the road signs point us adrift

This is my Monday night writing. For the record, there were NO "signs" pointing me to this job in Massachusetts. It was a REALLY hard decision and one that I went back and forth on every hour or 2. And it's the best decision I ever made--at least the experience recorded here taught me a lesson!
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Senior year in college was a crazy, tilt-a-whirl of emotions. Good friends and lots of laughter made all the papers, exams and presentations bearable. For the first time in a long time, maybe for the first time ever, Sara felt in control of her life. There was a rhythm to her days--predictability amid the chaos of class, meetings and meals. Her four years on the Hill had gifted her with life-changing experiences, lasting memories and treasured friends. Even in the struggles, there was a safety and security in knowing that someone would be there to pull her up, under or through.

But there was a finish line looming. Graduation was a flashing neon sign in the distance. Every day, professors, family and even friends (mostly the pre-med/pre-law "we know what WE'RE doing with the rest of OUR lives" types) asked Sara what she was going to do next. Usually she laughed them off, saying there was plenty of time left or leveled them with an, "I don't know--is that bad?" On the inside, though, there was more than a hint of panic. The truth was, it wasn't that Sara saw an empty page with a blinking cursor when she thought about the future. Instead, what froze her up inside was that she saw about a dozen options--and all of them looked good. She was going to have to choose.

Calendar days flew by and spring break was approaching. Sara was still staring down all her options, weighing an endless list of pros and cons. Finally, she decided that eventually, there would be a sign. She had gone to church practically every Sunday for more than 21 years--and every priest she had ever met talked about signs...some divine plan. Maybe God would bail her out.

On the day before spring break--February 28--an email appeared in Sara's inbox. It announced the creation of a 2 year teacher service corps in Los Angeles. Young college grads would commit 2 years of their lives to teaching in the inner city, living with other teachers in the program and earning their Masters degree at a local university. It sounded intriguing to Sara--and teaching was one of the options she had been considering. Then she noticed the due date for applications--March 1. That would be a problem. Sara decided to send an email off to the coordinator in L.A., saying that she was interested in the program, but clearly couldn't complete an application she didn't have by tomorrow. Less than an hour later, there was a response. The due date was being extended for out of state applicants. A packet would be dropped in the mail and Sara could complete it after spring break. Sign #1.

More signs would follow in the coming weeks. When a close friend lost his twin brother in a drunk driving accident and Sara's life was turned upside down for a week, a reassuring email arrived telling her to take care of herself and her friends. The application could wait a week. The final nail in the coffin was a phone call from a principal in Los Angeles. She introduced herself to Sara, said that she'd received Sara's resume, application and recommendations. Everything looked great, just one thing was holding her back--Sara had attended Holy Angels for high school. Sara was confused--how exactly did a woman 3,000 miles away know anything about Sara's tiny, all-girls high school in suburban NJ? There was a laugh from the CA end of the telephone line--this woman had grown up 10 minutes down the road from Sara and had attended the other all-girls high school in the area. Last sign.

Graduation was a few weeks away and, finally, Sara had an answer to the horrible "what are YOU doing with the rest of your life?" question. She enjoyed her last days on the Hill, surrounded by good friends. Less than a month later, she climbed on a plane to being what she knew would be a great adventure. It would take less than 7 months for her to realize that all those signs were someone's idea of a bad joke.