“And though The Lord give you the bread of adversity and the water of affliction, yet your Teacher will not hide himself anymore, but your eyes shall see your Teacher. And your ears shall hear a word behind you, saying, ‘This is the way, walk in it,’ when you turn to the right or when you turn to the left.” — Isaiah 30:20-21
I can still remember driving away from Pierre, SD, in the summer of 2006 with tears streaming down my face. I did not want to move, but I was out of money and the only job offer I had received required a significant move. The knot in the pit of my stomach told me I had made the wrong decision, but I couldn’t see any other options.
At least, I had not been able to see any other options until a few hours before I closed the door to my apartment for the last time. I had opened the mailbox that afternoon to discover a letter inviting me to interview for my dream job. If I hadn’t given notice on my apartment, hadn’t rented a trailer in which to pack my possessions, hadn’t enlisted the help of friends for the move, I would have done a happy dance the moment I saw the envelope and would have called immediately to schedule the interview. Instead, I sat in the stairwell, breathing deeply and slowly until the waves of despair had ebbed enough for me to mount the stairs and continue moving boxes out of my apartment.
I knew the gut-level feel of a wrong decision. I had taken a teaching job midway through the school system when my girls were growing up; bad decision. A decade later, I had allowed myself to be guilted into sacrificing my dream to help a floundering nonprofit; bad decision. Just a couple years earlier, I had allowed myself to be seduced away from a job I loved by the siren call of children in need; bad decision. And there I was, making another bad decision.
That decision did something none of the others had done, though. It paralyzed me. I could not move forward because I stood like Lot’s wife, looking back, wondering how I had come to make such an incredible mess of my life. After moving, I plummeted into depression, and would have committed suicide had a stubborn refusal not to leave my daughters motherless given me a small handhold on life. Eventually that lifted, but a pervasive lack of hope settled in its place. I fulfilled job responsibilities to the best of my ability, and cared for friends and family when I could, but I did not expect to be blessed, not in this life.
Years passed one by one, and I lived them with as much grace and dignity as I could muster. And then, I found myself seeking work yet again — and I was terrified by the prospect. What if I made another devastatingly bad decision? Would I survive it? I tried to find a spiritual director who could help me discern God’s will, but wasn’t successful in finding one who could understand that, for me, job hunting was a spiritual undertaking.
Before I made the decision to move in 2006, I was in what St. Ignatius of Loyola would have called a profound period of spiritual consolation. God taught me in new ways, drawing me into a more intimate relationship with himself and lifting me up with joy unlike anything I had experienced previously. When I chose to accept the proffered position and move, that came abruptly to an end and I didn’t know why. Why had God hidden himself from me?
During the dry years that followed, I was faithful in prayer, attended Mass religiously and became involved in parish activities, but did not experience again that joy — until shortly after I found myself unemployed yet again. I attended a weekend retreat for women and found my heart spontaneously opening to God’s love, spontaneously surrendering to that love. I abandoned myself completely to God in that moment. Over and over, I murmured, “Anything, Lord, anything.” Because an employment decision had abruptly ended a period of consolation in 2006, the one which faced me following the retreat had profound significance.
Somehow, I managed to bumble through the indecision and fear. Rather than make another major change, I took a job for which I was overqualified in order to pay bills and decided to wait for clarity. It came. It did not come quickly, but it came in that quiet, roundabout way God likes to use. At a church meeting I attended, a visiting priest suggested I read THE JESUIT GUIDE TO (ALMOST) EVERYTHING by James Martin, SJ. Through reading that book, I began to learn how to discern the movement of God in my life, and the next time I was faced with making a major decision, I was able to do so in a way that filled me with peace. Did everything fall neatly into place? No, not really, but I am at peace in the decision and have enough confidence to continue striving toward the goals set.
So what does any of this have to do with spiritual foreshadowing? (And what, exactly, is spiritual foreshadowing?) In literature, authors give hints of what is to come, hints which a sensitive reader can intuit; English teachers call it “foreshadowing” when teaching students to loathe the novel. In looking back at 2006, and the decision which haunted me for so many years, I find myself wondering if God wasn’t giving me a few hints — if he wasn’t showing me how it felt to draw close and how it felt to turn aside. Perhaps the decision itself was not actually wrong, but was in truth right — right because it opened my heart and life to be shaped by God.
And, as God says after each act of creation in Genesis, it is good — all of it.