why i quit my job, part ii.

I act like Jef Holm inspired me to quit my job, and although that would make a funny -- and slighly pathetic -- dinner party anecdote, it's not entirely true.

The truth is, I never wanted to quit my job. I just wanted God to move. I wanted Him to force me into action, to help me get my groove back, to highlight opportunities my eyes hadn't been able to see.

A few days after Jordan left for his mission trip to Venezuela, our minister spoke about acknowledging and taking responsibility for our wealth. We are the ones God is speaking to in His word, the ones who have to be careful not to let their possessions -- their jobs, their incomes -- own them. We are responsible for caring for the least of these, for sacrificing what the world sees as valuable, for acknowledging we are renters here, not owners.

It was convicting and heartbreaking, and it made me realize: I don't want to remember my 20s for the cute furniture I bought. (Even though I love cute furniture.)

I want to look back on my 20s and know I made decisions based on the God I serve and the story I want to tell.

When Jordan got back from Venezuela, I had my mini-meltdown. We began to pray for opportunities. That was a Thursday.

The following Saturday, I received an email from the owner of my favorite local bookseller: She needed someone to help run the Tallahassee branch, and she wanted to know if I was interested in interviewing.

I thought I might wet my pants.

Instead, I scheduled an interview, and after countless prayers, long talks with my husband, multiple meetings with my boss, and yes, a pro/con list or two, I quit my job. 

Last week, I turned in my two weeks' notice as a writer and editor for a legal publication, and next week, I'll begin my work as a local bookseller.

Donald Miller says the best way to lead others in living a better story is to live a better story yourself. 

That's what I'm trying to do. 

It wasn't necessarily an easy decision. Sure, I've always wanted to be Kathleen Kelly, but I've never worked retail. As a child, my wrapping paper sales were always dismal, resulting in my aunt's pity and her annual order of multiple rolls just to take the whole thing off my hands. I am quiet and laidback, not exactly your typical salesperson. I had a steady, reliable income, with benefits and paid time off and sick leave.

And despite the fact that this out-of-the-blue opportunity couldn't have been clearer than the burning bush itself, I fought God a little bit on it.

I wanted to be practical. I wanted to be wise. So I tried to convince my current employer to allow me to work part-time there and part-time at the bookstore.

It was a no-go, and my plans took a punch in the gut.

If I was going to do this, I was going to have to jump in all the way, full-time, not necessarily understanding the ins and outs of the result.

It's hard, isn't it, to let go of understanding and to just trust that Someone else is going to take care of you?

I know running a bookstore is hardly equivalent to building wells in Africa. It's not helping the homeless or meeting a "least of these" need.

But it's taking care of children, encouraging them to laugh and be silly, to read and turn words into imaginings. It's a slightly more flexible schedule, giving me time to serve friends and family in capacities I wasn't previously able. It's supporting the economy of my community and boosting local business.

It's what I've wanted to do since I was a 12-year-old girl watching Meg Ryan hang twinkle lights in the window. 

It's choosing to put passions over finances, and I think that's a legacy one day, I'll be really proud of, no matter what happens to the little bookstore in midtown Tallahassee. 

My decision-making process includes a lot of questions. One of the first ones I always ask is what my 16-year-old self would think. I ask, because I like her, and I want to know if she'd like me. I trust her opinion, and I want to know if she's happy with who she sees, with who she's become. 

This is one of those decisions I'm confident 16-year-old Annie would be so proud of. 

When I look back on my 20s -- when my children ask and want to know -- I want to have made a difference. I want to have more than cute furniture and a nice home and a semi-stylish wardrobe. I want to look back and know I took some leaps of faith.

Last week, I quit my job. Next week, I'm going to be selling books, conducting storytimes, and scheduling author readings.

Isn't life just so incredibly wild? Aren't we just so incredibly lucky?