AFTER graduating from college, I purchased a one-way ticket to Washington, DC. I'd studied political science and was interested in exploring career opportunities in the nation's capital.

But when I stepped off the plane at Dulles Airport, I felt unsettled at the prospect of building a new life. I'd left behind a community of friends and college professors I loved, to move to an unfamiliar city. For the next few months, I planned to sleep on a friend's couch and begin my job search.

Though I had a place to stay and some vague notion of what I wanted to do, I found the transition to be abrupt. I questioned my decision to move to a place where I had no family, hardly any friends, and no job, and struggled initially to get rid of the feeling that I couldn't recover the good in my life that I'd given up. But I began to discover that being stripped of things dear to me forced me to go higher in my spiritual understanding. I drew inspiration from a passage in Science and Health, which observes that "... severance of fleshly ties serves to unite thought more closely to God, for Love supports the struggling heart until it ceases to sigh over the world and begins to unfold its wings for heaven" (p. 57). To me, letting go of those "fleshly ties" meant trusting that the future was full of possibility because God was the source of good in my life. Being in this new city caused me to lean on God, who is divine Love, as I never had before.

This meant that I prayed regularly for insight and for humility to adjust the way I defined myself. The identity I'd forged, propped up by my academic pursuits at college, past friendships, and even extracurricular activities, wasn't necessarily relevant anymore. I realized that the identity I sometimes held to at school rested on things external to me; it was a "straw man," which lacked real substance or permanence. So I began to delve deeper to discern what was enduring and what it meant to have a spiritual identity. I was heartened by the encouraging idea that I could "work out the spiritual which determines the outward and actual," realizing this was the only pursuit that would bring true satisfaction (Science and Health, p. 254).

During this time, I conducted an untold number of job interviews. One day, having exhausted nearly every lead, I arranged to meet with a public policy organization of great interest to me. The organizations's president conveyed that my background would enable me to meaningfully contribute to their mission, but, after some pause, he admitted that he lacked the funding to hire me. I walked out of the office crestfallen. It was clear that no amount of effort on my part would produce a job offer. I retreated to the coffee shop next door and, through tears, confided in God: "I really can't accomplish this on my own. Shepherd, show me my next step."

I prayed further with ideas that had served as a recurring theme song for me during this time. They came from a favorite passage in Science and Health: "... whosoever layeth his earthly all on the altar of divine Science, drinketh of Christ's cup now, and is endued with the spirit and power of Christian healing" (p. 55). Laying my "earthly all," or my most earnest desires, on the altar meant I wholeheartedly entrusted these desires to God's care. The sacrifice required was not to give up on those desires, but to let go of the fear that there could ever be a moment, either in the past or in the future, in which God was not already providing for my every need.

Within ten minutes of sitting in this coffee shop, considering these ideas, I received a call on my cellphone. My resume had reached the desk of the public policy organization's vice president. (Apparently, the vice president had just visited the cafe in an unsuccessful attempt to find me.) He wanted to discuss arrangements that would enable me to begin working immediately. When I returned to his office, he made an official job offer, which I accepted with gratitude. He also explained why my resume had caught his eye: Unbeknownst to me, he'd previously participated in a conference series I'd help plan during my time at college.

Right around the same time, I moved into a huge house with five other young professionals, all of whom were engaged in interesting work, and who enriched my life even more.

Looking back on those first years after graduating from college, I've noticed four prevalent trends of thought, or "traps," that I had to address prayerfully. Doing this has helped me overcome mental roadblocks and grasp the continuity of God's goodness.

TRAP 1: Prospects for good are rooted in human circumstances.

Counteracting this lie with spiritual facts was certainly the underlying lesson in establishing myself in DC. The arrogance of the human intellect argued that my happiness depended on particular circumstances. Yet, when I gradually became more confident that "treasures in heaven" were the goal, and not transient joys or "treasures on earth" (see Matt. 6:19, 20), I was less tempted to latch onto familiar relationships or situations.

TRAP 2: Good is fleeting.

During periods of transition, the future can seem uncertain or predicated on chance. But understanding the reign of God helps illustrate for me that there is no delay in receiving God's goodness, no missed opportunities, no disruptive changeover, and no decay over time. I like to think about God as divine Principle, holding me "in the rhythmic round of unfolding bliss, as a living witness to and perpetual idea of inexhaustible good" (Miscellaneous Writings 1883-1896, p. 83).

TRAP 3: Achieving "all good" is unrealistic.

Science and Health speaks of "the possibility of achieving all good" and encourages us to "work to discover what God has already done" (p. 260). When the result of my prayers are not immediately seen, I've occasionally doubted whether or not I am deserving, and said, "Maybe I've set my sights too high. Who am I to hope for complete fulfillment at work, given that I've just entered the workforce? But the good in our lives is based not on who we think we are but on what God is. And God is not finite. I've kept returning to the idea that my entire life is governed by the law of good, in which there is no room for mediocrity or anything less than perfection.

TRAP 4: We must compete with others to secure our own good.

This false notion assumes that a person must vie with someone else, and that the success of one individual is at the detriment of another. When I first arrived in DC, I slipped into the pattern of comparing myself with those around me. But I knew the higher way was to "seek my own" in another's good (see I Cor. 10:24), not trying to carve out a life only for myself but to pursue those things that are spiritually worthwhile and to share them. I could celebrate the victories of my friends and colleagues, just as they celebrated mine, all of us honoring God in our own way.

I love the metaphor Jesus employs in the Gospel of John in the Bible, when he tells his disciples, "Say not ye, There are yet four months, and then cometh harvest? behold, I say unto you, Lift up your eyes, and look on the fields; for they are white already to harvest" (4:35). This characterizes my time after college.

Today, I still work for that same organization, where my responsibilities have continued to evolve and grow. When I glimpsed the unending good God was providing for me—and resolved to no longer look to the past—I was able to move forward with more confidence and gratitude.

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