My morning was progressively spinning out of control with the details of life swallowing me whole: my computer at work wouldn’t log onto my profile (translation – all my links, bookmarks, and emails were gone); a student walked in to tell me he was having surgery tomorrow, and he would like his homework from tomorrow through next week; I hadn’t eaten my breakfast; I forgot to send Hudson’s milk to school and they were making ice cream; Jeremy wasn’t answering his phone; I had a multitude of papers I had put off grading.
In the middle of the chaos I found this email in my inbox (once I got email to work): resignation incentive.
We all know this is where I’ve been heading. I’ve been procrastinating, trying to find that fine line between waiting until the last possible minute to really do it and early enough to allow the district the best opportunity to replace me (though I don’t think they are, but that’s a whole other issue).
Truth be told, although I’m excited about the new opportunities, I’m still scared to let go. I have a hard time letting go.
I emailed Jeremy to MAKE SURE this was the plan. He replied, “Go for it.”
So, I sat and typed out my letter. It was a little anticlimactic. I expected to work on it and revise a zillion times so it was ‘just so.’ But, I believe that precisely the right words came to me. I cried as I wrote it.
As soon as the bell rang to dismiss 3rd period, my last class of the day, I drove over to HR and handed my letter to Diane in HR. Diane used to be the secretary at the high school when I was first hired. She was one of the first people in the district I met, so I liked that little detail that God gave me. She welcomed me at my interview, and she welcomed me on the day I handed in my letter of resignation. She inquired, with a sad face, why I was leaving. I perkily told her the details of building & moving, of wifing and mothering, and of photography and all the opportunities at my new home. I also included the detail that this was a new season, and perhaps in another new season, God will bring me back. I’ve learned never to say never.
Can I admit that I was perky until I walked out of the building? The moment I exited the doors, floodgates opened. I avoided openly sobbing until I was in the confines of my car. It was a thunderstorm. I returned to the high school, still crying, and hurried to my room. I sat at my desk for a moment and mourned.
I’ve always had a definite plan, and this is beyond it. I have to remember this verse in James: 14yet you do not know what tomorrow will bring. What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes.