, the email was to give my dad some time to digest so that I didn't hear silence on the other end of the phone.
That night I talked to my dad, and he quickly took control of the conversation. Surprisingly to me, he knew that I had been struggling with this and he knew that the day would come when I would decide to do something different in my life. He was fully supportive and loving and proud. That phone call has gotten me through the last week and it might keep me going for some while now. Most of the things he said, I had already come to on my own, but the one thing I knew already but was ignoring whole-heartedly was that no matter how hard I prayed and how hard I tried to listen to God, whatever it is that is supposed to happen will NOT happen on my time, but will happen on GOD's time. I know this, yet my 2 years of struggling and impatience had gotten the better of me. I wanted to know NOW! I wanted Morgan to go to Jacksonville and for me to have some alone time with God and for God to tell me NOW what it was that I am supposed to do. I wanted it on my time and now I know I must continue to wait and probably at the moment I least expect is when God is going to sneak up on me from behind and whisper in my ear.
So, what is the moral of this story? Look both ways before you cross the street.
Sorry, that is the punch line to my 'Purple Passion' joke. If you ever care to hear it, get a few beers in me (and you if you want to find it funny) and I will be happy to tell it.
The moral is two fold: 1)Your parents love you and will support you, but you won't know that unless you talk to them. 2)Your time is NOT God's time, so be patient, pray, and enjoy the life you have been given.
Peace Out,
Wormser
PS- 'I didn't say she was crazy, I said she was...'
This may sound cliche, but I honestly was worried that by telling my dad that I hated my very successful job that I would in some way be letting him down. My dad should understand, more than anyone, because he quit his successful job and brought me and my mom and my brother to the village apartments so he could follow his calling just 24 years ago. However, I think it was the fact that he had done this that scared me most.
All my life, as most kids do, I have strived to make my parents proud of me. Deep inside I know that they could not be prouder of me, but for some unexplainable reason, I still have that childish need to please them. My dad calls it the 'first born curse'. That my role in our family is to please everyone, no matter the sacrifices I make for myself. Now, don't get me wrong, I don't believe I 'sacrificed' anything, but I know that my dad isn't too far off in his psychological analysis of my behavior. I always have and still do try my hardest to make my family proud of me. Further, I go out of my way to 'not rock the boat' and to try and make everything easier on everyone else but me. I believe it is one of my many gifts. I have always enjoyed, not only with my family but also with my friends, being the person who does the organizing and logistics so that no one else has to worry with it. In college, I was treasurer of my fraternity and I gained the most satisfaction from standing at the back of a band party and watching everyone have a good time at the best band party on campus partly because I had been so fiscally efficient. I am normally the person who organizes family logistics at holidays. Most recently I even planned the spring break trip for all of our friends to Montreat. It is in my nature; 'First born curse' or is it a gift.
Anyways, I digress. So, I was at a breaking point and I could barely function I was so caught up in trying to discern Gods path for me. And to top it all off, I was scared to talk to my dad about it. Finally, last Tuesday I sent him an email (several pages long) highlighting (or lowlighting depending on if you are half-glass full or half-empty kind of guy) my past few years and what I have been struggling with. I spoke of how hard a struggle it was to leave a good JOB to do something GOOD as a job. I then asked him to email that he received the email and to tell me a good time that we could chat that night so I could call him. I emailed him first because I wanted him to have time to think and digest before just saying the first thing out of his mouth or, even worse, not saying anything at all. When I told my parents I wanted to ask Morgan to marry me, my dad was silent and couldn't speak. Also, when we told my parents that we were moving to Decatur so Morgan could attend seminary, neither of my parents could speak. At the time, I felt as though their silence was disappointment. I later learned that it just caught them off guard and that they needed time to digest these 'life changing' events. My parents love Morgan (sometimes I think more than me, j/k) and they absolutely know that Columbia was the right thing for Morgan. So, the email was to give my dad some time to digest so that I didn't hear silence on the other end of the phone.
That night I talked to my dad, and he quickly took control of the conversation. Surprisingly to me, he knew that I had been struggling with this and he knew that the day would come when I would decide to do something different in my life. He was fully supportive and loving and proud. That phone call has gotten me through the last week and it might keep me going for some while now. Most of the things he said, I had already come to on my own, but the one thing I knew already but was ignoring whole-heartedly was that no matter how hard I prayed and how hard I tried to listen to God, whatever it is that is supposed to happen will NOT happen on my time, but will happen on GOD's time. I know this, yet my 2 years of struggling and impatience had gotten the better of me. I wanted to know NOW! I wanted Morgan to go to Jacksonville and for me to have some alone time with God and for God to tell me NOW what it was that I am supposed to do. I wanted it on my time and now I know I must continue to wait and probably at the moment I least expect is when God is going to sneak up on me from behind and whisper in my ear.
So, what is the moral of this story? Look both ways before you cross the street.
Sorry, that is the punch line to my 'Purple Passion' joke. If you ever care to hear it, get a few beers in me (and you if you want to find it funny) and I will be happy to tell it.
The moral is two fold: 1)Your parents love you and will support you, but you won't know that unless you talk to them. 2)Your time is NOT God's time, so be patient, pray, and enjoy the life you have been given.
Peace Out,
Wormser
PS- 'I didn't say she was crazy, I said she was...'
Thursday, June 09, 2005
Am I scared?
Am I scared? What is it that I am scared of? Why can't I make the leap? I tell myself that it is because I haven't heard what leap to make. Maybe I have heard it and I have just ignored it. Maybe it isn't time for me to hear it yet. Maybe all of this pain and sadness is going to make that leap even better when I figure out what leap I am supposed to make. I still have faith that God has a plan for me, but it gets harder every day. I know God has a place for me to go. I am standing here with the car packed and full of gas. I just need a map. Actually, I just need a destination.
Lord, my life is yours. Use me.
Lord, my life is yours. Use me.
Sunday, June 05, 2005
What a day!
Well, my day started off just how I had planned it. I got up, went to the Y and worked out. When I got home, I made myself a sandwich and ate lunch. I then took Miller on a walk and then put him on the porch so I could start cleaning.
My mom is coming into town tomorrow, so I was trying to get the house all clean and get all of my laundry done before she got here. I started laundry and cleaned the den. I unloaded the dishwasher and cleaned the kitchen. I cleaned the bathrooms and cleaned the bedrooms and the living room. All I had left to do was put my brother's computer in the attic and put the sheets I had just washed on my bed and the bed my mom was going to sleep in. Then I was going to get in the shower and start workin on my resume and a cover letter for a job I want to apply for.
So, I am minutes away from finishing and pick Kevin's old computer up and head into the attic. I take the monitor first; no problem. I come back for the tower and then head up the ladder with the tower. Once I get into the attic, I begin to hold the tower with my hand inside the tower in the hole where the power supply used to be. I begin to walk over to the area where I am going to store the tower and my day takes a turn for the worse.
WHAM!!!!! My foot kicks a piece of ply wood and all of the sudden my foot goes into a hole and through the insulation and through the drywall. SHIT!!!!! I am laying on my side with my foot dangling through the huge hole I have just put through the ceiling when I notice that there is a lot of blood on my hand. Then I realize that my hand hurts. I sliced a 2 inch gash in my right index finger on the sheet metal on the back of the computer. Blood is gushing, so I put pressure on it and run down the ladder and start to go into the bathroom. WAIT, I just cleaned the bathroom, go into the kitchen. But, the attic stairs are in the way, so I lift them out of the way and begin to drip blood on the hardwood floors and finally make it to the kitchen sink.
At this point I am beginning to shake and feel light headed. I run coldwater over it and see the huge gash. This doesn't help my shakes or light-headedness. I grab some paper towels and wrap up my fingers and grab my cell phone. I call Ryan on his cell and home numbers. No answer, what a jerk (he makes up for it later). I calm down enough to realize that I can probably drive myself to the doctor. So I grab my keys and wallet and start out the door. WAIT, there is blood on the floor and the radio is on and I have zit medicine all over my face because I have 2 huge zits that wont go away (I am 27, when will the zits stop!!!!). So, I go wipe up the blood on the floor, turn off the radio, and wash my face to get the zit medicine off. I feel a little bit better abut my appearance now that the zit medicine is gone although I am sweating like a dog and wearing gym shorts and the same t-shirt I worked out in. I smelled pretty good.
So I head to the Doc-in-a-box near the Kroger. On my way I leave Morgan a voicemail letting her know that I am on my way to get stitches. I pull into the Doc-in-a-box and the sign says they are open to 6 on Sundays. Maybe my luck is changing, it is only 3:50. I park and head to the door and as I get closer I realize that it looks dark inside. Then I see the hand-written note that is taped inside the door that says they had to close early today, sorry. DAMNIT, this means I have to go to the ER.
Dekalb Medical is just around the corner so I go to the ER. ER's on the weekend are NOT the model of efficiency, but I think that I might get expedited because I am coming in with a bloody paper towel. WRONG!
I walk in and they ask me to fill out a form. Well, since I sliced the index finger on my writing hand I ask if they can fill it out. The nurse reluctantly agrees to. She gets my name and address and that is it.
I go sit down. It is 4:05. At 4:10 they call for 'Kay'. I assume it is me (Hay) and walk up to the counter. It was me that they were calling, but they had my name wrong. I explain to the nurse that it is H A Y and she says 'Well the form is wrong, it says K A Y' like I had filled it out wrong. So they tell me they have to fix it and reprint the form before they can triage me. They sit me down in the triage area and go back to the computer to fix it. She comes back a moment later with the form and shows it to me... KHAY. No, it is HAY. So, she goes back to the computer and reprints everything and brings it back to me...KAY. No, it is Hay, H A Y like for horses. Do you want to see my drivers license? They finally get it right and they take my temperature and blood pressure. The nurse removes the paper towel from my finger and then covers it back up with my paper towel and then hands the paperwork to me and tells me to go down the hall to FASTRACK.
Yeehaw, I am getting Fastracked. That must mean it will go fast. WRONG again. I get to Fastrack and hand the nurse my paperwork and she looks at the cut and then covers it up with the papertowel that I came in with again and then asks me to sit in the waiting room.
It is now 4:15. I sit and sit and sit. I hear a lady threaten to kick her kids asses if they misbehave once again. Then a lady with a baby that is crying comes into the waiting room. Finally the baby stops crying. Then the kids that were threatened begin to argue and scream The lady with the baby politely asks them to be quiet because her baby is asleep and the baby hasn't been asleep for 3 days. Oh, no she didn't. The mother who threatened to kick her kids asses, then lays into the mother with the baby. 'Don't you tell my kids what to do...' It quickly turns into a welfare bitching session and both ladies are cussing at each other, the baby is now awake and crying and the kids are fighting and screaming. Calgon, take me away.
Finally the nurse calls my name. It is 5:20. She takes me into a room and gets more information from me, my insurance card, my credit card, and my drivers license. She then sends me back to the waiting area. About ten minutes later she comes back out to me and asks me to sign my credit card slip and my consent form. Then she hands me a sheet of paper that says my name and patient number and says 'Admission process completed'. Are you kidding me? I have been in the ER for over 1.5 hours and all I have to show for it is a sheet of paper that says all my paperwork is complete.
Another hour goes by and I watch more and more people come and go. ER waiting rooms are an interesting place to watch people. At 6:30 they call me back. A numb finger with 8 stitches and 30 minutes later and I am finally walking out of the ER with Ryan (Ryan showed up right after I got called back and sat in there while I got stitched up. Told you he made it up to me.).
Ryan and I head to the pharmacy to get some supplies (bandages and such) and then to BK so I can get a whopper for dinner. I eat the whopper while Ryan takes Miller on a quick walk. Then Ryan helps me duct tape the sheetrook back in place and helps me sweep up. At some point in the cleaning up process, I go to throw something away and realize that there is pipe leaking under the sink. Ryan graciously cleans up the water and fixes the pipe and helps me clean up the drywall mess then he heads home (Thanks again Ryan for all of your help!!!).
I then finish vacuming and straightening the house and am about to get in the shower when the drywall tape jop falls apart. I cut all the drywall down and then clean the floor again. I take a shower (with a glove taped over my right hand) and then finish folding the laundry and put the sheets on my bed so I can go to sleep (my mom is going to have to put her own sheets on tomorrow).
So that was my day. It is very hard to type without using my right index finger, but I am figuring it out and the pain is worth getting all of this onto my blog.
A couple of questions to ponder:
I have never been one to ask 'why do bad things happen to good people?' but this is one of those days when I wonder that. I normally stop wondering that real quick and begin to focus on the opposite of that question 'why do good things happen to bad people?'
And was my falling through the ceiling God's way of telling me to not apply for this job?
Things that make you go hmmmmmm....
My mom is coming into town tomorrow, so I was trying to get the house all clean and get all of my laundry done before she got here. I started laundry and cleaned the den. I unloaded the dishwasher and cleaned the kitchen. I cleaned the bathrooms and cleaned the bedrooms and the living room. All I had left to do was put my brother's computer in the attic and put the sheets I had just washed on my bed and the bed my mom was going to sleep in. Then I was going to get in the shower and start workin on my resume and a cover letter for a job I want to apply for.
So, I am minutes away from finishing and pick Kevin's old computer up and head into the attic. I take the monitor first; no problem. I come back for the tower and then head up the ladder with the tower. Once I get into the attic, I begin to hold the tower with my hand inside the tower in the hole where the power supply used to be. I begin to walk over to the area where I am going to store the tower and my day takes a turn for the worse.
WHAM!!!!! My foot kicks a piece of ply wood and all of the sudden my foot goes into a hole and through the insulation and through the drywall. SHIT!!!!! I am laying on my side with my foot dangling through the huge hole I have just put through the ceiling when I notice that there is a lot of blood on my hand. Then I realize that my hand hurts. I sliced a 2 inch gash in my right index finger on the sheet metal on the back of the computer. Blood is gushing, so I put pressure on it and run down the ladder and start to go into the bathroom. WAIT, I just cleaned the bathroom, go into the kitchen. But, the attic stairs are in the way, so I lift them out of the way and begin to drip blood on the hardwood floors and finally make it to the kitchen sink.
At this point I am beginning to shake and feel light headed. I run coldwater over it and see the huge gash. This doesn't help my shakes or light-headedness. I grab some paper towels and wrap up my fingers and grab my cell phone. I call Ryan on his cell and home numbers. No answer, what a jerk (he makes up for it later). I calm down enough to realize that I can probably drive myself to the doctor. So I grab my keys and wallet and start out the door. WAIT, there is blood on the floor and the radio is on and I have zit medicine all over my face because I have 2 huge zits that wont go away (I am 27, when will the zits stop!!!!). So, I go wipe up the blood on the floor, turn off the radio, and wash my face to get the zit medicine off. I feel a little bit better abut my appearance now that the zit medicine is gone although I am sweating like a dog and wearing gym shorts and the same t-shirt I worked out in. I smelled pretty good.
So I head to the Doc-in-a-box near the Kroger. On my way I leave Morgan a voicemail letting her know that I am on my way to get stitches. I pull into the Doc-in-a-box and the sign says they are open to 6 on Sundays. Maybe my luck is changing, it is only 3:50. I park and head to the door and as I get closer I realize that it looks dark inside. Then I see the hand-written note that is taped inside the door that says they had to close early today, sorry. DAMNIT, this means I have to go to the ER.
Dekalb Medical is just around the corner so I go to the ER. ER's on the weekend are NOT the model of efficiency, but I think that I might get expedited because I am coming in with a bloody paper towel. WRONG!
I walk in and they ask me to fill out a form. Well, since I sliced the index finger on my writing hand I ask if they can fill it out. The nurse reluctantly agrees to. She gets my name and address and that is it.
I go sit down. It is 4:05. At 4:10 they call for 'Kay'. I assume it is me (Hay) and walk up to the counter. It was me that they were calling, but they had my name wrong. I explain to the nurse that it is H A Y and she says 'Well the form is wrong, it says K A Y' like I had filled it out wrong. So they tell me they have to fix it and reprint the form before they can triage me. They sit me down in the triage area and go back to the computer to fix it. She comes back a moment later with the form and shows it to me... KHAY. No, it is HAY. So, she goes back to the computer and reprints everything and brings it back to me...KAY. No, it is Hay, H A Y like for horses. Do you want to see my drivers license? They finally get it right and they take my temperature and blood pressure. The nurse removes the paper towel from my finger and then covers it back up with my paper towel and then hands the paperwork to me and tells me to go down the hall to FASTRACK.
Yeehaw, I am getting Fastracked. That must mean it will go fast. WRONG again. I get to Fastrack and hand the nurse my paperwork and she looks at the cut and then covers it up with the papertowel that I came in with again and then asks me to sit in the waiting room.
It is now 4:15. I sit and sit and sit. I hear a lady threaten to kick her kids asses if they misbehave once again. Then a lady with a baby that is crying comes into the waiting room. Finally the baby stops crying. Then the kids that were threatened begin to argue and scream The lady with the baby politely asks them to be quiet because her baby is asleep and the baby hasn't been asleep for 3 days. Oh, no she didn't. The mother who threatened to kick her kids asses, then lays into the mother with the baby. 'Don't you tell my kids what to do...' It quickly turns into a welfare bitching session and both ladies are cussing at each other, the baby is now awake and crying and the kids are fighting and screaming. Calgon, take me away.
Finally the nurse calls my name. It is 5:20. She takes me into a room and gets more information from me, my insurance card, my credit card, and my drivers license. She then sends me back to the waiting area. About ten minutes later she comes back out to me and asks me to sign my credit card slip and my consent form. Then she hands me a sheet of paper that says my name and patient number and says 'Admission process completed'. Are you kidding me? I have been in the ER for over 1.5 hours and all I have to show for it is a sheet of paper that says all my paperwork is complete.
Another hour goes by and I watch more and more people come and go. ER waiting rooms are an interesting place to watch people. At 6:30 they call me back. A numb finger with 8 stitches and 30 minutes later and I am finally walking out of the ER with Ryan (Ryan showed up right after I got called back and sat in there while I got stitched up. Told you he made it up to me.).
Ryan and I head to the pharmacy to get some supplies (bandages and such) and then to BK so I can get a whopper for dinner. I eat the whopper while Ryan takes Miller on a quick walk. Then Ryan helps me duct tape the sheetrook back in place and helps me sweep up. At some point in the cleaning up process, I go to throw something away and realize that there is pipe leaking under the sink. Ryan graciously cleans up the water and fixes the pipe and helps me clean up the drywall mess then he heads home (Thanks again Ryan for all of your help!!!).
I then finish vacuming and straightening the house and am about to get in the shower when the drywall tape jop falls apart. I cut all the drywall down and then clean the floor again. I take a shower (with a glove taped over my right hand) and then finish folding the laundry and put the sheets on my bed so I can go to sleep (my mom is going to have to put her own sheets on tomorrow).
So that was my day. It is very hard to type without using my right index finger, but I am figuring it out and the pain is worth getting all of this onto my blog.
A couple of questions to ponder:
I have never been one to ask 'why do bad things happen to good people?' but this is one of those days when I wonder that. I normally stop wondering that real quick and begin to focus on the opposite of that question 'why do good things happen to bad people?'
And was my falling through the ceiling God's way of telling me to not apply for this job?
Things that make you go hmmmmmm....
Thursday, June 02, 2005
Work, so confusing
So, here I am trying to ask God to tell me what it is I am supposed to do with my life. I pray every night for God to open my eyes so I can see the path that God wants me to follow. I do this because I am so miserable in my job. I am not fulfilled and it is not rewarding.
Then things happen at work happen as they happened today. I essentially was rewarded once again for my hard work. Ever since I started working for my company, I have been constantly rewarded, recognized, promoted, and compensated. Why is it that I am so miserable in a job I am obviously so good at? Why do I want to quit a company where I have been very successful and have a bright future?
Maybe I am supposed to continue working for my company. They do pay me well, rely on me, and recognize me. I have flexible work hours and working conditions. I get at least 3 weeks of vacation every year and most years I take closer to 4 weeks with my comp time (overtime). With all of my vacation and flexible hours, it has allowed me to do the volunteer conference work that I want to do on my vacation. But is that enough?
My best week each year for the past 3 years (would be 4 years but my best week 4 years ago was my honeymoon) has been the week I have volunteered at the Montreat/PYC 3 middle school conference. I haven't really done anything super important at those conferences (i just run AV equipment), but that week really makes me happy. Why can't I have that happiness for 52 weeks a year instead of 1 or 2 weeks?
So, my confusion continues. Do I continue to work a job that I am very successful in but hate just because it affords me the ability to volunteer 1 or 2 weeks each year AND still have vacation time? or Do I try and find a way to have that 1 or 2 week feeling of happiness for more of the year? I think the answer is not what I want, but what God wants for me.
So, God, the ball is in your court. I can be reached by email, voicemail, or through the words and works of others (although, email is the easiest way to reach me).
Then things happen at work happen as they happened today. I essentially was rewarded once again for my hard work. Ever since I started working for my company, I have been constantly rewarded, recognized, promoted, and compensated. Why is it that I am so miserable in a job I am obviously so good at? Why do I want to quit a company where I have been very successful and have a bright future?
Maybe I am supposed to continue working for my company. They do pay me well, rely on me, and recognize me. I have flexible work hours and working conditions. I get at least 3 weeks of vacation every year and most years I take closer to 4 weeks with my comp time (overtime). With all of my vacation and flexible hours, it has allowed me to do the volunteer conference work that I want to do on my vacation. But is that enough?
My best week each year for the past 3 years (would be 4 years but my best week 4 years ago was my honeymoon) has been the week I have volunteered at the Montreat/PYC 3 middle school conference. I haven't really done anything super important at those conferences (i just run AV equipment), but that week really makes me happy. Why can't I have that happiness for 52 weeks a year instead of 1 or 2 weeks?
So, my confusion continues. Do I continue to work a job that I am very successful in but hate just because it affords me the ability to volunteer 1 or 2 weeks each year AND still have vacation time? or Do I try and find a way to have that 1 or 2 week feeling of happiness for more of the year? I think the answer is not what I want, but what God wants for me.
So, God, the ball is in your court. I can be reached by email, voicemail, or through the words and works of others (although, email is the easiest way to reach me).
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