I had an inkling it was time to leave in June. I nervously typed out a polite, cordial letter, printed it, and signed it with my notoriously sloppy signature. I watched the clock. I had a meeting with my boss at 2 p.m. It was 1:09.
I groaned internally about my drenched armpits. It’s one of my nervous ticks, breaking into a soaking cold sweat.
I went to the bathroom about five times to help pass the time and stick paper towels in my shirt.
1:58. Show time.
I gathered my laptop and my neatly folded letter, sighed deeply in an attempt to calm my stomach cramps, and walked quickly across the office with my awkward, “I’m nervous, can’t you tell?” gait.
2:35. Time’s up.
I unsteadily walk out of my boss’s office, suddenly feeling icy cold in my armpits from old stress sweat. What just happened?
I went into the office with the intention of resigning. I had discussed this with my husband. I had prayed about it everywhere — on a jog, in the shower, lying in bed, drinking my evening tea.
I had mustered up what courage I could and resolved to go through with it. It seemed like it was God’s will.
But I left my boss’s office with a new offer. He wanted me to try to stay. He wanted to see if they could fit me on another team, on a team that would work better for my new “work-from-home” schedule.
So I agreed. Maybe this was God telling me I needed to stay.
I waited. I met with managers. I started new projects on my to-be team. All the while it all seemed rather vague. I wasn’t sure when or how or who or what, exactly. I was just floating, between two teams.
Until my manager’s manager met with me.
It was an honest discussion. He would try his best to create a remote job position on this team, but his higher-ups weren’t too keen on it. It might be best for me to continue my job search in the meantime. He’d know by the end of August.
I remember leaving the office for my long commute home with a surreal sense of peace. I was just told that I might not have a job by the end of August, but I wasn’t freaking out. I sensed that I knew this might happen, in God’s timing.
And God’s timing wasn’t in June. It wasn’t in July. It was now.
I didn’t just have an inkling anymore. I knew. I typed out another polite, cordial letter with certainty. I printed it. I signed it with my still-sloppy signature. I checked the office instant message list. My manager was available. I asked if he had ten minutes to meet. He said he did.
I apologized for putting him through the awkward conversation a second time, but this time I actually handed him the letter. I thanked him for his efforts. I honestly told him I had no set plans for new job, just waiting to hear responses to my applications.
I left his office on good terms. I let my IT guy know that he’ll want my things on the 15th. I cleaned out my desk.
And I left my office for my long commute home, a little sad, a little relieved, completely at peace.
The great Doorkeeper is closing the door on my first job out of college. The first job I actually loved. The job where I learned so much about myself as a professional writer. The job where I can look at my first user manuals in 2012 and laugh. The job where I am proud with what I’m leaving behind.
I would love to find another technical writing job where I can broaden my knowledge and better my portfolio.
I would love to have something to do during the week after August 15th.
But right now, I don’t have any plans.
God hasn’t shown me what door He will open for me just yet. So I hang again in the balance, floating, putting in job applications, waiting.
The door He opens might not hold what I expect. But I’m okay with that.
I’m not going to speculate about my next life chapter. I’m not going to make plans about what it should hold. Man’s plans are weak, faulty, and finite. God’s plans are firm, faithful, and infinite. They override all man’s plans, and remind man of his state before an Almighty God.
I don’t know about you, but that fact is comforting to me. I don’t have to worry about what will happen. He is my Doorkeeper, and He never opens the wrong door.