wannabe florist

I have a degree in Sociology. The deeply useful, guaranteed job security kind of Sociology. Also, the imaginary kind.

Through a couple of connections, I got a much-wanted internship in Governor Jindal's office where I felt like I worked hard to stand out so that I would be given a full time position once I graduated. Just like I thought I had done all through high school and college and camp life.

It's all about me here, clearly.

And when a move to South Carolina took away my [at least] four more years of "job security," I felt part "Hello, brave new [creative] world!" and part "I'll be on my couch looking for government desk jobs." That transitioned to me crying on that same couch after no responses to both government job inquiries and asking local florists if I could clean their buckets and sweep their floors. That was May through January.

And on my birthday [January 31st - mark your calendars], I, somewhat randomly, saw a post by the wonderful Sarah looking for an intern. And by the next Wednesday [after a good six days of barely eating because of nerves] I was a part of the wonderful Fern Studio.

Since then, Sarah has taught me things that my hilariously classic floral classes didn't. She's given me opportunities that I never would have imagined. She's trusted and encouraged me into a place where I am suddenly entrusted with my own events at times. My dream job. I can hardly believe it!

It was God's perfect timing and gracious will, an unbelievably generous mentor/boss lady, a patient and uplifting husband, a dad who has told me my entire life that I needed to be in a creative career [which I never believed], and a cheerleader of a mother.

I did nothing. I cried and whined some. I talked about how most goals in life had come easy. And then I remembered [and continue to remember] that my merits and my abilities and my talents are not my own. They were given to me for a purpose. And on my own they are useless. I was given this blessing of a job, and I am so undeserving.

A little day in the life: 

After being picked up from the cargo hanger, before processing each stem. 

The beginning of the design process. 

The inevitable disaster. 

The final product. 

I love knowing a bride will be holding this as she walks toward her groom!  

Packing up [for a small wedding]. 

Not pictured: lots of hauling buckets, dirty fingernails, sore feet, plenty of emails and phone calls, and beautiful venues and wedding parties. It's a dream!