When God Closes the Door: My Pillar of Salt Moment and a New Beginning

When God Closes the Door: My Pillar of Salt Moment and a New Beginning

I struggle to write about good news, because there are moments when I simply don’t believe it. Over the past year, so many things that felt straightforward—things that seemed like they were more or less going to happen—blew up in my face. I’ve learned to be cautious, even suspicious, of anything that looks like progress.

When I arrived in Canada, my original plan was to go back to work as a driver. I hadn’t decided whether I would return to long haul or do local work, because there was still a lot up in the air. My ex-wife warned me that going back to trucking would be a bad idea. Deep down, I knew she was probably right. I prayed about it, and one day I had a dream that made it unmistakably clear: trucking was no longer a good fit for me.

But I ignored that.

Despite the warning, despite the dream, despite what I already knew in my heart, I convinced myself that I knew better. I was qualified. It paid a living wage. It felt practical. I told myself that God would understand. In reality, I chose familiarity over obedience—and that was a big mistake.

If you’ve read the Bible, you’re probably familiar with the story of Sodom and Gomorrah in Genesis 19. The cities were being destroyed because of the evil within them. Lot and his family were led out, and in verse 17 the angel warns them: “Run for your lives! And don’t look back or stop anywhere in the valley! Escape to the mountains, or you will be swept away!” (Genesis 19:17, NLT). A few verses later, we’re told that Lot’s wife looked back—and was turned into a pillar of salt (Genesis 19:26, NLT).

I looked back.

I went out and had my AZ license reinstated. I started applying for trucking jobs. Not long after that, I was involved in a highway collision while driving my ex-wife’s car. I was cut off at speed and had nowhere to go. Without a dash cam, I was found at fault. That moment ended my ability to work as a commercial driver.

That was my pillar of salt moment.

God opens doors, but He also closes them. This was a door that needed to be shut—at least for now.

The realization that I was unemployable in my field was painful. I had been given an opportunity to work for the director of New Connections Ministries’ company, delivering product locally. This was someone who knew my past and was still willing to give me a shot. He had the authority to make that call. He wanted to help. But his insurance company wouldn’t insure me as a driver. That was it.

What a blow.

In that moment, I understood that my trucking career was effectively over—or, at best, paused for the next three to seven years. I couldn’t wait that long to get back into the game. I had to pivot. That experience is one of the reasons I’m so hesitant to accept good news and why I rarely celebrate anything as a win. It was deeply distressing. It opened up a whole set of questions I hadn’t prepared for: What would I do? How would I support myself? How would I show up for my kids? There were no easy answers. I tried to surround myself with people who had relevant knowledge and experience, but those people were hard to find. I had already been working with Employment Ontario to get my license back, and my original caseworker wasn’t much help when the pivot became unavoidable. I had to go over her head, which created stress I honestly didn’t need at that point.

What I didn’t realize then was that when God closed the trucking door, He quietly opened another.

Because I was unemployable in my previous field and had effectively been out of the workforce for several years, I qualified for a provincial program called Better Jobs Ontario. The program is designed for people with low income and employment barriers. I knew my income would qualify—my 2024 income was exactly $0.00.

I started the application process in September 2025. After a lot of thought, I decided to pursue training in the HVAC field. It’s in demand, it offers a living wage, and it fits where I am in life now. I applied formally in November and found out in early December that I was provisionally approved. I contacted the school I was applying to and was told they needed a signed funding contract from the province to secure my spot. When I followed up with the provincial contact, I was told they had competing priorities. I’ll admit—I was frustrated. That paperwork mattered.

December dragged on, as it always does. The school was closed from December 23 to January 5. I finally reached out by phone on January 6. Less than an hour later, the contract was signed.

I’m going to school.

For the first time in a long time, I felt like I could breathe.

The government will cover the full cost of my tuition, books, and tools—just over $12,000. They’ll also provide a living allowance of $500 per week, plus an additional $45 per week for transportation expenses.

I’m both excited and nervous. I worry a lot. What if I mess this up? What if something else falls apart that I can’t foresee? Hope feels dangerous for me. Still, I’m exhausted from not being able to provide for myself and my family. That reality has been wearing on me for a long time. I’m cautiously optimistic that going back to school will be the foundation that allows the rest of my goals to fall into place.

One ongoing frustration is the lack of my own space. I have a room, but I don’t have a home. I can’t have my kids here. I have no control over what happens under this roof, and that’s hard. I’m praying for a modest two-bedroom apartment. I also need a vehicle, and I suspect that will come first.

I’ve already had my pillar of salt moment. Now I stand in what feels like a valley—but I don’t know yet whether it’s a place of passage or a desert in disguise. I don’t have forty years left to wander the wilderness before realizing I should have kept moving.

I don’t know how all of this will unfold. I’ve learned not to write the ending before I live it. What I do know is this: I don’t want to look back anymore. I’ve already learned what happens when I do. This time, I want to keep moving forward—step by step, in obedience—trusting that even when the path is narrow, it’s leading somewhere better than the place I left behind.

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