It’s a stiff punch to the gut that knocks you to your knees.

Have you ever had the experience of having your employer say: “I’m afraid we’re going to have to let you go”.

I’ve been there, done that.

Twice.

I was painfully reminded of those job losses this week. My company (a television station) made three “budget cuts”. Thankfully, I wasn’t one of them this time. But the flashback was reminder enough about how fleeting “job security” can suddenly become.

In these uncertain economic times, maybe your company or employer is also cutting back. It’s a sad reality of the sliding stock market, soaring jobless rate and overall malaise of the world economy.

I know it must also be difficult or perhaps even painful for employers tasked with making the cutbacks.  But too often the cynical side of me pictures management as some uncaring beast that pays me a dollar and expects a buck and a half worth of performance.

Management too often doesn’t see faces and families in the bottom lines of those balance sheets.

I stood outside the back door with two colleagues and friends this week. Both learned they were “cutbacks”.  We’re talking termination, pink slips, severance pay. Fired. Layoffs is perhaps the more PC descriptive term favored by those making the cuts. But it’s simply putting lipstick on a pig.

My mind raced back to those earlier, personal experiences and accompanying emotions.

Anger. Shock. Resentment. Dispair.

Even if you know your company is cutting back or thinking of slicing jobs, few of us really consider we might be the ones.

One of my friends who just lost his job has been in the business for well over a decade and has a newborn baby at home. He was angry.

The other is much younger and fairly new to the media business.  He was upset.

Losing your job sucks. As men, I believe we are hard wired to assume that place as “bread winner” and “provider” for the family. That’s even in cases where the wife makes more than you do. (that’s a blessing by the way)  But that loss of job makes us question our own abilities. It can prey on your mind, trust me.  But only if you let it.

I don’t pretend to tell you there’s any easy way to deal with losing your job if you suddenly become the budget cut. There are no easy steps or standard answers about “what to do now”.  But I do know it’s not the end of the world, even though my two friends were probably feeling that this week.  I understand. I empathize. I shook hands with both, patted them on the back and assured them they would make it through this. I doubt they believed me at the moment.

About those earlier, personal experiences. The first time I became “the budget cut” was perhaps the epitome of poor timing. I learned I was fired the first day I returned to work following my honeymoon.  That’s right. My honeymoon.

You can probably imagine the conversation with my wife that evening:  “Hi honey. How was your day?”   “Not too good”. My wife was probably thinking, “Did I really marry this loser?”.

In hindsight, the timing of that particular job loss could have been even worse.  Imagine if I’d know BEFORE my honeymoon.  I’m guessing the wonderful time we enjoyed in the Bahamas wouldn’t have been quite as wonderful. See, it could have been worse.

The second time I lost my job, we had a young baby at home.  The loss was just as difficult. But it did allow me to spend a few precious weeks with my newborn daughter. That was time that I cherish. Thankfully, my job stable wife was still gainfully employed. By the way, accounting trumps reporter for job security. Everytime.

After a few weeks of looking for a media job that second firing, I ended up selling cars for a brief time.  I don’t recommend it. Nothing personal if you’re a car salesman. But it’s not for me.  The only real benefit (aside from a couple decent paychecks) was that I proably lost 20 pounds running around on the blacktop lot at Mike Shad Ford in Jacksonville, Florida that steamy summer.

God has a hand in all aspects of our life. Even when we choose not to believe it. Even in those darkest of days when the pink slip is still fresh in the hand.

It’s easy enough to throw up your hands in despair. To give up. To get drunk. To question your self worth.

Forget that stuff.

I’m not saying you’re not entitled to a pity party of some length and description. But then lift your head up, wipe the dust off your feet and move forward.

Jobs that I’ve lost were tragic at the time.

Now, with the benefit of passing years, hindsight and hopefully some acquired wisdom, I see what they really were.

Stepping stones. Life experiences.

Opportunities to encounter God in ways you might have thought unimaginable.

- STEVE

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