Friday, December 2, 2016


Back in 2005, I quit my job at the newspaper, and didn't really have an employment plan to make up for the loss. I worked the summer with my brother laying brick -- that was a blessing -- and then worked at Target and at call centers, trying to pay the bills.

Our truck threw a rod one morning on the way to work -- and there I was, stranded in the rain at 4 in the morning with a cell phone I was trying to charge off the truck battery.

I'd applied for job after job after job and got nothing for it. It seemed like the only thing I was good for was stocking light bulbs and listening to people complain about their cell phone bills. I was at a low ebb. And i was tired of talking to God about it -- because he wasn't listening. At all.

As I sat there in the truck, waiting for my wife to come rescue me, I decided to pray one last time. It wasn't going to be a happy prayer at all. But before I started, I heard one whispered word: Patience.

And I was through. Patience?

Patience, the word came again.

Then my wife pulled up. I got in the car and she took me to work. It was a Tuesday, so I only had to work until 9 am. One -- and only one -- good thing to look forward to.


I was still rolling my eyes.

I heard the word a third time: Patience.

Whatever. I guess I could be patient. Nothing else was going right, so, yeah, patience.

Several months later, on another Tuesday, we were on a walk. Michelle took out our cell phone on a whim to check the messages -- something she typically only did on the weekends. There was a message. A job offer.

As I listened to the message, I flashed back to that crappy morning on the road in a broken truck, and I heard that word for a fourth time: Patience.

I had been pretty faithless, I admit.

Not Michelle.

She'd been praying for me the whole time, even when I'd stopped.

Maybe the word I kept hearing wasn't meant for me.

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