Proof The Bible Is True

I shuffled through the articles I’d brought, trying to look like I belonged here—the offices of the Wichita Eagle, the biggest newspaper in the city. The receptionist spoke to someone on the phone in hushed tones, probably discussing how to politely turn me away. After all, I’d walked in off the street to ask for a job, even though I knew they weren’t hiring. If I told them I was following the command of a strange voice, they’d probably call security.

 

Just a few months prior, I never imagined I’d be looking for a job. My husband was the breadwinner in our family, and he’d moved up to Wichita before us to seek a more lucrative job opportunity. Our two kids and I joined him as soon as he was settled. But he had changed in the time we were apart. Then he hit me with four terrible words: “I want a divorce.”

 

Now I was starting over at 38 years old. I needed a way to provide for my children, but I hadn’t held a job since my time as a reporter for the Garber Sentinel, a small-town weekly, over a decade ago. My daughter suggested applying to the Eagle, but that was the big leagues. “Even if they had positions available, I wouldn’t get past the front door,” I said.

 

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