When The Check Isn't In The Mail

How do you write about disappointment when you despise the word disappointment?

The word disappointment reeks of first-world problems. The barista not only got your order wrong, but the oat milk foam won’t hold its structure. You got a lizard instead of a pony for your 10th birthday. The couple ahead of you beat you to the patio table overlooking the ocean. These are the white-picket-fence, suburban tea party catastrophes we too often confuse with suffering.

But disappointment doesn’t come close to naming what it feels like when everything goes from bad to worse—to worse—to worse again despite your most ardent prayers and good-faith efforts. It doesn’t capture the soul-crushing stench of impending death you smell in your spirit when hope bleeds out, silently and slowly. As a wordsmith, I vote we retire the limp and cucked term dIsApPoInTmEnT for something with more teeth.

So yeah… life’s been rough. To put it nicely.

I’m writing this post from the temporary luxury of a hotel room, one of several places I’ve laid my head while I wait for my permanent housing to become available. This hotel room, let the record show, was sponsored by heaven’s Unexpected Surprises Department. The move out of campus housing was brutal—logistically, physically, emotionally, financially. 98% of it fell on me. Yes, there were a few bright spots. Kind surprises. Providential mercies. Some deserve their own posts. But overall? It was a grinding slog.

And the hardest part wasn’t even the move. It was what it represented. More… you guessed it… dIsApPoInTmEnT. I finished my degree. Applied to countless jobs. Ghosted. Rejected. Ignored, despite hearing I’d be a “great fit.” Just today, a major institution ghosted me for a freelance interview. They never confirmed, never showed up. And when school ended in December I launched a YouTube channel, started building a store. Crickets.

So yeah. Lots of dIsApPoInTmEnT.

“Lord, all I want is meaningful work that pays an equally meaningful wage—through a job, or through content, or both. I just want to work and pay my bills. Is that asking too much?”

What’s the female equivalent of the name Job? Because I may need to spiritually file a name change. This season has been surgical. With minimal anesthesia. And I’m still not even sure what we’re operating on.

It’s also ironic that Job’s name is Job, because for me jobs — money and work — are the heart of my own Job-like experience. Not just the lack of them but the humiliation, the waiting, the wearing down. The long nights writing. The longer days emailing, calling, hoping for that one open door. That one reply.

And the prayers? So many. Some answered partially, some not making it past the ceiling. I’ve cried out like Job: “Why wasn’t I born dead? Why didn’t I die as I came from the womb?…What I always feared has happened to me. What I dreaded has come true. I have no peace, no quietness. I have no rest; only trouble comes.”

And yes, I’ve also declared, “Though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him.” (Job 13:15) while simultaneously whispering, Why is He slaying me in the first place?

And almost everyone right now feels like one of Job’s friends—well-meaning. Of course. They offer logic and common sense where mystery and uncommon leading have set up camp indefinitely. They suggest LinkedIn or resume updates when the issue is much deeper and, dare I say, darker.

However, I would be remiss if I left it there because there have been a few who didn’t just send thoughts and prayers, but showed up in tangible ways: groceries, home cooked meals, two different people who made a seven night stay in a comfy hotel possible, tangible job leads and facilitating connections. Friends and friends of friends who offered their homes to me for a few nights even though some didn’t know me personally. People who intentionally and actively thought of ways to help me and went out of their way to do so; people who gave without strings or judgement. To those few: you’ve carried pieces of this cross with me. And that is no small thing. I will not forget it.

But back to Job; no, I’m not spiritualizing away my problems. I hate it when I see others do it. I prefer to be viscerally honest about how I’m experiencing this hardship. I hate where I’m at. This isn’t what I signed up for. Not even a tiny bit. I still have goals. Big ones. And yes, I’m taking my own advice, doing the best I can, showing up. I even went ahead and posted another YouTube video on my 7-Principle Life Navigation Protocol, which I struggle painfully to live up to. 

But the real disappointment isn’t the job hunt or the content flops. It’s feeling unseen by God. “I go east, but he is not there. I go west, but I cannot find him. I do not see him in the north, for he is hidden. I look to the south, but he is concealed.” Job 23:8–9 (NLT). But I also begrudgingly admit, “But he knows where I am going. And when he tests me, I will come out as pure as gold.” Job 23:10 (NLT)

Gold. Yes, some gold would be nice right about now. Not just metaphorical refinement—but actual provision. Actual breakthrough. Something I can hold, deposit, or at least not have to ration by the bite.

But even in that aching, something is becoming painfully clear:

Finances are deeply tied to both physical and mental health, and spiritual warfare. If you’ve felt crazy for thinking that, you’re not. I have a ton more to say about this in future content. But I again… you are not cray. It’s real.

The systems of this world are rigged in favor of the compliant and against the convicted.

This season is also exposing how linear thinking the world is, and how non-linear my own life is. 

Linear says: do A, B, and C, and arrive at D. Non-linear says: do A, B, and C and somehow land at step 42. Or purple. Or sideways. Linear is mathematically logical. In the non-linear the math just ain’t mathin.’ In the linear world, effort = reward. In the non-linear, effort = ghosting, guilting, and nitpicking.

And here’s the thing about linear thinking and lifestyles. There’s no inherent sin in linear except when linear becomes its own god and spiritual measurement rod. An unexamined linear life becomes unspoken theology. Without even preaching it, an unexamined linear life with all its comforts and perks, models the message: just keep your head down, follow the system, don’t ask too many questions, and maybe God will bless you too. And if you don’t? You must be lazy, problematic, or out of touch with reality. Unchecked hustle and grind are viewed as doing our part and if we’re not doing that, how can God bless us? I say this because for all my non-stop effort and grind that was making me physically ill almost, I’ve been made to feel that I wasn’t doing enough or at least not cheerfully enough.

So while most follow linear maps, others follow clouds and pillars of fire (Exodus 13:21). (And here’s the kicker: the cloud and pillar of fire choose us, we don’t choose them.) One path earns applause. The other earns side-eye. But the latter also earns refinement. Refinement doesn’t come cheap—and it sure doesn’t show up with a fruit basket. Most days, it rolls in like devil-whispered mischief dressed as “character development” that leaves a bag of hazmat clownery on your doorstep, takes your last $20, and calls it sanctification.

Painful truth: I don’t know why things haven’t gone well. For all my experience, skills, a new degree and non stop hustle and grind ethically and honestly — it just doesn’t make sense. I’m suspicious of clickbaity YouTube content that starts with “Here’s why God….”

Sometimes the holiest and most truthful answer is: Other than targeted, malicious spiritual warfare, I don’t know. And oddly, that gives me peace. One blog post—even one blog—can’t contain all I’m lEarNinG and gRowiNg in this season, nor reveal all the things I can no longer unsee or the many intangible losses I’m grieving. So maybe I won’t even try to say it. Maybe I’ll just live it. And maybe, if I live it well, that’ll say enough and loudly enough. 

So…

Even when Apple double-charges you for the -nth time for a ghost subscription from 2022 that triggers an overdraft…

Even when you get ghosted by jobs…

Even when authority figures act like petty amusement park ride operators with a power complex…

And… 

Even when the check you were promised is still sitting on someone’s desk for the third week in a row while you’re rationing granola bars and gas, trying to explain to your landlord why rent still isn’t paid and that small white lie triggers a full downward spiral that taints, warps, and defines an entire time period, becomes a battle cry, and a whole vibe for defining crushing dIsApPoiNtMEnT, and possibly even a whole series of content…

God is still on the throne.

That’s the only thing I’m willing to bank on.