Cutting Life's Safety Nets

Yesterday I put my signature on a paper that officially steers my career in a new direction.

I left teaching high school math a little over two years ago in order to work full-time in my coffee business.  I traded stability for adventure.  A high-structured job where simple needs like going to the bathroom were dictated by electronic bells buzzing through busy hallways, and exchanged that for the freedom to set my own schedule.  I tossed my collared button-down shirts aside in favor of shorts and flip flops.

At the advice of my school principal at the time I left, I opted for a Leave of Absence rather than resigning my position.  That way, should something happen with my entrepreneurial adventure over the first few years, I would have a guaranteed position in the district.

I am one who seeks to make strategic and wise decisions whenever possible, and this sounded like the most prudent path; I knew I had no intentions of returning to the classroom, but figured if things faltered, I would at least have something to run back to in order to keep the mortgage payments current and food on the table for my family.

And then the letter came.

At the worst possible time.

For those of you who keep up with these posts weekly, you may have noticed a theme emerge during the month of January.  I was struggling.

Things were hard.

The business was gasping for air and our backs were against the wall.  We desperately needed more customers, and we had zero prospects on the horizon.

I hit panic mode.

And to make things even more difficult, behind the scenes I had major doubts about my own ability to steer this ship, and even bigger doubts about whether God was still with me in this endeavor.  I had felt abandoned by him in the past with other faith-steps, and this felt eerily familiar; I was terrified.

Enter the letter.

Our district was offering a very modest amount of money to teachers on leave if they were to officially resign.  I talked to a friend who happens to be a superintendent of a district, and he reassured me that this was common practice among districts who have a benefit of clearing the books in order to set the next year’s budget, hire staff, etc.  The thought of a couple of bucks in exchange for a signature didn’t sound too bad, except that part of that agreement is that I cannot be employed by that district until 2020.

Receiving that letter felt like a big game of poker.  Do I believe enough in the cards in my hand that I’m willing to go all in, putting all my chips on the table and leaving no insurance behind?

Teaching at Yucaipa High School was familiar to me, and if things were to go south in the business, at least I could go back to a job where I knew the campus, where I have several close friends on staff, and return to a place where I am well respected in the community.

Over the past few weeks since I received that letter, some amazing things happened.  My efforts to introduce ourselves to potential new customers haven’t fallen flat as they seemingly had in the past.  I’ve spent less time at my desk and more time out in front of people.  I’ve been working harder than I ever have before, but also in a more focused manner that is seeing better results.

My wife has shown unwavering confidence in my ability to take this thing to the next level; her support and the encouragement from friends and family helped me look back over my shoulder in order to see how far this thing has already come.  The support and belief from my team was inspiring and confidence-boosting.

I’ve been challenged in my definition of what it means to receive God’s favor; that it isn’t always about comfort.  In fact, favor is often manifested in growth, which much of the time is comfort’s polar opposite.

Sometimes God’s favor is seen in a letter.

A letter that, as I’ve sought God’s wisdom in this decision, challenges me to sever my ties with comfort; a letter that requires that I grow in my faith journey; a letter that, at its core, asks Will you trust me enough to burn the ships and work harder than ever before to thrive in this new place?

A letter that I trust ultimately will lead me to a deeper relationship with God.

And so I put pen on paper, dropped off my resignation, and left the old world behind me. 

Leaving the building with my safety net caught behind me in the doors of the district office, I took my very first unfettered steps as an entrepreneur.