Chapter 1
The Art of Uplifting Encouragement

My early twenties found me like most new college graduates—optimistic, well-educated, and completely aimless. All through my high school and college years I worked numerous odd jobs—from selling gym memberships to delivering furniture to driving a garbage truck. (I told my friends I worked in “waste management,” which sounded much nicer than “I sort people's trash.”) I eventually moved from throwing away people's stuff to selling people stuff, and after some years of various sales jobs, I landed a position as a financial advisor in the financial services industry, in a Fortune 100 firm with a branch office located in Iowa City, Iowa.

I quickly grew to love this new career. I enjoyed building relationships and the work itself was fulfilling. I started putting in long hours, showing up early and leaving late. I was eager to learn and loved seeking advice from those in the profession who had come before me.

Soon, my career became my identity. I woke up thinking about it, and I went to bed with it still on my mind. I began receiving awards and recognition, which motivated me further and fueled my drive. I was proud of my accomplishments in this new and exciting career. After a few years, I was promoted to a managerial role. At that time, I was the youngest person to be given such a high-level leadership role at the firm. I was sure this was the place for me—I had found my calling. I was young, deeply motivated, and energetic—intent on investing everything I had into building the illustrious future I knew would continue to flourish and grow.

Until the day that everything changed.

Have you ever heard the term “valley season?” If you are at all familiar with valleys, you know that they are often winding, unpredictable, ever-changing, and hard to see your way out of—much like the aptly named “valley seasons” of life. A valley season in life often brings with it a long, low emotional expanse between high points. A season that young, naïve me was about to enter.

The Beginning of the End—My Slow Descent into the Valley

It began with a text from my supervisor.

We'll call him Steve.

“I need to speak with you right away. It's very important, and I'm requesting you come in to my office at 8 o'clock tomorrow morning.”

You might think that my first reaction would have been to be terrified, but actually, I was more annoyed than anything (told you I was naïve). I was pretty busy with my work, and the meeting felt like an inconvenience.

I picked up my phone and texted Steve back:

Hey, I've got a busy morning of meetings, I'd prefer if we meet another time, if that's alright?

The response back was immediate.

“This is the kind of meeting you need to clear your calendar for,” it said. “I'll see you at 8 o'clock.”

My brain went into hyper drive. What could this be about? I didn't really think it could be about something I did. Maybe someone on my team had made a mistake? Yeah, that had to be it. Someone else had totally screwed up. Right?

Okay, so maybe I was a little bit terrified. I began revisiting every detail of my last several days, every little interaction I had, things I said, people I saw. Did I do something, and I wasn't aware of it? Was it something I said?

I felt sick.

Worst-case scenarios were coursing through my head. I knew exactly what I needed in that moment.

I took my phone out and called my dad.

My dad is a man of deep faith. He radiates a wisdom rooted in his wonderful, unshakable belief that God is always in control. It is a key part of his strength and tenacity and one of the reasons I have come to depend on him so much, especially in the hard moments.

“Hey Dad,” I said, and hardly able to contain myself, I started right in without giving him a chance to even say hi back.

“I got this really bizarre text from Steve, and it's super concerning and I can't really talk to him about it until tomorrow morning and I'm just totally stressed out and worrying—maybe people are upset with me?”

I continued to ramble. My father listened patiently. After some time, I stopped, waiting for his response.

He started, and then paused.

“I'm sorry son,” he said, finally, seeming to weigh every word carefully. “That seems hard, and unfair … but maybe God's trying to teach you something.”

Not exactly what I wanted to hear at the moment. He pressed on.

“You're healthy,” he said. “You have a lot of great people around you. You have a lot of reasons to be joyful and optimistic. Let's pray.”

And so, together we prayed. The day before one of the hardest days of my life, the day before everything I had—everything I knew myself to be—would crumble, the day before I experienced repercussions that would change the course of my life—I prayed with my father.

“God, we trust you, we trust you…”

But I continued to worry.

The Valley Floor—aka Rock Bottom

The next day, after a restless night, I woke up still feeling sick to my stomach. I called my dad again to check in, and we prayed together one more time.

God has a plan, I told myself.

I know there is a plan.

And this will all be okay.

… right?

My morning commute felt like a thousand miles, each mile stretching further and further, as though I was driving on a treadmill instead of a highway.

I walked in to the office with heavy feet and a stomach swimming with dread, and was greeted by Tracy, a familiar face.

“Hi Jordan,” she said, dryly. “Can I get you some coffee?”

Coffee.

It hardly registered. She might as well have been offering to fill my briefcase with chili, for all I noticed. All I could think about was how different she seemed. Normally, we would talk about life, chat about things going on in the office, maybe make a friendly joke. But not today.

Today was different. It was tangible.

The two excruciating minutes I spent in that lobby were the longest two minutes of my life. It felt like I was sitting there for years. Suddenly the seat I was in was uncomfortable. My senses were on overdrive. It was hot, and stuffy, and it smelled like leather. A fly was buzzing, hitting the window. Bzz, bzz, bzz, tap, tap, tap.

Steve walked into the lobby.

He's lean, confident. He has a sense of understated power.

Usually, he'd say something dry and sarcastic. But there is only:

“Hey, Jordan.”

I looked at him, he and Tracy like statues, and I felt like I had shown up to a party where everyone was invited and knew what was going on, except for me.

He gestured toward the door, and I walked into a little side conference room, with four chairs around a small rectangular table. The blinds were drawn—why are the blinds drawn?—and I was sure the thermostat must have been set to 90. There were harvest landscape paintings. Dim lighting. Everything was meant to be warm, inviting, homey, but instead it just felt dark, dusty, suffocating.

We sat down, and Steve turned to face me.

His face was rigid and unsmiling. “I'm sorry, Jordan,” he began. “But I need to warn you now, this is going to be pretty uncomfortable for you.”

My heart was nearly pounding out of my chest. Thump thump, thump thump, thump thump.

For the first time, I noticed a large folder sitting on the table. Steve opened it.

It felt like a police investigation.

An incredibly thorough police investigation.

The folder was full of documents.

Text messages.

Emails.

Receipts.

All put together, printed out, and—

I wasn't prepared for this. I wasn't prepared for any of it. I was now visibly sweating, why is it so hot in here?

The room started to spin.

“Jordan,” my name sounded caustic coming out of his mouth. “Where were you when you completed this assessment on December 9th?”

My tongue felt swollen. My mouth dry. My palms sweaty.

I tried to speak, and my voice croaked.

“I-I, I don't know.”

My face was turning red, I could feel it.

Steve started asking more questions.

And more questions.

And more questions.

And all I could muster was “I don't know.” I mean, who remembers where they were at random dates and random times?

“We track VPN logins,” Steve said. “And we can tell where you logged in from. Your computer was not logged in when you took this test. We verified that someone else took this test on your behalf.”

He was right. It was no use pretending otherwise.

“Yes, that happened.”

Steve nodded, then glanced at me.

Tears were spilling down my face. Steve quickly looked away, shuffling through the papers.

More questions followed. More mistakes came to the surface.

I knew that in my quest to grow my career I had been careless and casual—that much was clear now.

I felt like I was dying.

It was pretty obvious what was about to happen, but I couldn't think about it....