my new job.

These past few days have been riddled with little miracles, for a lack of better terms. (I'm not going to try to pretend that I don't secretly like cliches.) Let me explain . . .

Three weeks ago I took a job with a non-profit organization that serves intellectually and developmentally disabled people. I received a lot of push back from people with things like: "Wow. That's, uh, an 'interesting' place . . ." and "Really? Are you sure that's what you want to be doing?" and "Well, if anything you'll get a good 'experience' from it." So naturally, I started to dread what was to come, asking myself what the hell I was getting into.

The first three days I came home from work and cried. I hated it. It was chaotic and overwhelming, not to mention I was preparing to send my fiance off to Africa for the next three months. So I was maybe a little edgy on top of it all . . . I meannnnn, can't blame a sister for that.

 The fourth day and following week improved tenfold. The turning point? Making contact with my consumers (or as I call them, "my clients").

I walked into the office one day wearing 4-inch pumps (they were tasteful, mind you) which made me about 6'2". One of my clients was sitting at a table with our Money Manager and as I walked by and said hello, she gave me the look of death. Now, even though I'd only met her twice before, I knew what that look actually meant. Her wheels were turning. "How tall you?" she exclaimed. "How tall do you think I am?" I responded. She sized me up, "5'10"." Pretty good. "Well I'm about 6-feet-tall with these shoes on. What do you think of that?" No response.

Next thing I know, she's marching into my office ordering me to "Stand up!" So I did . . . and towered over her 5-foot-high, 5-foot-around frame. "Ohhhh you tall. I short. I 5-1," she said, still sizing me up. "You're right, I am tall, but there's nothing wrong with being short, you know." So we compared shoes and joked around for a few minutes. Before she left, I invited her to walk in a charity 5K with me. Her face lit up, but she held steady (she's not one to give in easily). She told me she'd think about it and left with a, "Ooooo-K. I call you later." I knew what was coming.

A couple hours later I came back to my desk to a voicemail . . . "Don't forget call me back and put your voice in the machine pleeeeaaaase. OK? That thing you ask me? I wanna go with you. Yes. OK? OK. I will. OK. Bye. I like you better. You nice. Bye!" Having someone tell you they like you is one thing, but having someone for whom you're working to improve their life tell you they like you . . . is probably one of the best feelings in the world.

Today she called to tell me, with pride evident in her tone, that she had walked 2 blocks to the convenience store. That, is what I call a miracle in progress. And that's why I have a great job.