Chapter Thirty Three – “Part Of The Plan”

A lot has happened recently, so let me bring things up to date.

Back on the fifth, in my ever-continuing saga of job hunting and interviews, I attended a radiography assessment at the local hospital. This was to precede a potential interview, and was deemed the fairest way of determining the final candidates. As I was waiting, there was a girl from my year who was also attending for the assessment. We had both been on placement there, so I figured our being known in the department would play to our advantage.

The assessment took the form of six written questions, all relatively easy to answer. Thanks to my preparation, I immediately noticed the familiarity of some of the topics, and I answered the questions with confidence. Even though I was well aware of the layout of the department, I decided to stay for the tour afterwards. Not only did it show keenness, I also had the opportunity to ask questions, and maybe learn something new. On walking around the department I was commended for asking a very smart question (involving the use of film for dental x-rays, when previously we’d been told that we now used digital cassettes), and shortly afterwards one man – who I’d worked alongside previously – asked why I was on the tour, as I was already known. The response came (not from my mouth), “He’s probably just catching up on all the goss!” I made no response, not wishing to show myself up. I simply smiled, and then we continued on the tour.

Feeling that the morning had been a success, I went into the afternoon in a positive mood, and happily spent a few hours working in the charity shop.

I found out a few days later that I had been successful with the assessment, and had been invited back for the interview the following week. It was all going well, and I couldn’t have been happier.

The rest of the week passed by normally, although there was the celebration of a ‘Stag Do’ meal on the Saturday night. (Though, having said that, even these events have become commonplace lately!) On the Sunday however, my usual routine made a definite change, as instead of making my way to Church I headed with a fully loaded suitcase to the train station. The rain had just begun, and I sincerely hoped that it wouldn’t be like that when I arrived in Axminster. The reason for this journey was to attend and celebrate the baptism of one of the newest family members, the new son of two of my cousins. My uncle would be leading the service, and had invited me to sing ‘Panis Angelicus’ (which has since been ingrained in my memory), and do the Bible reading. In addition to finally meeting the bump (see Chapter Twenty Four – “Christmas”), I was all set for an enjoyable day. What’s more, as I hadn’t heard back from my Kent job regarding a start date (something which would in most circumstances, be frustrating), I was able to stay overnight and not worry about having to rush off mid-celebration. I could relax and enjoy the occasion.

On my arrival the sun was shining, and I was soon met at the station and driven to our family cottage. Something akin to those ‘chocolate box’ cottages, it used to be the home of my grandparents until they passed away, and has since been modernised (with the main addition being a conservatory) to make a beautiful home for my uncle and aunt. I hadn’t returned there since they had properly moved in, so it was nice to see them finally settled. I was treated to a simple lunch of cold pork and salad, and two bananas (pushing the boat out, a bit), before I headed to the church with my uncle for the service rehearsal.

First my cousins and the new godparents went through their roles, after which those of us who were singing rehearsed the song. There was a last minute switch-around, which meant we were not being accompanied by a harp, but by an organ. However, this considered, and the short time with which we had to practice, it sounded pretty good. It occurred to me that this was to be my first experience of an infant baptism service, as well as the first time singing alongside my uncle, also a bass. I was excited to get the service underway. After we had run through the song a couple of times, I stood at the door with the programmes, welcoming those who were arriving. Among the guests and family, was another of my cousins, carrying her own little one – an adorable girl, who would, over the course of the next few hours, fluctuate between periods of loud crying and silent awe as she took in her surroundings for the first time; something that is so beyond our learned comprehension.

The baptism service went smoothly, with a good explanation of the Christian message and the purpose baptism had to play in the Christian walk. I was interested to see how an infant baptism was explained, as the child was obviously too young to decide for himself. I likened it to a dedication service, where the parents promised to bring the child up in a godly atmosphere. My reading was clear, and I hoped so was my singing, but it felt like such an honour to play a big part in the service. I felt privileged to be a part of this family, and stand in for my parents, who for different reasons, were unable to attend.

After the service, we all returned to the cottage for refreshments and a chance for conversation and photographs. Although I didn’t speak to a wide range of people, I got into a few interesting conversations – one with John our photographer, who had lived in Devon, and knew of West Buckland School. I also shared about my university course, future plans and upcoming interview with people, showing my St George’s cufflinks to illustrate my story. Occasionally I would approach someone unfamiliar to engage in conversation, and their opening would come “You probably won’t remember me, but...” or “You were only this big when I last saw you”, which gave me a strange feeling. Although I was often taken aback, it also reminded me that I was very much part of the furniture, despite my overseas origin.

Later in the evening I saw the ‘Family Bible’ laid out in the drawing room. This, despite the name, was not in fact a Bible (though there were numerous copies around, as would suit my uncle’s profession), but a detailed catalogue of the family tree – my mother’s side. The thickness of the volume, and the numerous names and pen strokes made me wonder how many generations and hands this book had passed through. Laid out next to the book, were the new names to be inscribed. How amazing to continue the family line. I began to ponder my own relation in this family – a ‘first cousin once removed’, according to Mark.

Quickly looking back, I realise this chapter is already getting lengthy. Therefore, I shan’t dwell on the rest of my visit, although it must be said that I make a good ‘manny’ (male nanny). This was demonstrated when the baby girl (note that the baby being baptised was a boy), fell asleep in my arms as I cradled her the following morning. It was definitely a special feeling.

Now I jump forward to Wednesday, the day of the interview. As I waited in the waiting area of the department, alongside other candidates, it was encouraging to see familiar faces wordlessly welcoming me back, with a nod of acknowledgement or a smile in my direction. Here was a place I was liked, and I wondered about the prospect of working in such an environment. My reverie was interrupted by a tap on the shoulder and a voice saying, “I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to move, sir”. As I was about to move, I looked up and saw the friendly face of one of the assistants, who I don’t think I recall having properly spoken to before. We happily spent a few minutes talking about our previous experience of interviews and the challenge of obtaining feedback after being unsuccessful. As he left, he wished me all the best in the interview, and said he hoped to see me around again. I hoped so, too.

When I was finally summoned (they were running about twenty five minutes late, though I think I was the last candidate, so it probably didn’t matter too much) I was faced with the routine identity checks, and a brief description of the interview process. What followed were six relatively simple scenario-based questions, asking me what I would do in a particular situation within the department. I gave clear, reasoned answers to all the questions, although the answers weren’t to be classified as ‘right’ or ‘wrong’. I continued to have the feeling of confidence as I responded, believing that my familiarity with the hospital and my living locally would work in my favour. I had prayed prior to the interview that God would go ahead of me, so I felt that whatever I said, God was ultimately in control. But I really hoped for the best.

I was informed that I would hear back from them by the ‘close of play’ (the end of the day), and they confirmed my mobile number with me. I went on to spend time working in the charity shop that afternoon, with the happy expectation of good news by the end of it. But as time passed by, and I had neither received a phone call (or an email, as I discovered on returning home), I was beginning to think the worst. I tried to reason with myself as to the various reasons why I may not have heard, not wanting to believe that I hadn’t been successful. It helped to talk with Christian friends that evening, who prayed with me, about the eventual outcome.

Another day passed, and still there was no news. I was reassured by a friend that the decision process took more time than they had told me, from her previous experience. Still I hoped for the best.

On Friday morning I received an email from the hospital, directing me to a message on the job website. As I came to open the message, I prayed that God would prepare me to hear the worst. However, as I clicked the link and the message appeared, it was still a shock to see the words ‘I am afraid you have not been successful this time’. A lot of thoughts came into my mind at that point, not least what it was that had ultimately swayed their decision. I also realised that I would have to inform my friends who had wanted to know, thus leading to their disappointment. But sharing the outcome had a positive effect, in that I was repeatedly reassured that God had good plans for me (Jeremiah 29v11), and that there was always a better job ahead. It was difficult to understand how my not being successful could be the better option, seeing as the other path was currently silent and unpredictable. Or why I had been through the whole assessment and interview experience, if only to be turned down at the end of it. Was this all just a lesson in trusting God?

I soon realised that I was unable to see the whole picture, and had to admit that God knew best, and had a larger perspective than me. No matter how strange or difficult things may seem now, I have come to realise that it’s all part of the plan - His plan.

What next, Lord?