A few months ago, I told a priest I wished God would send a Post-it note with a message that: 1) proved God’s existence and 2) told me what I should do with my life.

The impending layoff, wondering what is going to happen to journalism, despair that maybe no one will notice when news is gone and democracy will collapse because of that absence (or just the local city council will get away with murder), a beautiful life marred by a few desperately painful mistakes — these things have collided to feed a crisis in faith that has been nibbling along the edges of my life for a few years, and darkness loomed. I wanted – no, needed – proof and I wanted it in a yellow sticky. It seemed such a small request. How hard could it be for the Creator of All to drop me a line?

The priest laughed and said, “But, Renee, if you got a Post-it, you would instantly question if it was REALLY from God.”

He knows me well: I’m plagued by a questioning nature. I envy those of easy belief, those whose simple faith is truly childlike. They trust, God provides. They accept mystery as part and parcel of the whole deal and don’t drown in the questions. And they are something I am frequently not: Blissfully happy. Even in the midst of pain, these folks find joy.

Since my talk with my priest friend, I’ve been trying in earnest to sharpen my spiritual tuning fork. I’ve been trying to pay more attention and take more time. And, in the past few weeks, I’ve had what I used to call “God moments,” but like the priest said, I’ve tended to question them. “Naw, that wasn’t … no, that was …. well, it was a coincidence.”

Here I ask God for a sign and I get some pretty obvious ones (even in the midst of the layoff, with despair threatening) and instead of saying, “Hey, that’s my Post-it note,” I say, “It’s not yellow.” But tonight, looking back on the past few weeks, I realize: Dang, I’ve been asking for direction and I think I just felt the hand print of God on the small of my back pushing me that way. And suddenly, in that noticing, I feel two things I haven’t felt in a long while: peaceful and happy.

Will it last? Probably not. Life, and all its feelings, are fleeting. And faith untested really isn’t much faith at all. But I sure hope I can remember this moment when the demons of doubt try to tell me Post-its only come in yellow.

Like hundreds of thousands of other Americans, I’m being laid off from my job. Not right now, mind you, but in about six weeks. My colleagues and I get to walk the gangplank toward unemployment for another 46 days – or so the newsroom countdown clock proclaimed yesterday.

We’re one of three newspapers on the verge of closure by our corporate parent right now, the latest chapter in a book of newspaper failings, newsroom reductions and news-hole shrinkage. The paper I work for, as well as the fighting Rocky Mountain News and the Seattle PI, are all up for sale, but any journalist worth his or her press credentials knows it will take a miracle along the lines of parting the Red Sea to keep these papers open. Here in Tucson, the fact that our company is being so fervent in its helpful gestures (Job placement counseling! A primer on unemployment benefits! A shoulder to cry on!) is clear sign to naturally skeptical reporters that the “sale” is less than serious.

So we huddle in small groups to pass around job tips and meet in larger ones to discuss how to build Web sites to host our clips and resumes. As panic grows around us (no jobs in journalism, of course, but no jobs ANYWHERE?) we keep working: We gather the news, sit down at our computers with notes resembling a cross between Sanscrit and cave drawings and turn out a news story someone will read over her morning coffee or after his dinner. It isn’t changing water into wine, but sometimes – translating government documents into intelligible prose or reporting on city budgets or telling the story of a small child dying from an incurable disease – it sure feels like it.

Someone recently told me to “have faith” that everything will be OK. Maybe in our lives, but some of us have less faith that journalism will be OK. Will this vocation of ours – one critical to a functioning, free democracy – disappear althogether? In a online world where anyone can become a “citizen journalist,” what happens to (dare I say it?) real reporting? What happens to analysis and thoughtful commentary in a landscape of 250-character Tweets? What happens when making money is more important than making sure there are multiple professional news outlets keeping the public informed?

Oh yeah, those news outlets close down. And their employees do things like resurrect (no pun intended) religion news blogs. Check back for updates or, easier on you, become a follower of the blog by using the button located to the left and below the news feed and archives. For your bad religion tidbit of the day, check this out.