Grandpa was a baker in the kitchen at the VA hospital outside of Sheridan, Wyoming. He hated his job, primarily because the women in charge of the kitchen were mean witches who made his life, and that of his coworkers, miserable. As I understand it, they actually drove some of the men who worked for them to suicide.
One year, when my mother was about 12, grandpa had a job offer at the VA hospital in Grand Junction. There he could have worked as a cook, which would have been less physical labor than a baker, and he could have gotten out from under the nasty women who made life hell for him in Sheridan.
Grandpa took his two kids and wife on a road trip to check out the Grand Junction job. They drove through other parts of Colorado and beyond on their way back home. Grandpa wanted the job and as I understand it even accepted the offer.
But there was one woman grandpa feared more than his bosses at the VA hospital. That was grandma. She didnít want to go to Grand Junction, so grandpa didnít take the job, and the family stayed in Sheridan where my grandparents lived the rest of their lives.
God was at work through these circumstances, although grandpa probably wouldnít have thought so at the time.
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