Twenty-two years. That’s how long I’d been a homeschool teacher to our five boys. Now, with our youngest starting his freshman year at the public high school, as his brothers had done before him, that phase of my life was ending. The thought of spending long, empty hours in our empty house scared me.
I’d always struggled with change, but this was more than a shift in circumstances. This was losing my identity. Losing my calling, something I’d dedicated myself to and excelled at.
My husband, Lonny, was laid-back about my getting a job outside the home. “You don’t need to rush into anything,” he said. “Look into different options.”
I was eager to find a new purpose. I was good with kids, but I yearned to help people in some completely different way. I wanted to challenge myself, to prove that I could be valued for something besides raising and teaching my boys.
One day, I needed a routine blood test. I was nervous about having a needle stuck in me, and the cranky phlebotomist didn’t make it any easier. I remembered the times I’d brought the boys for lead screening tests (necessary because we’d lived in an old Victorian house then), how the technicians who drew their blood made the experience not so scary after all. Meeting fear with calm, compassion and competence. I’d like to do that, I thought.
I went online and discovered that the community college offered a nine-week phlebotomy program. Hospitals and labs nearby had immediate openings. It seemed as if the Lord was urging me forward.
This story is from the October/November 2023 edition of Guideposts.
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This story is from the October/November 2023 edition of Guideposts.
Start your 7-day Magzter GOLD free trial to access thousands of curated premium stories, and 9,000+ magazines and newspapers.
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