“Remember Martha,” the lady interviewer said, “There are no right or wrong answers. Please relax, we’re almost through.”
‘I don’t look relaxed?’ Martha groaned. ‘Lord, I’m tired of people figuring me out. And what’s this right or wrong stuff?’
“I am nervous,” Martha admitted awkwardly, “I just noticed I put on two different pairs of shoes.” Groggy from lack of sleep due to night sweats ‘turbo’ coffee raged through her varicose veins. Martha prayed she wouldn’t fall asleep.
"Martha, what is your biggest strength?”
"Encouraging others,” she perked. Waves of heat exhumed beneath Martha’s woolen suit as perspiration pooled from every pore. Slapping her flushed condition with the fanning of her gloves Martha added, “Also crowned the queen of menopause.”
“Ok.” The woman continued unmoved, “And your weakness?"
‘I don’t want to admit any of my weaknesses,’ Martha fretted, ’What does that have to do with fixing pizza for the hospital?’
Her husband Yenz’s unwise investments, catapulted Martha from being comfortably nestled as a homemaker raising five grown children, into the anxiety of paying off debt. Denied for two hospital positions on-line already, Martha felt historic and unschooled for imploring an adolescent’s help on the application process.
The lingering silence evoked a magnetic force overshadowing Martha. As the resurrecting rejected trait in her spirit wrestled with Martha’s defiant will, her chin began to quiver. Tears pinched from her baggy brown eyes.
“Sorry, Miss Interviewer,” Martha snorted, “I suggest some young, brilliant, and unsweaty person for the job.”
"Martha. Breathe.” With a bearing expression the woman handed Martha a tissue, “There are no right or wrong answers.”
“My ‘biggest’ weakness…,” secretly texting her husband of her demise, “is being transparent and hating it.”
Trudging the hallways after the interview, Martha’s comatose, antagonistic gaze severed the view of people’s faces as their headless forms hurried on by. Whimpers slipped past Martha’s pursed lips as she drew near her car.
‘Battery low’ flashed across the fading screen as Martha dialed for prayer. “What! I forgot to charge again? I give up, the hormones win!” Martha slumped over the driver’s wheel and wailed.
“’You might as well kiss another job good-bye,’” her husband had texted earlier. Martha strangled the creaky leather case protecting her dying phone. “I wouldn’t be in this mess if you had some ‘cents!’” A hearty chuckle arose from her belly.
“You did an excellent job, Martha.”
Martha bolted upright discerning God had spoken.
“Say what, Excellent? You ‘were’ dragged into that meeting, Lord, and witnessed everything?”
“In your weakness I am made strong.”
“Strong? I cried like a baby!”
“Was My Son a ’baby’?”
“Don’t you know your own Son, God? He had compassion. What’s that got to do with me? I’m nothing like Jesus!...” Martha’s eyes grew big, putting a hand over her mouth to muzzle her words.
“Compassion is transparent. Transparency is honest. Honesty is truth. I see you ‘in My Son. I stitched transparency into your genes.”
“Oh I’m a stitch alright! And I’m not spiritually fit to wear your genes,” peeling off her coat to cool off. “’What you see is what you get,’” people tell me.” she added painfully.
“You are defined, identified by My Spirit. And transparency is one of your credentials I use to manifest Myself to the world.
“People think I’m strange, Lord, when I’m ‘transparencing’. And I looked like a clown today clomping in two different shoes, one was my husband’s!”
“Yes, I enjoyed that. It pleased me you didn’t fling your shoes at the woman over the ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ comment.”
”Daughter, don’t beat yourself up. Transparency is refreshing. People hide their weaknesses; therefore, I can’t use them. Accept your weaknesses for My kingdom purposes, and others shall be lead by yours and My Son’s example.”
Martha wept a few remorseful tears. “I do want people saved, Lord”
Tugging at her black flaxen wig Martha pondered in the rear view mirror. “I actually resemble Jesus? Forgive me Lord, but Jesus wasn’t kept up 24/7 with his hormones ‘ping-pongin’ and I need work. Please help?”
“If I can employ you in the supernatural, I can employ you in the natural. I have heard your moving prayers. Forgive your husband and trust Me to turn ‘all’ things around.”
Viewing her status on-line the next day, joy bubbled up in Martha as she read. “‘Thank you…but you not right for the position…’”
“Well ‘consider this, Miss Interviewer,” Martha grinned, “You are not right for Miss Martha.”
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