I graduated from a diploma nursing school in 1969 and then worked off and on in various specialties. Even went on to earn a bachelor’s degree at Michigan State. I haven’t worked in the field for years, but I still complete the continuing education credits to maintain my license. There’s security in knowing I could get a job if I needed to. Also, I still give a fantastic shot, which might come in handy in some crisis or some medical mission opportunity.
In more recent years, I worked in the medical transcription field because it was a health career I could practice from home. I became certified. I found meaning in helping to document health stories and in teaching others how to do it well.
Hidden stories. Suffering locked in private pillars.
A sense of restlessness nibbled at my spirit. And then, for a multitude of reasons, I reached a point of exhaustion.
I’ve been on “sabbatical” now for about a year. As part of that rest, I undertook a major decluttering of my home, heart, and head. Tossing earthly treasures. Also, our church studied the book, Holy Discontent, by Bill Hybels, and my husband and I participated in a small group. I realized that described my current state.
Not so much a “firestorm of frustration” but a smoldering sense of discontent that my life was not yet branded with eternal significance. I explored my Popeye potential and listened intently for my inner music.
And I looked back.
I remembered that I’ve loved to write since I was a child. Our mailman delivered my first rejection letter before I was a teenager. I had written a Nancy Drew type mystery where I caught the bad guys down by our lake and sent it to the local newspaper like Little Women’s Jo.
(I burned that letter and the returned story, by the way. Up in smoke. A pile of ashes.)
I remembered weaving in and out of the writing world over the years with some pieces published. Finding spin-around, dancing joy in studying and sharing what I learned as a speaker and teacher. Watching others light up with understanding and excitement.
While I’ve been resting and decluttering, I’ve started studying again. And teaching. And writing. I’m sleeping less. And feeling more awake. More energized.
And I’m sensing a season of change. A calling out. To where it’s scary and insecure. Where giants roam. To write a new story. Seeking to salt.
I don’t know if I’ll make any money. I don’t know if God wants me to. Might have to eat manna instead of leeks and drink water instead of Starbucks. Might have to sell my dulcimer and harp. But I HAVE to do this.
So I’m moving forward. Into the unknown.
Forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead. Pressing on. Unleashing potential. Spreading salt. Embracing risk.
To teach and to write.
And I won’t look back.
Have you experienced a holy discontent? Are you following it? Are you moving forward?
Copyright © 2009 by Sandra Heska King