Washed By The Blood

As a single mom of three teenagers, I found myself virtually forced into a life change where no was becoming a too familiar word.

Not that my kids hadn’t heard “no” before, they certainly had, but their mom was going through an exhausting time of growth, where needs versus wants were more closely scrutinized. Contentment had to be found in our current situation and reconciled on a daily basis.

It had only been a few months since from my husband’s sentencing; 12 ½ years in a federal penitentiary. My head was still reeling from that news, and trying to recover normality, when my professional life collapsed as quickly and completely as my personal life did.

I worked for a company whose sole customer was Enron. It was, in hindsight, a strategically stupid move on their part. When Enron went up in flames, so did the division I was working in, and 180+ people lost their jobs. We were given 3 months’ notice and severance on top of that, so there was a time and financial cushion to work with. Which would have been enough for most job seekers.

That is, however, not the case when your last name was featured often on the nightly news or splashed through countless print media.

I know that God has blessed me with mad skills. This does not reflect as favorably on me, as it does on God, and the doors He opened for me to learn and take on new challenges. My friend Angie and I were reminiscing the other day about how we’ve never quite felt qualified to go where He led, yet still trusted enough to walk through those doors with little to no experience, and through His provision, deliver. It is humbling.

Yet, after months of endless applications, cover letters and resumes, I couldn’t even get an interview. Through no fault of my own, I had become a pariah. Untouchable even. The period that followed was dark, and hard.

Eventually, the job ended, and the severance ran out. There was no emergency fund, no safety net. I took any kind of work anyone in my circle of influence was willing to give me. I cleaned and painted signs for the church, I climbed ladders and washed windows, I cleaned houses, all the while still looking for a job. My unemployment lingered so long that my support group was as sick of my requests for help as I was of making them. That is humbling too.

I was finally hired as an Assistant Manager at Panera Bread, a job I never thought I’d find myself in. For no other reason than I’m an administrative, operational, managerial sort, and I’m my best in an office environment. Or so I thought.

I came to love my job at Panera. It brought back a sense of order that had been missing for too long. The scheduling, the nightly cash reconciliation, order and delivery schedules, food holding temp checks, etc.; all that made sense to me at a time where nothing else did, and I was thriving again.

As part of my training, I had to rotate through each crew position, on every shift. My favorite was baking. I spent 10 days on the baking shift, and for those out there who love their solitude, who love to get into their rhythm and just roll (haha) through their workday…this is the job for you! Quite literally from the moment you start to when all your bakes are done, your senses are alive! And we know nothing, nothing smells and tastes better than freshly baked bread!

But, my job environment did not love me, in that I was on my feet, in nearly constant movement, on concrete floors, for 10+ hours each working day. It took only a few months for enough to be enough. My back was wrecked, and I was seizing and spasming on the regular. Per my doctor’s direction, and written diagnosis, I submitted my letter of resignation.

The doctor’s note, stating that I had to go on immediate bed rest, and that I would not be able to return to work at all, was submitted with my letter of resignation. Unfortunately, only my letter of resignation was filed, and when I was a no-call, no-show, the company terminated me for cause in their system. The fallout was a denial of unemployment, as they claimed I quit without notice, and having to then apply for welfare.

Back to being humbled. It was what it was, I was learning about humility. It was the intentional stripping away of dignity that still haunts me most. Not for me so much, but for those public service workers I faced who judged me, belittled me and shamed me during the process. It was brutal. They were brutal, and I still wonder to this day how much disdain must be in your heart to treat people in need in this way. How do they live with their own meanness?  Yes, I get there are those who, let’s face it, leech off the system. But there are many who don’t. And so, I hated it, but I did it, because I had kids to feed.

About 4 months went by, scrimping, saving, praying, and lifting up in every Sunday School class my need for God to bring me an employment opportunity, when finally, a prayer lifted up for God to bring someone to fill an opening!

I nearly tackled the man in the coat room. I marched right up, stuck out my hand for a shake and boldly stated my name and said, “I need a job, and I need you to be the one that gives me a job!” Though familiar with his face in Sunday School, I didn’t realize he was an elder in the church. I also didn’t realize that I had been being tested. The question I had to answer correctly…did I really want a job, or was I somehow playing off my “celebrity” and the sympathy of others?

This gentleman waited week after week, to see if my prayers remained earnest.

The elder with the open position was a financial advisor, in a small town. To even consider hiring the wife of a convicted felon could bring risk to his business. But after speaking with me, and understanding just where I stood, he did hire me, and the Lord helped set my path straight again.

I’ve thought often of that testing, and I don’t believe I was actually the one being tested. God knew my heart. He knew I was earnest. I think the test was for the elder. Did he trust God enough to extend help that might bring risk, to a woman both desperate in need and desire to be employed. Now, as I’ve said before, I don’t know what I don’t know. I’m not God, but it does feel like this might be true. Only God knows for sure.

But that’s not even where this story is headed. Did you think we were there? The lesson I learned from all the trials I stepped through. No, it’s way cooler than that.

It took a bit of time to set things financially straight for me, and things remained tight around our home. I was officially off welfare (yay!) and had received a couple of full-time checks. Man, that felt good!

The rent was paid, roof over our heads. Utilities were paid, light and warmth. Groceries were bought, food in our stomachs, and the gas tank filled up for work and school transportation. We were sitting pretty. Until I realized I had forgotten to buy laundry detergent.

Now this may not seem like a big deal, but it was the straw, you know, that broke my back. Because I was broke, even praying that I had not forgotten an auto-pay that would take my scant pennies left, and turn my account from barely black to raging red. I lost it.

And the enemy seized on my weakness. My tailspin was fast, and dizzying and I ran a dangerous emotional gamut that had me questioning everything about myself, as a person, as a mom, as a woman of faith. The litany of accusations was vicious; you have no worth, you’re not as skilled as you thought you were, you didn’t try hard enough, you should have been stronger. My God woman, you can’t even send your kids to school in clean clothes. You’re a failure!

I felt so weak, so inadequate at that moment. In many ways, it was true. I was still an infant in my faith, and I was not spiritually prepared to fight, let alone win, that particular battle. Looking back, it was likely a very sad thing to watch. Which my children did.

But they were the ones God used to pull me out of the misery of my pity party. They hit me with very nonchalant common sense, and suggested, “hey, Dawn would probably get us by,” closely followed by “chill out mom, it’s not that big of a deal.” And they were right, and they were not right. It’s funny how it can be both at once.

Later that afternoon, chilled and steady, I walked out to my mailbox, opened it up, and lost it again.

These were different tears. These were tears of amazement, astonishment, and so many tears of gratitude and surrender.

The sample packet of Tide detergent did it. God did it. I was overwhelmed. I could do laundry! I could send my kids to school in clean clothes!

You see, my kids were right and not right. It was a big deal. To me. It was a huge deal to me. By this point, we had been through a year and a half of extreme trials and tribulations I would not wish on my worst enemy, and frankly, I needed a win.

Clean clothes were my win. God knew that. God provided that. God’s love washed over me like a Tide, and boy, I was really sitting pretty now!