Nov 17, 2012 |
Dot and I went car shopping today. I need her to have her own car. With my new job and her full-time college schedule, the car-sharing thing is getting tedious at best and a little frustrating at least. Thankfully, we’ve been able to borrow a second vehicle when necessary.
I know we can make the current situation work, but I hope it won’t last for long. When driving someone else’s car, I only drive it the necessary distance from home to work and back again. I wait until behind the wheel of my own vehicle before running errands like grocery shopping and mail dropping. My weekends are no longer my own.
So today we went car shopping. And we found one. Actually we found several, but we went back to the first one. It’s nice. Two years old. Affordable.
Except I couldn’t get it financed. My credit score is just a little too low, and I haven’t been on the job long enough. Re-ringing the poverty bell is not ~ repeat, not ~ my favorite pastime. And I know after a few more months on the job, after a few more on-time bill payments, I’ll be back in the swing of things.
I hate how a three-digit number defines whether or not I’m “responsible”. Yes, I’ve had to pay my bills late, but I’ve paid them. I haven’t defaulted. I haven’t allowed them to go into collections.
I chose to bear my burdens as best I could and not pass my struggles “down the line”. I hate listening to media and the public hate-monger against welfare and those who “abuse the system”. There are so many legitimate situations that require assistance; I’ve seen them and in earlier years been in them. But those are the stories we don’t hear.
I’ve been tempted to ride that train again. I sometimes so badly want to stand in the public square and scream, “Somebody help me!” To have someone pay the utilities, buy the groceries, take care of the bills. Whatever it takes to allow me to save enough money to buy my daughter a car. But I can’t go there. I don’t want to take funds away from some other family who needs it more: the homeless mother with a young baby. The unemployed Vet who can’t pay his mortgage. Those who don’t have family and friends to come alongside them for comfort or coffee or car-sharing.
The last year and a half, I held out hope that things would get better.
And I kept paying my own bills.
And I can’t buy my daughter a much-needed car.
And while it feels oxymoronic, I’m comfortable with this situation. Because it’s our situation.
It’s hard to explain the feeling of calm we have in our household right now. It may be months before things get “better”; but I know to so many others our situation is Golden.
Tomorrow is a new day. Tonight I’m home with Dot. We’re together. We’re healthy. We’re happy. In our home.
I’d say we’re faring pretty well.
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
Nov 13, 2012 |
It’s just after midnight and I can’t sleep. I’m anxious, but I don’t know why. I have a fearful feeling. I think it’s about going to work tomorrow, or rather in eight hours. I’m still financially underwater and praying for a miracle, but I’m not sure what that miracle should be.
I don’t often get anxious any more. Even with the last year and a half of unemployment, I handled it solidly until the last two months when other interferences came in to send us looping.
I feel like a broken record; to admit my faults, my fears so openly; but it’s apparent that my transparency is what readers value. My most popular posts are the ones in which I bear my soul. I just wish I had more to offer than this.
How can I explain that this job I’ve been praying for, this regular paycheck, causes me strife? Why don’t I understand this is a good thing, a long-term thing? When will I know the rug isn’t always pulled out from under me?
I’m anxious to be more financially solvent. To not have to pay one bill this week instead of the other; and to shuffle the paperwork again next week. I’m playing Russian Roulette with my debts and hoping I can find the magic bullet that will take care of them all without making a mess.
It will take a while. A steady paycheck isn’t an instant win lottery ticket.
I know that. I know this job isn’t an instant fix. I also know I feel better just getting out into the world far more often than I used to.
I’ve managed to keep up with my Blog, and scheduled more time for my writing projects instead of being so casual about them. I finished all edits for the Second Edition of THE UNEMPLOYMENT COOKBOOK!
My situation is already improving.
So why do I still feel afraid of the dark unknown?
I’m embarrassed by my anxiety. Does it show lack of Faith? Weakness of character? Does my spilling it all out here make me some sort of narcissist, waiting for others to come my way with their sympathies?
No. I’m human. I’m faulty. But I’m also favored.
I know God loves me. I know at night when I’m awake like this it’s for a reason. Whether it’s to listen to the Bible and learn a new lesson, or to write it out so someone else doesn’t feel so alone in their anxieties.
There is a purpose. To everything.
And in my writing those few words to you, I’m reminded of the Words He wrote for me.
Ecclesiastes 3:1-8
There is a time for everything,
and a season for every activity under the heavens.
a time to be born and a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to uproot,
a time to kill and a time to heal,
a time to tear down and a time to build,
a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance,
a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,
a time to search and a time to give up,
a time to keep and a time to throw away,
a time to tear and a time to mend,
a time to be silent and a time to speak,
a time to love and a time to hate,
a time for war and a time for peace.
I am comforted. And no longer anxious. How beautiful are such Words that truly sooth my soul. A breath of fresh air, and a cup of tea all in one.
Retreat: Be Still
Thank you, God, for the prayers of others that sustain me, even when I can’t see the foundation. You know, have known, always know everything. And so I step back from the driver’s seat and choose to enjoy the journey. And share it with the Words you give me to read, and write.
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
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EXODUS: Keep On Keepin’ On
Dear God, Did You Forget About Me?!
What I Learned on Women’s Retreat [The Big Whammy!]
Aug 23, 2012 |
I know I shouldn’t. I know some people say worry is a sin. That I’m either not a good Christian, or I need to let go or… whatever it is you tell people when they say they’re unreasonably afraid.
But I am.
Often.
I’m afraid every day of the unknown.
I’m afraid that I won’t get a “real” job and I’ll lose my house. I’m afraid that I won’t be able to support my small family. I’m afraid of what would happen to the cats if something did happen to the house. Dot, notsomuch. She’s young. She’s got relatives. She’ll be okay. But I worry about being separated from her and the felines and Bedford Manor. I worry about it all the time.
I worry about car accidents. I’ve been in ten plus hit as a pedestrian. All in the last 27 years. None my fault. But I worry about more. I’m afraid of being injured again. I’m afraid of never being fully healed from past injuries. I’m afraid of being without a car, and I’m afraid now that Dot has a license.
I worry that my past concussions will interfere with my future. That I might someday need assistance to be mobile, or worse: to remember.
I worry about bad things happening to my family. What if they get injured, or worse? What if we’re separated for some reason like moving away, or death? I’m afraid of someday not being able to have coffee with my mom or talk to my brothers on the phone or watch TV with Dot.
I’m afraid that Dot’s chance for a future, a really good future, is lessened because of me. Because I’m an unemployed, single mom and we are a statistic on the poverty threshold. I worry that she’s never really had a chance to succeed, and it’s all my fault for not doing more. I worry that we won’t be able to afford the transfer to a four-year University when the time comes.
I worry that choices I made in the past about people, places, events, and opinions will affect her future.
I’m afraid of always being in debt and never being solvent. Of not being self-sufficient. Of being a burden to those around me and never being able to pay it back, or pay it forward.
I’m worried that I won’t always be able to write well. To share my thoughts, my stories, my inspirations.
And I’m worried that I will.
I’m afraid that I’ll be successful and it will change everything.
I’m afraid that my past will always haunt me. That certain people will try to sabotage me and tell me I’m not good enough. I worry about expending more energy into proving them wrong than doing things right. I’m afraid the wrong people will care and the right ones won’t.
I’m afraid of the freedoms that being a Good Writer means: publication. Payments. Solvency. Recognition. Freedom to move, to travel, to explore. Obligations to work and opportunities to play.
The chance to be balanced. To give my family a future.
To live. To live the life I have planned.
I’m afraid of trying because I’m afraid of failure. But I’m also afraid of never trying.
I worry about saying, “I don’t know what to do,” and being laughed at. I’m afraid of being mocked.
I’m afraid of being alone.
And never being heard.
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
This post is linked up with Shell at
