People break down into two groups. When they experience something lucky, group number one sees it as more than luck, more than coincidence. They see it as a sign, evidence, that there is someone up there, watching out for them. Group number two sees it as just pure luck. Just a happy turn of chance. But there's a whole lot of people in group number one. They're looking for a miracle. And deep down, they feel that whatever's going to happen, there will be someone there to help them. And that fills them with hope.
See what you have to ask yourself is what kind of person are you? Are you the kind that sees signs, that sees miracles? Or do you believe that people just get lucky? Or, look at the question this way: Is it possible that there are no coincidences?
-- Rev. Graham Hess (Mel Gibson) Signs, 2002
Seattle was never on our radar.
Yet, God is always moving, and this time He's called us to do the same. In 6 short months, my family and I will be moving to Seattle. People ask me why, and I struggle to explain. I am taking a 30-40% pay cut. My commute will be longer. I'll be working harder. Cost of living increases 150%, and real estate almost 200%.
Looking back, Scottsbluff was never on our radar 9 1/2 years ago. We truly believe God led us here, and for a purpose. We trusted Him when real estate went up 200% then. And now?
I'd been reading the job postings for years, looking for the 'ideal' job. I encountered ads for jobs in Virginia, Texas, California, Seattle, Iowa, Michigan, many others. In the hopes of fulfilling my dream to move into the shadow of the beloved Rocky Mountains, I interviewed for a position in Lone Tree, Colorado last Spring. The salary was lucrative, and the group was ready for me to sign on the dotted line before I left. Great location, but the job would be chock full of patients with pain due to personal injury and workers compensation cases (complicated by secondary gain, paperwork, manipulation). No, thank you.
Funny: after that, Colorado never again came calling. Even my fallback option fell through-- never got a return call from my one 'guaranteed' lead in Colorado, despite multiple attempts. Meanwhile, I discovered that a former colleague had relocated to a PM&R job in Denver. I felt rather defeated.
Months ago in the wake of this, I journaled the excerpt below (forgive the melodrama-- it is my journal, after all):
Goodbye love song for Colorado
I've been having an affair for a long time. I have a good home, but my heart hasn't been there for some time. I am not speaking of unfaithfulness to my family or my spouse, but my state. I have denied my Nebraska in search of a deeper love. Colorado resonates with me: mountains, alpine lakes, churches, neighborhoods, pace of life, and even traffic. But alas, this is a love that is unrequited. As much as I love Colorado, and as much as God shows me His love for me through the beauty He has created in Colorado, I have given up the hope of ever making the move. I have been waiting for God to lay out the red carpet and welcome me, but no invitation has come. All my leads led nowhere. I've watched others who love Colorado less take hold of that which should be mine.
What I struggle to understand is how God could place in me such strong passion, a pull not toward sin or self, but toward something good, the work of His hands; into a strong congregation with potential to grow me as a Christian, and toward a culture that reinforces a healthier lifestyle, and then deny me that.
Is my pinnacle too small for God? Does he have something bigger planned for me? Because I feel something stirring. Change is coming.
After reading an ad for a position with an Orthopedic group in the Dallas/Fort Worth area and speaking with their director and several physicians, I was offered an October interview.
Meanwhile over Labor Day weekend, our family travelled back to Colorado. My appetite for mountaineering was strong, despite having recently been fed with a glorious trip to the summit of Mt. Sherman with my Westway family in August. Though I'd never been there, the Great Sand Dunes National Park and Sangre de Cristo mountains welcomed me home. I labored up the Lake Como road to summit Ellingwood and Blanca peaks, which exhausted my body but refreshed my spirit. It is hard for me to describe such a strange love; I can count on one hand the friends who understand this. We chose to lodge for the long weekend at the Zapata Ranch, a working bison ranch. We ate with a dozen other guests in the common dining room for breakfast, parted ways during the day for our hiking, ranching, branding, and sand-surfing endeavors, then regrouped for supper to recount our day's adventures. We were surprised one evening to find ourselves seated next to a retired couple who lived 30 years in Seattle. Instead of listening to tales of their day in the saddle herding buffalo, they blissfully framed a picture of Seattle as we listened intently.
Upon returning home, I emailed the group in Seattle to follow up on the posted ad. Within days, I'd made contact with the recruiter and spoken at length by phone with the Medical Director, who described his vision for the department: a vision of quality outcomes, best practice protocols, and care excellence. This mindset is well-suited to weather the coming changes in health care reimbursement. It synced with me.
I cancelled the October interview in Dallas/Fort Worth, and instead scheduled an on-site interview in Seattle. Worst case scenario: we'd get to spend a long weekend in the Pacific Northwest as a family, on someone else's dime.
After our family enjoyed a short vacation at DisneyWorld in late September, I stuck around a few extra days to attend the AANEM conference in Orlando. Alone on the plane from Orlando back to Denver, I spent some time blogging about the Monument Marathon, then struck up a conversation with my neighbor in 8E. After getting through the pleasantries, she revealed that she works as a Neurologist. In Seattle. I unabashedly pressed her for information, and she willingly shared.
A month later, the interview went well; better than expected. They are not needle-jockies like the Lone Tree group. They have financial sustainability and security. They are willing to let me sculpt and build my practice, and offered me a leadership role. The offer came quickly, and it was fair.
Back in Scottsbluff, Seattle trickled its way into our day-to-day lives. I have lost count of the number of times I've been nudged. In fact, 'It's NOT a sign!' became a running joke in our home when these instances arose, such as the time Brielle came home from school bewildered that Seattle showed up in her schoolwork. When in San Francisco for business, I was browsing Chinatown with work colleagues when we stumbled across a rack of touristy personalized keychains. One of my fellow VPs stopped long enough to confirm that 'Michele' was not among them (there were plenty of 'Michelle'), and flippantly mentioned "Maybe if you find one with your name spelled correctly, you could take that as a sign to move out here to the West Coast!" In my heart, I thought back to our community tour in Seattle the week prior, where my sweet Autumn had pointed out a storefront sign that read 'Michele'.
Which is the right choice? Is there a right choice? I trust that God gives us freedom to choose from among a number of opportunities. Our future is not predestined since the choice is ours, yet He knows the path we will choose to walk, even before we choose it. "Well then, Father God, feel free to clue me in. Let me hear your voice clearly," I prayed. Jon prayed. The kids prayed. Jon and I fasted. We asked for ears to hear the will of God. "I will go where you want me to go." And this time I prayed it without the tether of "but please let it be Colorado". And He spoke. Over and over. In a voice that only our family heard. We could not deny: it WAS a sign. A sign with my name on it. They all were.
This fall, I stumbled upon a song with Autumn's name in it. For the sake of fair parenting, I felt obliged to scour iTunes for a song with Brielle's name (clearly a greater challenge than the elusive 'Michele' keychain). But there it was: 'Brielle' by Sky Sailing. Further investgation showed this to be the former one-man band of Adam Young, the gifted musician who now comprises Owl City. There in the discography was his song 'Hello Seattle':
Hello Seattle, I am a mountaineer,
in the hills and highlands.
I fall asleep in hospital parking lots.
Take me above your light.
Carry me through the night.
Hold me secure in flight.
Sing me to sleep tonight.
I would later read this interview about the song:
"Seattle always seemed like the other side of the world to me. I remember staring out the window during class in high school imagining what it was like," Young said. "The irony of the track is that it's a love song to a place I'd never visited."Researching Washington, I discovered that, although I will say goodbye to Colorado and the Rockies, I am not saying goodbye to the majestic works of His creation, and I am not abandoning that love which seems to thrive so fiercely within me. Online photos and Scottsbluff eyewitnesses reassure me of the beauty of the Pacific Northwest, abundant in rich green forests, flowing rivers, mirrored lakes, and yes, mountains. There are innumerable ranges including the nearby Olympics and Cascades, and Mount Rainier towers as the taller of two Washington 14ers.
And so begins my love song to a place I'd never visited. Hello, Seattle.
Next post: Love song for Scottsbluff
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