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Today was a good day. I awakened to a gentle rain and the sound of my canine friend trying to rouse me from slumber. After taking care of Missy’s immediate need for breakfast and a trip outdoors, I decided to head to my new favorite place to hang out in the downtown area, The Rustic Cow. I exited my car, and turned to walk toward the coffee shop/ice cream parlor to write my column when the thought occurred to me to turn around and visit Newport’s paper.

I whispered a prayer asking God for His favor, put on my mask, and entered the historic building. In bold lettering I noticed a sign which stated “We are not taking job applications,” but I politely asked anyway.

“I couldn’t help but notice the sign, but I’m new to the area and write a column for papers in south Mississippi and Louisiana. I just thought I would check to see if you guys could use a columnist.”

Much to my surprise the friendly receptionist smiled and asked me to sit a moment while she talked to the publisher. Soon a man with kind eyes that crinkled in the corners when he smiled ushered me into his office.

I introduced myself, and shared a little of my background. We chatted amicably for a few minutes, and before I knew it the door had opened for perhaps both freelance work and a column.

It amazes me how God puts His children in the right place at the right time. Turns out one of the paper’s staff writers had just retired, and they were currently short-handed, so my turning up literally on their doorstep at this moment appeared to be providential.

Even though I now write regularly for three papers, and am extremely fortunate to have some loyal readers who reach out to me from time to time with encouraging words, my heart still skipped a beat. The questions tumbled through my brain.

“What if they don’t enjoy my writing?”

“Do I want to put my heart out there once again?”

Then that still small voice reminded me that I had asked for favor. It had been granted so it was now up to me to shrink back in timidity and fear or embrace every new door that my Father saw fit to open.

So here I go, like any new kid on the playground, stepping up to the plate and hoping they like me. Sometimes you just have to look past the do not enter sign and wait for the door to open.

Jan Penton Miller can be reached at lilsisjan@yahoo.com.