Spent a good portion of the day feeling sorry for myself.
Found out today, for example, that I won't be considered for a job I applied for at BYU-Idaho, nor was I picked for a job at AMWTP. Kind of a double-whammy on a day when I'm already feeling a bit down and nervous because the company I work for is laying off technical writers in January.
How did Dad do it, I wondered. Then the thought came to me: Like he always did: Head down and hands busy.
I know he went through a bad patch when I was a kid, because suddenly he was gone a lot, laying brick in the likes of Nevada and California because there were few to lay in our own neck of the woods. He also played with driving a truck for a living, but quickly found out he didn't much like that. Yet we always had money in the house. I don't know how much, because as a kid you never get told these things. You hear whispered conversations and overhear things and sometimes pick up on the worry, but Mom and Dad just turn around and say, "We're just discussing things, and you figure, well, if they're talking about it, they're talking about it so we must be doing OK." They never tell you because they don't want you to worry, not that you're really smart or aware enough to worry anyway.
So I guess what happens happens. That's what God keeps telling me. Also keeps reminding me that my patriarchal blessing says I'll always be able to provide for my wife and family. That's of some comfort. But I guess I need to bolster my faith.
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