By the time 1993 rolled around, I’d married my high-school sweetheart, had a child, with another on the way, put in two years of college before dropping out, and spent the last year working temp jobs to scrape together a meager living. We lived in a small, two-bedroom apartment, and I drove a rattletrap old Nissan. My wife and I often had a contentious relationship. Two tempestuous tempers did not make for calm seas. My Christian faith at this point, five years removed from my brief churchification, bore no marks on my life. I never read the Bible, prayed, or considered attending church again. I still clung to vague new-age ideals of a doddering god who gently encourages us from afar. God, any god, really, stood far distant from my contemplations. My hedonistic faith system bore predictable fruit. My interests were entirely selfish – a poor disposition to hold in marriage with a growing family. I lazed about in an unmotivated stupor. I had zero self-confidence. I shirked responsibility and lacked ambition. I grew up sheltered and spoiled; I had no idea how to support my family or how to succeed at life in general.

At this point, I worked as a part-time delivery driver at a pizza parlor. I hated it. Customers were frequently rude, the hours were slim, and the tips were meager. I needed a change. My bank account demanded full-time work. I applied to a heretofore unknown-to-me nonprofit business called the Weatherford Opportunity Workshop (WOW). It provided job opportunities for people with developmental disabilities. They did contract work for local businesses and the state. They also operated a recycling department, handling plastic, aluminum, and cardboard. I applied for an opening in recycling. I earned an interview with the department supervisor. I can’t say I had an overall positive initial impression of the man. He appeared to be in his mid-forties, but had a well-worn face. He had a scruffy beard and bow legs. He walked with a noticeable stoop and wore overalls. He had an odd sense of humor and wore every emotion on his sleeve. His vigorous Christian faith stood out as his most distinctive feature, which shone through even in our brief interview. He pointedly asked me if I was a Christian. Momentarily taken aback (wasn’t that a forbidden question to ask job candidates?) I stammered, “W-why y-yes, I am”. I hadn’t thought about that question in years. I remembered back to 1988 and my baptism and acceptance into the church. I felt confident in my answer. The supervisor gave me the once-over and quickly moved on to his next line of questioning. In short, I got the job, only to find out later that I had only ranked third on his hierarchy of candidates. He hired me because, unlike the others, I answered the phone when he called. At the time, I didn’t understand the concept of divine providence, but its effects were about to be fully felt.