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The job market is still tough. You must do something to break through the drudgery a hiring manager is experiencing as he goes through cover letter after bland cover letter. (Trust me, I just read through 80 resumes for a position we needed filled).

My recent job landing came through unique efforts and opportunities. It all started with my creative cover letter.

I was determined to have a unique, humorous approach to my job search. I started a temporary Facebook account in which I loaded in the content I wanted, did a screen capture. I then edited the screen capture with Photoshop mock-up of a Facebook wall and used humorous status updates that reflected the true value I could bring as employee. After converting this to a pdf, I then attached this creative cover letter to my traditional cover letter, and my resume and began launching it out. I made sure the title on the pdf file of the creative cover letter had a catchy title. I experimented with different titles including Whacky Cover Letter, Unorthodox Cover Letter, Funny Cover Letter, Facebook Cover Letter,etc. on different launches.

The Results

I had for some time sent out a serious cover letter and resume into the black hole of monster.com. Five days after creating the cover letter, I, on a whim, decided to check craigslist for some freelance copywriting opportunities. I came across the opportunity for a social media manager position at a mid-cities public relations agency. I shot my creative cover letter out on a Saturday  morning and within 15 minutes had a call back from the company COO. He asked if I could come into their boutique public relations firm for an interview for their social media manager position. During the interview, it didn’t take long for me and the COO to realize I was a “wee bit” overqualified for the position. As we ended our interview, the COO mentioned that he felt for some reason, I really needed to meet his wife, the company CEO. Two days later that meeting happened, and she led off the conversation saying the creativity visible in the cover letter compelled her to meet with me. Her staff had vetted me and she was impressed. I was made an offer on the spot to become Senior Account Executive.

Lessons to draw upon.

Be creative. Do something to set yourself apart. Consider an add-on to your traditional cover letter.

Be willing to use atypical channels (yes, craiglist even).

Don’t fall into the myth that you have to know someone within the company. While it does help, it isn’t always necessary. I had absolutely no connections to anyone within the public relations firm.

Keep up your hope with hope (help one person everyday while you job searching).

Take the interview even if it is a company you’d like to work with but not the exact position you desire. On the other hand, if it is the exact position you want but in a company you’d never want to work for, skip it, unless you merely want to practice interviewing. Get in the door of your preferred companies or businesses, shine in the interview, and trust God with the details.

Jesus Christ left the riches of heaven to come to the squalor of earth, lived a life in perfect obedience and union with the Father. He was crucified to undo the sinful affects of the Fall and our own failures, was buried, and resurrected from the dead. He now sits at the right hand of the Father as our advocate. He will return to establish a new earth. (If this all sounds farfetched see tomorrow’s post on great reads on the rationality of Christianity). This was not merely to perform an act within history, but so that you and I could be ADOPTED into a new spiritual family. If you are a Jesus follower, celebrate your radical adoption like Meredith, with overflowing gratitude.

For all who are led by the Spirit of God are sons of God. 15 For you did not receive the spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you have received the Spirit of iadoption as sons, by whom we cry, “Abba! Father!” The Spirit himself bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God, and if children, then heirs—heirs of God and fellow heirs with Christ… The Apostle Paul Romans 8

So why should you then be encouraged to begin your New Year’s Resolutions now?

1. Starting early will ease the psychological tension to see your resolution as an all or nothing proposition. If you miss a day at the gym, keeping all your financial records up to date,  or steal a smoke, you won’t throw in the towel as quickly by telling yourself, “See I knew this would never work.” Instead, tell yourself, “I am moving towards _________ (you fill in the blank, smoke free living, healthier living, a more God centered life, et al.), and I had a setback today but am getting up and moving forward.”
2. Starting now allows you to view the desired action as an experiment rather than a resolution. You can tell yourself, “I am going to try this for a month and see the results. At the end of the month, I will decide if this is a realistic resolution.”
3. Stops you from etching another 30 days of negative habits into your mind. Psychologists have shown that we are creatures of habit. The sooner you begin slight disruptions in negative habits, the better.

So begin your experiment today by filling in this blank: The one change I could make which would most make a difference in the way I want my life to look is______________________. (By God’s grace, of course).

 What is your blank?

If you are a smart business person, you realized the potential for this and threw a small tube of Preparation H into your toiletries. You see, no pun intended, Preparation H isn’t merely for the lower regions. This lovely shark oil substance is an inflammation shrinking cream that works wherever you apply it. So a small dab on your finger spread under those tired eye will begin shrinking the bags. I suggest applying it 30 minutes before you shower and letting it sit. Be diligent not to get it in your eye ball or tear duct, as that will create red eyes, which will lead your client to other conclusions. Make sure you wash it off before you leave the hotel room or you risk looking like a prize heavyweight fighter at your meeting. (I also suggest using a separate tube for your eyes if you are also a hemorrhoid sufferer, as it just seems a little risky to use the same tube for both.)

Where did I get this tip? Early morning news anchors often use this little under eye perk up trick to look their best.

Finally, a little relational advice. I wouldn’t mention this practice. Once I was at a church giving a message, afterwards someone saw me in the hall and said, “You look a little tired today.” To which I responded, “Yeah, I forgot the Preparation H.” Her mouth hit the floor and I was in a hurry for the next message and had to head back towards the platform. I tried to find her after the second service but couldn’t. To this day she probably thinks, “TMI, that guy is weird and we are looking for a new church.” Still, it works.

Jordan P Fowler Cover Letter-FB Style | Click to open in your web browser. Magnify if necessary.

Here is my cover “letter” I am using for my current job search. It is a jpeg link that opens in a prospective employer’s browser. The jpeg has the look of a facebook page complete with humorous status updates that all contain a subtle ‘value add’ I bring.

(Disclosure: The text you read above has an embedded subconscious message telling you to ‘call jordan now at 817/889.1487 to schedule his interview .’  If you know someone who needs a marketing/business development person or strategic processes and leadership, send them my resume and a link to the FB cover letter or my more serious, professional cover letter if they are a bit more dour).

‘I can handle this, I am a pencil-necked-aerobic-death-machine,’ recalling a nomenclature ascribed me long ago when my 6’4″ frame weighed a mere 145 lbs.

‘Plus, I have my heart rate monitor to forewarn me of problems. I’ll be okay,’ I told myself in an attempt of self-persuasion.

I considered my route, fully known that if I chose incorrectly I could very well be entrapped in a web of tumbleweed .

‘Perhaps a cruise down Park Vista under the sweet overhanging trees? Yes, that is it.’

I wasn’t 30 seconds in until I realized the sun had set itself up at a wicked trajectory mocking any limb that sought to offer the solace of shade. The grass withered brown and bent having received a deadly kiss of napalm. At one minute, my mouth tongue began to stick to the roof of my mouth and my mind seriously voiced its doubts as to the success of this endeavor. But I am not faint of heart!

‘I am tougher than this. I am a Texan born and bred.’ (and possibly from this effort Texas dead my ever fading will reminded).

I begin to notice a few dead birds, scattered along the edges of the concrete trail. They had succumbed to the heat with no worries of any dog, vulture, or ant braving thermal meltdown to retrieve their sizzling carcasses. But what is this? One of them was not completely done for. His head lifted limply toward me and hoarsely whispered to me, ‘Save yourself man.’

‘Yes, I should.’

Wait, what was this…A talking bird? What is happening?

‘Fight through it, one foot in front of the other. Hands loose. Mind tight.’

When I ran competitively in my 20′s, one of my motivating mantras on a particularly hard run was, ‘If you want to beat the Kenyans, you must train like the Kenyans.’

I would utter this while imagining their lean, dark bodies wafting across the desert floor with sinewed calved from numerous jaunts over sand dunes. I, with youthful certainty, knew a brutal heat based training regime would enable me to beat them. But I am in my 20′s no longer. I am now in the long-toothed 40′s (very early albeit). I am smarter now, despite this exercise in stupidity, and now realize through age-gained-wisdom that the high temperatures in Kenya hover around an agreeable 85 degrees and there are few if any deserts there. For all those years, the Kenyans were probably laughing at me saying, ‘Look at the stupid American pummel himself in his training so much that he will never be able to match my mid-race surge.’ Now in this moment I faced decision. (1)Conjure up a new nemesis who lives in a brutal climate (Ethiopians anyone?), (2)convince myself that Kenyan meteorologists are highly ineffective thermometer readers, or (3)to demur my self-generated plot line of defeating Kipchoge Keino. The heat chose my fate . . . 3.

‘This is ridiculous,’ I thought, slowing as Keino kicks past me off my shoulder, dashing all hopes of a medal in my fictitious 5,000 meters.

Now running in the stark reality of a Texas August, A Marley-esque mirage  of a man (Jacob, not Bob) shimmered off the pavement in front of me. I had trouble pinning an identification on this character until I was in conversing distance.

Who should it be but Al Gore, wrapped in chains made from recycled aerosol cans. Not knowing how to approach a globally green ghost, I assumed I should follow the traditional Dickens’ script:

‘Al,’ I  said, imploringly.  ‘Old Al Gore, tell me more.  Speak comfort to me, Al!’

‘I have none to give,’ the Ghost of Gore replied in a strangely Kyoto like accent.

‘Elven years dead from your failed candidacy,’ I mused.  ‘And traveling all the time?!’

‘The whole time,’ said the Ghost.  ‘No rest, no peace.  Incessant torture of remorse.’

‘You travel fast?’ I  said.

‘On the wings of all wind untapped as alternative fuel sources,’ replied the Ghost.

‘And what message do you have for me?’ I panted.

‘That a Republican is obviously going to win the next Presidential election based on the gruesome economic forecasts.’

‘And what means this?’ I asked.

‘Well, obviously this will lead to more grave climate change. It’s a scientific fact that any Republican elected raises surface temperatures by 3 degrees , ‘ hissed Al with an echo of Floridian venomous revenge.

‘And what should I do?’

‘Invest in thermal protection blankets for future resale and most definitely give up this vain attempt at exercise.’, answered Gore.

Realizing that I could not truly be encountering a Democratic presidential-type poltergeist, I pinched myself and awakened from my heat induced stupor only to realize I was talking to the rusted side post of a soccer goal. Granted the pole was similar in personality to Al Gore, but this was not overly comforting to me on my current mental state.

‘Fight on,’ I told myself, picking up my run for another quarter mile.  But I soon succumbed to temptation, entering the doors of my neighborhood Wal-Mart which automatically welcomed me as the Walton family’s chilled, unhumid air beckoned me like a Greek Siren. The sweet waters of the  dancing H20 fountains soon glistened on my parched lips, gulp after gulp of cool refreshment regenerating my soul. This was to be my oasis. A respite from this ridiculous endeavor.

And in that moment of cool sanity, I made a simple decision.

I gave myself permission to walk home.

And what a good decision it was.

To live to run another day. Probably about October.

Day two featured a day in the Fiesta water park. Thank goodness all the thrill rides there had a 48″ limit. As we exited the park that day, we passed a baby perhaps a year-and-a-half old crying its lungs out. Landry Kate turned to Piper and exclaimed, “I’ll bet that baby is crying because he’s too short to ride big rides.” Classic.

Two Mondays ago, I completed a multi-hour workout that included running, rowing and lifting. A stupid act at my age. Afterwards, I felt I had pulled a muscle in my lower back. Piper, my ever loving bride, reminded me that I needed to be careful not to overdo it because I always regretted it soon afterwards. I mumbled something in reply about being spry and went on with my day. That night as we drove from a friend’s home, that pulled muscle  more intensely cramped up. The pain quickly surpassed that of a cramping muscle as I rocked to and fro, heaving cilantro salad into a plastic bag from the passenger’s seat of the loser-cruiser/mini-van as Piper asked me repeatedly if I needed to go to the emergency room. (She also instructed me to stop holding my breath in what might have been some type of labor coaching payback.)

With shaky fingers, I texted a nephrologist friend. That’s a kidney doc for all of us non-medical types, not as another friend thought, someone who does unseemly things with dead people. He asked me where it hurt and I gave him the poorly clarified, ‘above my tailbone.’ He pointed out that was not where my kidney was. (If I had my full wits about me I surely would have said, ‘hip bone’ instead, which would have surely provided a more accurate diagnosis.) Perhaps it was “bad gas” he stated in an doctorly tone.  Like him, I had my doubts about it being a kidney stone thinking that this hurt but it could not be the worst pain ever. Instead I thought on his diagnosis wondering, ‘If this amount of gas is truly in me, then am I in danger of combusting should I walk too close to an open flame?’

In the meantime, my wife had called my bro-in-law doc and described more accurately where the pain was. As they conversed, we arrived at home and I clambered upstairs clutching my back during the Everest like summit.  I proceeded to the restroom attempted the act necessary to relieve oneself of a stone and . . . nothing. Piper relayed Jay’s information stating that if I went to the ER they would give me pain medicine, perhaps a CT scan, and then have me lay there drinking water– something I could do at home. (Of course this decision was reinforced by the fact that I hate hospitals and had just seen the hospital bill for Corbin’s broken arm which he describes as his doctor told him, ‘my hand broke off my arm and was held on by skin.’) So I decided this was going to be a night of sucking it up and big savings.

I took a pain pill I had left over from a previous medical encounter (bro-in-law approved). Funny how you comparatively question your pain threshold in such moments. I remembered asking, ‘I wonder how Chuck Norris would react to a kidney stone?’ which soon drifted to, ‘I wonder if this hurts more than a Chuck Norris roundhouse directly to the kidney?’ . . . a sure signs the pain pill was doing something. I wafted off to the land of semi-sleep.

The next couple of days were strange. The pain was not as sharp. I only felt a soreness in my lower back when I bent over or climbed the stairs. Middle aged?  I even ran one day trying to ‘loosen things up.’  (Not recommended.) I began to think I had either a spastic back muscle or kidney. I killed all coffee consumption and began to pound water like a camel at an oasis, just in case it had been a stone.

‘Had been’ was definitely the wrong verb tense at that point. On Friday night the pain returned only to slowly dissipate during the day on Saturday. On Sunday night, we had several friends over. One of them had described the agony of his stone and spoken of vice grips and male parts. I surely didn’t feel like that. But as the night wore on,  my misery returned at monumental levels. As soon as the company left,  I  crawled across the cold tile bathroom floor reaching upwards to the counter as my hands groped for the comforting feel of the Loratab bottle. I don’t normally make it a habit to take pain pills. There was no question this night.

I lay in bed quietly moaning, clutching the sheets, and apologizing to Piper for putting her into labor three times as I felt as if a hot ice pick was being twisted into my kidney. I counted the hours, minutes and seconds until the next allowed dosage, finally cheating the time by 30 minutes (those who judge me for this have obviously never stoned).

The next morning I awoke giving up the routine that had gone on for a full week now, going thru the strainer. Surely this was some type of kidney infection. The pain had subsided by this point, but during the act I felt something strange as I heard a faint splish into the toilet. What an anticlimactic moment! I had expected an internal fireworks show preceding this grand event. Instead all I got was a splish??? I looked into the toilet to see my ‘friend’ laying there mocking me. After the sterile removal of the stone, I showed it in all its magnificence to Piper remarking that I was thinking of getting mounted as a solitaire on a ring. She disagreed saying, ‘Look at the spikes on that thing’ as she took it to my bro-in-law for biopsy. I had heard of multiple-stone-sufferers and begged my Creator that I had no more of those Staghorned-Satans within me. Thankfully I have not, though my water consumption has continued in epic proportions.

The Positives. I have now joined ‘the club.’ Those few souls who have experienced the worst physical pain known to mankind. I have learned the secret handshake which involves clutching a kidney whilst shaking hands with clammy palms. After experiencing a kidney stone, I figure all future pain must be like the second hill on a rollercoaster. Survivable.

A chance for us to “mend walls” happened to us recently as we had fence failure from wind on two fronts.

We are all chipping in to get the fence repaired. But part of me is sad about that. Since it has been down we have had more impromptu conversations with our neighbors than before. My back neighbors two little girls now just hop the gap and soon they are jumping joyfully on the trampoline with Landry. My side neighbor has strolled over several times to sit on the back porch and just sho0t the bull. Our dogs all get along splendidly. Maybe Frost was right. Maybe good fences don’t make good neighbors.

• The Japanese people who are suffering. May Christ be their true peace giver.
• My Pastor Bob Roberts and Chris Johns who are in dialogue with Muslims at this very moment in Doha. May Jesus’ love in them be openly evident.
• Our teams who made it into Hanoi Vietnam after several re-routes. May God’s love shine through you.
• Those of the team who could not get flights into Hanoi and are surely frustrated but at the same time showing grace. My God give you special missional opportunities in your own backyard the next few days.
• Thankfulness for our team of techs and Brent Minter who overcame some serious technical issues pre-service and pulled it off where no one knew. You are behind the scenes servants and we thank God for you.
• Gratefulness to God for Brian Hook for the Word and Clair Rivera who granted us permission to shoot such a powerful testimony of her life and the impact of  her T-Life Cell.
• Wisdom for our government leaders regardless of which side of the aisle on which they sit.
• Prayers for cells to continue to express the fullness of Jesus among us at NorthWood Church.

There are many more but those were key on my list today.