Unplanned

Do you remember what you wanted to be when you grew up? I do. I wanted to be a writer. My earliest memories are of my mom reading the “Anne of Green Gables” series of books to our family. She only read a chapter a night, and I couldn’t stand not knowing what was going to happen next. So I taught myself to read. And I kept it a secret so that I could sneak out of bed at night and read ahead. I decided I was going to be a writer—I wanted to write words so compelling that people would sneak out of bed to read them.

I realized early on that if I was going to be a writer, I’d need a job. I thought all writers were so poor that they lived in attics and wrote by candlelight, stopping occasionally to rub their ink-stained hands together for warmth while they coughed consumptively into a blood-stained handkerchief. To avoid that fate, I’d need to make money. And I thought I had a solid, money-making plan.

Whenever my family traveled, the first thing I looked for in hotels was the Gideon Bible in the drawers of the nightstands. I had asked my dad about them, and he told me that people called the Gideons put them in hotels and other places to spread the word of God. I knew right then that this was the perfect job for me. I loved hotels! I pictured myself staying in a different hotel every night, ordering hot dogs from room service, reading in a giant fluffy bed, and popping out occasionally to put a Bible in a drawer. I thought it would be the perfect missionary work for an introvert like me—I could share God’s word without ever having to say a word. Sadly, I was disavowed of this notion when a man from the Gideons spoke at the Christian school my siblings and I attended. He stood at the front of the room with a stack of Bibles in different colors while he talked about the work he did. I was terribly disappointed when he said that only men distributed the Bibles, with occasional exceptions for their wives.

So I couldn’t be a Gideon unless I married one. I didn’t. I married Monty, my high school sweetheart, and I began writing full time. I wrote a novel, poems, and many articles until the migraines I’d had my whole life became so debilitating that I couldn’t get out of bed most days. I also struggled with depression, anxiety, and an autoimmune disease. Clinging to the belief that God still had a plan for me, I sought help from my family doctor. Who sent me to a psychiatrist. Who sent me to a neurologist. And you know how that story goes—I spent a decade addicted to drugs. And I lost all hope that God had any kind of plan for me beyond survival.

I’d been clean and sober for about a year when my dad offered Monty a job. My dad and my brother had started an internet company that sells USB-based software solutions. They asked Monty to be their software development engineer, so Monty left his job at Hewlett Packard, and we moved here to this little town on the prairie. Four years after we moved here, Dad offered me a job. He knew I was a risky person for him to hire—a recovering addict with a spotty work history and very little technical knowledge. I didn’t know the difference between a USB stick and a Popsicle stick. Now I do. For the past three years, I’ve been a full-time duper—I put software onto USB sticks, using a process called duplicating, or duping. In the photo, that’s Carrick sitting on top of two of my duping units.

I love what I do. I get to work nights, which I love because I’m a night owl. I get to work at home with my cats. And the repetitious nature of the work allows my mind to wander—I “write” in my head while I’m duping, and I use my afternoons to put those ideas and words down on paper. I also have the enormous blessing of working with Monty, my family, and my friends and watching our family business grow.

I still struggle with pain, anxiety, and depression. And I have to remind myself often that God has a plan for me. When I start to doubt that, I remember that four-year-old girl who dreamed of being a writer. I look at the journey God took me on in order to give me that dream. He took me from ruin to recovery. From an absolute mess to having a message I get to write about. And though I’m not putting Bibles in hotel rooms, I’m sharing my faith every chance I get when I write.

So when fear rises, I take a deep breath and remember—God had a plan for me then. He has one now. Pandemic? God has a plan for that. Political and civil unrest? God has a plan for that. Addiction. Joy. Recovery. Pain. Employment. Depression. God has a plan for it. I can’t see it right now. But I’m holding on until I do.