Nothing in my life is ever easy. For example, I applied for a dream job yesterday and realized many links to writing samples were broken because one magazine changed its name, and the magazine that published articles I wrote for Napa River Inn in 2017 produced a 2018 version and removed the old one from its website instead of pairing both with a thumbnail as it did for the Biltmore Hotel in Miami. Needless to say, I hurried up and made JPEGs of the 2017 articles I wrote for the Biltmore before they could disappear like several interviews from 2010 and 2011 that got scrapped because someone thought C-Leader sounded better than Inside Business, but being proactive was nearly as time consuming as being reactive. Today, I called Cleveland’s 28-branch library system for help finding them and wound up locating them myself — at the National Library of Australia. I’m now a proud member of Bayside Library of Melbourne, which promised digital access to my articles if I filled out a simple form, but after I submitted my new library card number, Gale Virtual Reference Library said I couldn’t have them. Scenarios like this are why I’m so surprised that I’m on Day 3 of zero sugar cravings, but apparently, confession is good for the soul — and the sweet tooth.
How Confessing Your Sins Can Heal You
James 5:16 suggests confessing your sins — or faults, if you prefer the word the King James Bible uses — to each other with the hope that people will pray for you. “The prayer of a righteous man has great power to prevail,” it says.
I doubt that anyone prayed for me to overcome my buttercream frosting addiction after reading Monday night’s mea culpa, but God — and my pastor who talked about idols we value more than God last Sunday — instructed Christians to shed light on darkness.
“God is light; in him, there is no darkness at all,” the First Epistle of John says. “If we claim to have fellowship with him and yet walk in the darkness, we lie and do not live out the truth. But if we walk in the light, as he is in the light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus, his Son, purifies us from all sin. … If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness.”
Twelve hours after I posted How God Typically Reveals Himself in My Life, I got fired from the grocery-store bakery.
How Getting Fired Was a Blessing
Tuesday afternoon, I drove to work displeased that I was going to have to spend eight hours in close quarters with the supervisor who’d caused unnecessary drama by scheduling me to work the day of my eviction so she could work some $28-per-hour union job, scheduling me to work nights from that week forward so she and her guilty conscience wouldn’t have to look at me during her shift, and then scheduling me to work eight days straight during her vacation. While she was gone, our manager prepared this week’s schedule and put us together in what potentially could’ve become a pudding-wrestling ring given her threats to beat people and kick a 65-year-old regular’s cane out from under him.
“I predict another tub of buttercream frosting in my future,” I told a coworker as I clocked in.
Saving me, the store manager motioned for me to follow him to his office, where the Counseling & Corrective Action Report he asked me to sign said cutting an 8 a.m. to 12 p.m. shift short by two hours to remove my cats from a Motel 6 room that had skyrocketed from $53 during the week to $84 Friday night and $120 on Saturday because Tiger Woods was in town had resulted in too much time off during my 90-day probationary period.
Ordinarily, this would’ve sent me to the frosting section, too, but God or the oregano oil he put on this Earth for a reason and reminded me to buy at Lucky’s Market in Lakewood Monday evening killed my sugar cravings that had gotten way out of control.
Testing this, my father randomly texted me to ask if I’d had “[a]ny luck on job possibilities yet” as I wondered how I was going to break the news that his homeless daughter was now jobless. To cushion the question, he added, “You have always been independent, and I always was proud of the fact that you were self-sufficient.”
Instead of feeling like I’d been kicked while I was down, I remembered the sign I’d seen below his doorbell the day I’d played prodigal daughter with a crying kitten in my arms: When one door closes, another door opens.
That night, around the time I’d started writing my previous post the night before, Indeed sent an email advertising a dream job that appears in Cleveland about as often as Tiger Woods. Let’s hope my cover letter was better than his swing.