A year ago, in the midst of a global pandemic, I did something I hadn’t done in almost thirty years: I returned to a traditional, nine-to-five(ish) job. Family and friends were largely supportive, though a few didn’t understand my decision. Why would a fifty-seven-year-old woman who didn’t “have” to work full time (thanks to my husband’s job and my part-time income) be willing to give up the freedom and flexibility that came with her work as a writer?

Their concerns were valid. I’d wrestled with similar questions for years.

Before writing For All Who Wander, I had toyed with the idea of going back to work. Our youngest was in college and our older two had established careers. I led and attended Bible studies and volunteered with a high school ministry. I wrote every day and led a writing critique group. I was able to say yes to freelance opportunities or to serve others. My days were planned with intention and purpose, but I still had time on my hands — something unheard of when my children were younger.

From all appearances, life was good, and yet, I was secretly struggling. Why couldn’t I just be thankful for what I had? What was wrong with me? My discontent ignited a snarling cycle of guilt as I considered how I must be failing God. If I were grateful enough and trusted Him, how could I feel this way?

Nevertheless, it was becoming increasingly difficult to write, and my overall lack of productivity was alarming to me. Despite purposeful effort to be with others, I was lonely.

I longed for more structure to my days and daydreamed about being part of a team working for a greater good. This desire to return to work didn’t make complete sense to me, especially compared to family and friends who were eager for retirement. I wondered if it was God-given or straight from the flesh.

At times I felt crazy. I certainly wasn’t thriving. In extreme moments, I felt like I was dying on the vine. I tried to share my heart with those closest to me but found it difficult to express myself fully. Even when opening up, I withheld the magnitude of my frustration and feelings of worthlessness.

After I turned in my book manuscript, I began applying for jobs. Ideally, I wanted to work at a retirement community. My last full-time job at a Life Plan Community had been one I’d adored. Regardless, I pursued a communications or marketing-related position.

To my surprise, I received an offer right away. I cried when I had to turn it down because the pay was shockingly generous but the time off was meager. Work-life balance was more important to me than salary.

Still, the offer seeded hope that I was employable. At my age (I hate qualifying myself this way, but it’s a thing.), I knew some companies would overlook me. I had confidence in my skills and experience and believed my part-time jobs, volunteerism, and entrepreneurial work as a writer would serve the right role well. But would anyone else see past my age and thirty-year sabbatical? That offer gave me hope.

I prayed for the wisdom to follow Jesus. I’ve been awesome at jumping ahead, but that’s never ended well. I begged God to give me His desires for my heart, to protect me from conjuring them myself.

Over the next eighteen months, I applied for several jobs. Sometimes I’d receive a swift rejection; more often, I wouldn’t hear anything at all. One day, I mustered all my courage and walked into a retirement community to personally deliver my resume. The short story? Bad idea. Another time, I endured three intense interviews for a dream position, only to come in second.

Though I continued to meet disappointment, this desire never wavered. On the way to yet another interview, I prayed: Lord, please! If this isn’t what you have for me, help me let go and show me Your way!

Listen to Robin’s article today!

 

Also today, download a special bonus episode of the (in)courage podcast! Listen to a conversation with Empowered authors Mary Carver, Grace P. Cho, and Anna E. Rendell.

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