So, about a month ago, I left a tantalizing teaser about the happenings in our house in one crazy week. A lot of people have asked me about it, and Joe has insisted I blog it since we want this catalogued for posterity. It's that good. There is a slight warning here--this is NOT a short story. But just stick with me, and you will be amazed at the miraculous cocaine. Not kidding. Cocaine.
First, a little back story (which I am sure many of you know, but again...that pesky posterity). When Joe and I decided to try to have a second baby, I knew I couldn't handle working full time. I couldn't handle it mentally, emotionally, and to me it wasn't worth it financially. I felt strongly that I needed to be home with the new little spirit for whatever reason.
Let me just say right here that it wasn't because I thought being a working mom was bad. I want to be clear on this: I think having Alice at a baby sitter's for the first two years of her life was very good for her. It was difficult to leave her, and there were times when she was mad at me for leaving her, but I think she learned how to play with other kids and to relate to other kids that, as the only child at the time, she needed--Alice needed it, not all kids, Alice--her being, her personality, her spirit, needed the non-mommy interaction.
Having said that, after I had Daisy and got to know her sweet little personality, it was clear to me that she would have shriveled up and died a little bit if I left her everyday. Again, not all kids--Daisy--her being, her personality, her spirit, needed constant Mommy interaction. I strongly believe that, because Heavenly Father knew Daisy and knew what she needed in a mommy, that I was prompted to stay home. Joe was prompted, too. So, without a game plan, I quit. BAM! Like that.
Previously, I had been the insurance provider and the one with a stable income. Joe technically made more money than me, but his fiscal salary depended on wet winters and car accidents. No car accidents, no money. It's really hard to budget when your pay depends on the weather. We knew that, even though Joe loved his career in Auto Collision Repair, it just wasn't going to be secure enough for me to quit. So Joe started looking for a job. Prospects, in this wonderful Obama Recovery, were slim. Finally, the Tuesday after I quit (coincidence? I think not) Joe was offered a job as a temp at a company called Flowserve, with great prospects to get hired on full time after six months. The pay was pretty good, but it wasn't anything near to what we used to make, so adjusting to our new budget was difficult, and I thought I was going to die. But I didn't.
Well, long story short (no jokes) Joe loved the job, the job loved Joe, but he was allowed to leave after six months. We were stunned. We had felt so good about this, I had been prompted to quit? Not fair, not fair, not fair! If Heavenly Father had a plan, I thought, it would be nice if he let us in on it. Why keep everything such a secret? Luckily, right when Joe's job was about to run out, the business that Joe's dad worked for needed a welder. Joe got his degree in welding (coincidence? Hmmm). So, because they worshipped the very ground my Father-in-Law walked on, Joe got a job and was able to transition seamlessly. For less money. So it was another hit. But rather than being properly humbled, we were stubborn and complained about our sorry lot in life.
Joe continued to look for a job. Things would come, look good, but then fall through. Joe's job was getting stressful with workplace drama, and Joe hated what he was doing. The savings we had worked so hard to build was slowly but surely diminishing in order to meet ends. This went on for about six months, when finally I had to approach Joe with the bad news: we had enough money left in savings to get us through one more month, but that was it. Something had to happen, and now. We felt we should inform Heavenly Father about all this, too. We were starting to wonder if things were ever going to work out for us, or if we had mis-interpreted our prompting about my quitting. Regardless, there was nothing more we could do other than what we were doing: keep looking, keep praying, and hold on.
Finally, one year to the day I quit, and one month before our savings ran out, Joe was offered a job at BD Medical. The pay was decent, at least a little more than what we had been living with, and more importantly, we would have insurance. Glory Be! Happy Day! We could go to the Dr. again (don't worry--the girls were on Medicaid, so it was just Joe and I who couldn't get sick)! We were ecstatic. We started making plans, like how long we had until we could finally start making payments on our debts, and how long it would be before we could get a house. For the first time in a long time, we started planning and dreaming again. The job offer was contingent on a clean drug test, of course, but what active, faithful Mormon can't pass a drug test? We said prayers of thanks that night-- but Joe's parting plea, "Heavenly Father, please don't give us any more trials for a while," must have proved to the Lord that we had not been sufficiently humbled yet.
Joe's drug test was scheduled for a Tuesday. The Monday before, I had just signed Alice up for preschool, something that I wouldn't have been able to afford at the old job. Things were finally starting to look up.
Tuesday came. Joe went to work, happy to know that he only had one and a half weeks left. Everything was going so well--and his job was even going to throw him a going-away party his last day at work. Later that morning, Victor, a man from Bolivia, passed around his favorite drink from back home. It was an herbal tea, and Joe double checked that the tea was decaf. He should have asked it if was legal. He had a sip. Joe later found out that tea in Bolivia didn't have caffeine because instead, it had cocaine. Yes, on the day of Joe's first drug test in over a year, and after six months of having harmless work days, Joe drank cocaine. Apparently, Joe went into the bathroom and said a prayer. The spirit touched him, letting him know that everything would be okay. He went that day and peed in a cup.
We didn't hear anything from the drug test company for a week, so we figured Heavenly Father had worked a miracle on our behalf. We were too soon to assume all was well.
The following Tuesday, exactly one week after the drug test, we received a phone call from the drug company, asking if Joe had an explanation for the trace amounts of cocaine detected in his urine. With shaking fingers, Joe called BD Medical, trying to head off the storm. He was informed that there was a no drug policy with the company. The offer had been withdrawn.
Joe was devastated. He cried, he threw things, and he melodramatically cursed the heavens. I didn't know what to do, except hold my husband while he apologized for ruining the future of our family. I tried to tell him that we would be taken care of, but it seemed as if my words were hollow--I was starting to doubt that maybe Heavenly Father wouldn't help us, that maybe we were on our own.
Joe went to work on Wednesday. His work had already hired his replacement and had a cake ready for his going away party. He had to ask for his job back. I cannot imagine the humiliation that Joe had to have felt in that moment. I ached for him because I knew what he had to do that day. He came home and cried again that night. We got on our knees and cried to Heavenly Father, pleading for help, and telling him we couldn't do this anymore on our own....We needed help.
On Thursday night, Joe came home from work, still smarting from his hurt pride, and feeling guilty for what he saw as his failure as a husband and a father. The mood in our house was somber. I started to make dinner, trying not to wish for more money so we could go out to eat. The knife in my hand slipped, and I stared down at my open hand, through layers of muscle and fat to see the bone in my finger. Joe lost a job, we didn't have insurance, and I needed stitches. Up until this point, I had never had stitches in my life. We just started to laugh. It was that or sit in my blood and sob. Again that night, even though Joe and I were at the lowest point we have ever been, we said our prayers, thanking Heavenly Father for keeping us afloat, and keeping our girls healthy. And then we asked for help like we have never asked before.
Joe had the next day, Friday, off. My parents had offered to pay Joe to work on their old Chevy truck, so Joe decided he had better get started. Joe had been working on the truck for a couple hours when I heard yelling from the garage. I thought maybe he had cut off his foot or something, and didn't have the energy to go see what happened. The next thing I knew, Joe burst into the house and started jumping up and down yelling, "I got a job! I got a job!" I couldn't believe it. We had been so busy licking our wounds over the whole week that we hadn't even applied for any new jobs. How could he get one?
Flowserve, the company that he had loved, that he could not get hired on to six months earlier when his temp job was over, had called him and offered a job he had not applied for. The job would be more money than BD Medical with benefits, retirement, and promise of promotion in the future.
It was the most physically, emotionally, and spiritually exhausting week of our lives. When we sat back and looked at all that had happened that week: the cocaine, the drug test, the stitches, and the incredibly hopeless and humiliating events, we could not deny the hand of the Lord in it all. I don't know why BD Medical was not in our cards, but obviously, it wasn't, and after the week we had, I'm not going to question it. Heavenly Father had to go to pretty extensive lengths, it seems, for us finally humble ourselves and trust in him, and it will not be a lesson soon forgotten.
Edit: Joe also had a haircut by my sister, Nat Hall. Nat's haircuts are famous for getting people jobs. It wasn't two hours after Joe's haircut that he got the job call. Nat's haircuts are MAGICAL.
