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Help Wanted
Four months without work and my unemployment checks were about to run out
by Randy Hicks
Bedford, Texas
Trying not to look out the window, I spread the paper out on the kitchen table. This was the hardest part of the day. Outside, neighbors were getting into their cars for work, coffee mugs in hand. Me? I wasn't going anywhere. It had been four months since my company went bankrupt and laid me off. Four months of Web sites, job fairs and employment agencies, of sending out résumés and going to interviews where I always heard the same thing: I was either overqualified or didn't have the right experience. Yet I had a family to support. How can you be overqualified to do that?
I had never thought of myself as the kind of guy who builds his life around work, but without work, what kind of a life did I have?
This morning was different. I had hope again, just a shred of it, but it was real.
I'd interviewed at a bank that was looking for someone with just my credentials. I'd been called back for a second interview, then a third-this time with the bank's chairman earlier in the week. We got on like old friends. "We'll call you when we've made a decision," he said.
I checked the kitchen clock: 9:15. I'd spent the last three days on tenterhooks, jumping each time the phone rang, afraid to leave the house even for a minute. It was such a beautiful morning I was already going stir crazy. I'd get some fresh air.
I drove my truck down to the Texas Unemployment Commission. I got online and surfed a job site until I found a posting. Then I stood in line to photocopy a résumé next to a young man. I'm old enough to be that boy's father. This just isn't a place for people like me.
Feeling self-conscious, I hurried out, glancing over my shoulder in the parking lot to check if anyone I knew had seen me. This is ridiculous, I thought in the safety of my truck. Everyone understands what I'm going through. My friends had been nothing but supportive. Not a week had gone by that our family hadn't had an invitation to dinner or somebody drop by with a casserole. And I got good, heartfelt advice from every quarter, whether it was a friend with a job lead or my prayer partner giving me encouragement.
"God has a place for you," she always said.
"Well, I wish he'd hurry up and find it," I exclaimed as I drove home. "I'm sick of waiting around. I have to get this job."
I pulled into the driveway. The phone was ringing in the house. I sprinted inside and grabbed the receiver. "Hello?" It was the bank's human resources director. My heart pounded in my chest. "I'm sorry," he said, "but we've decided to give the job to another candidate."
I wandered out into the yard. The bright sun played in the leaves overhead, but the day seemed dark. How was I ever going to tell my wife? Our savings were almost gone, and I had only eight more weeks of unemployment.
I went to the playground around the corner and sat down on a bench. The air was full of giggles and shouts as kids chased each other and zoomed down the slides. Mothers chatted and rocked their babies. All the dads are at their jobs. I hung my head and prayed, "Lord, we really needed that job. I would do anything at this point-flip burgers or pump gas-just to get some money for my family. Is there any hope?"
My mouth was dry with worry. Across the street there was a convenience store. I felt like I couldn't even afford to splurge on a soda. Finally, I walked over. I stood in line, staring at the floor, my shoulders slumped in defeat. I heard a friendly voice say, "Good morning, sir."
Was she talking to me? I looked up. An old woman stood next to me. She was dressed in worn clothes that looked like they'd come from a thrift store. Gray hair spilled out from under a tattered sun hat. Her face was weathered, but her eyes were strikingly clear.
"Seems like you could use this," she said, pressing a card into my palm. What is it? I saw a photo of a polar bear cub with a prayer written underneath: "Help me to remember, Lord, that nothing's going to happen today that you and I can't handle together." I looked up to thank the woman, but she was already gone.
Fingering the card in my pocket, I walked home with my soda. It's funny how a little thing like that can make such a difference. I started thinking about how much God had given me already. My wife, Rhonda. My kids, who understood not to ask for new clothes just now. My friends. My pastor. Okay, so the job had fallen through. There had to be others. I'm not going to worry anymore about where it is or when I'll find it. That's for God to decide. For now, I know I can depend on the strength of my family. Just like that, because of a small, kind gesture from out of the blue, I knew that my family would be all right-we would be taken care of.
The job search went on. Then one day I got a call from a company I'd interviewed at months before. They wanted me to come back. "Lord," I said, "I'm not going to worry about this. You're in charge." I had to admit, though, that the job was a perfect fit for me. A few days later, I got the call I'd been waiting six months for. "We want you to come work for us, Randy."
As for the card I got on that dark summer day, I keep it in the visor of my truck so that I'll always remember its message and the strength and reassurance it gives me to this day. I can handle anything.
The above article originally appeared in the March 2003 issue of Guideposts.
Submitted by Richard
Four months without work and my unemployment checks were about to run out
by Randy Hicks
Bedford, Texas
Trying not to look out the window, I spread the paper out on the kitchen table. This was the hardest part of the day. Outside, neighbors were getting into their cars for work, coffee mugs in hand. Me? I wasn't going anywhere. It had been four months since my company went bankrupt and laid me off. Four months of Web sites, job fairs and employment agencies, of sending out résumés and going to interviews where I always heard the same thing: I was either overqualified or didn't have the right experience. Yet I had a family to support. How can you be overqualified to do that?
I had never thought of myself as the kind of guy who builds his life around work, but without work, what kind of a life did I have?
This morning was different. I had hope again, just a shred of it, but it was real.
I'd interviewed at a bank that was looking for someone with just my credentials. I'd been called back for a second interview, then a third-this time with the bank's chairman earlier in the week. We got on like old friends. "We'll call you when we've made a decision," he said.
I checked the kitchen clock: 9:15. I'd spent the last three days on tenterhooks, jumping each time the phone rang, afraid to leave the house even for a minute. It was such a beautiful morning I was already going stir crazy. I'd get some fresh air.
I drove my truck down to the Texas Unemployment Commission. I got online and surfed a job site until I found a posting. Then I stood in line to photocopy a résumé next to a young man. I'm old enough to be that boy's father. This just isn't a place for people like me.
Feeling self-conscious, I hurried out, glancing over my shoulder in the parking lot to check if anyone I knew had seen me. This is ridiculous, I thought in the safety of my truck. Everyone understands what I'm going through. My friends had been nothing but supportive. Not a week had gone by that our family hadn't had an invitation to dinner or somebody drop by with a casserole. And I got good, heartfelt advice from every quarter, whether it was a friend with a job lead or my prayer partner giving me encouragement.
"God has a place for you," she always said.
"Well, I wish he'd hurry up and find it," I exclaimed as I drove home. "I'm sick of waiting around. I have to get this job."
I pulled into the driveway. The phone was ringing in the house. I sprinted inside and grabbed the receiver. "Hello?" It was the bank's human resources director. My heart pounded in my chest. "I'm sorry," he said, "but we've decided to give the job to another candidate."
I wandered out into the yard. The bright sun played in the leaves overhead, but the day seemed dark. How was I ever going to tell my wife? Our savings were almost gone, and I had only eight more weeks of unemployment.
I went to the playground around the corner and sat down on a bench. The air was full of giggles and shouts as kids chased each other and zoomed down the slides. Mothers chatted and rocked their babies. All the dads are at their jobs. I hung my head and prayed, "Lord, we really needed that job. I would do anything at this point-flip burgers or pump gas-just to get some money for my family. Is there any hope?"
My mouth was dry with worry. Across the street there was a convenience store. I felt like I couldn't even afford to splurge on a soda. Finally, I walked over. I stood in line, staring at the floor, my shoulders slumped in defeat. I heard a friendly voice say, "Good morning, sir."
Was she talking to me? I looked up. An old woman stood next to me. She was dressed in worn clothes that looked like they'd come from a thrift store. Gray hair spilled out from under a tattered sun hat. Her face was weathered, but her eyes were strikingly clear.
"Seems like you could use this," she said, pressing a card into my palm. What is it? I saw a photo of a polar bear cub with a prayer written underneath: "Help me to remember, Lord, that nothing's going to happen today that you and I can't handle together." I looked up to thank the woman, but she was already gone.
Fingering the card in my pocket, I walked home with my soda. It's funny how a little thing like that can make such a difference. I started thinking about how much God had given me already. My wife, Rhonda. My kids, who understood not to ask for new clothes just now. My friends. My pastor. Okay, so the job had fallen through. There had to be others. I'm not going to worry anymore about where it is or when I'll find it. That's for God to decide. For now, I know I can depend on the strength of my family. Just like that, because of a small, kind gesture from out of the blue, I knew that my family would be all right-we would be taken care of.
The job search went on. Then one day I got a call from a company I'd interviewed at months before. They wanted me to come back. "Lord," I said, "I'm not going to worry about this. You're in charge." I had to admit, though, that the job was a perfect fit for me. A few days later, I got the call I'd been waiting six months for. "We want you to come work for us, Randy."
As for the card I got on that dark summer day, I keep it in the visor of my truck so that I'll always remember its message and the strength and reassurance it gives me to this day. I can handle anything.
The above article originally appeared in the March 2003 issue of Guideposts.
Submitted by Richard
