Wildflower Writes

For many people, work is a necessary evil, a means to an end.  If you're employed, you earn an income, which pays for food, shelter, transportation, and other nice things.  You also have something productive to do during the day (or night).  If the benefit of a paycheck were removed, or if the necessities of life were taken care of, many people would not work. I don't think that God intended people to loathe work, to dread Mondays and thank Him for Fridays.  Yes, He originally introduced the idea because His first creation, Adam, was disobedient , but that doesn't mean He can't redeem it for good things in the world and in you. You were created for a purpose.  You were created with a combination of personality, passions, and talents that are uniquely yours.  If the planet Earth were a factory, you have a job doing your part to make the world go 'round. While it would be wonderful if we could all choose the perfect degree,...

It is officially the first day of Spring and I am taking it on as my second New Year. Spring is supposed to be a time of new beginnings , of new growth and turning over new leaves. That is what I’m doing this year. Three weeks ago tomorrow I was let go from my stressful job as an admissions representative for a nursing home. Today I am ready to write a thank you note to the person who gave me the “pink slip.” After the initial shock, I’ve done some evaluating and praying and really feel that God opened the door to a prison cell, and I am FREE! I now sleep better at night, have put away the anti-depressants, have fewer GI problems… Although I hated that job, I didn’t realize what it was doing to me. It was my security blanket , though, and I never would have let go if someone hadn’t wrenched it from my hands. So, I am pursuing my dream as a self-employed, work-from-home, freelance writer . I have several projects in the works already, including a grant, three blogs, a press releas...

I haven't blogged for awhile.  At some point I decided that writing daily was never going to get me to the writing career I longed for.  However, since I am recently unemployed (technically self-employed with a tiny paycheck), I thought maybe sharing my experiences in that category might be helpful to others. I've always felt the most for those who have been laid off because there wasn't enough work, or there were budget cuts, or the position was eliminated.  No one feels sorry for the person who was fired. That's me.  Fired, canned, terminated, given the pink slip.  I had been joking for years that I looked forward to that day.  It wasn't that great, after all.  Although I don't believe I deserved it, no one wants to hear that.  It doesn't matter that Indiana is an at-will employment state, and that my employer did just that- fired me without a good reason.  I didn't complete a project because I was working overtime with what...

Continued from 5/22 post… Wendy jumped, dropping her father’s hand as if she had been caught doing something wrong.  Her mother looked perplexed, then smiled.  “Hi Wendy.  You changed your mind?”  Her mom set her cup of coffee on a side table.  Wendy shrugged and looked away.  There was a sharp rap at the door.  Again, Wendy startled.  “What’s wrong with me?” she asked herself.  A gentleman with white hair and a stethoscope around his neck peered around the door.  “Good morning.”  His voice was soft but strong.  “Will you ladies excuse us please?”  he asked. Wendy followed her mom out of the room and down the hall to the lounge.  “Is that your bike?” her mother asked in disbelief.  Wendy hid her face behind an old issue of Glamour.  A moment of silence stretched into several minutes.  “I’m glad you came,” said her mother finally.  “I know your dad has missed you.”  The words on the...

NPR dubbed it Economic Survivor’s Guilt. It’s that deep sense of guilt someone experiences when he or she still has a job, when friends or colleagues do not. It’s not the same as surviving a major event, like the Holocaust or 9/11. After all, these people are still alive. They’re with us every day. They still shop at the grocery store, attend church, and eat at restaurants. They are caring for their children, playing with their dogs, planning trips. Yet when I go to work every day, they have nowhere to go. When I expect a deposit into my bank account every two weeks, they’re hoping to hear from the unemployment office. As I juggle the demands of my boss and co-workers and my own agenda, they are scanning the classifieds and online listings for something that fits. When I complain about the hours or the stress or the unreasonable expectations, they are trying to fill their hours with meaningful things, struggling with their own identity. When I am wishing for a way out of the m...