A wet filter basket

     I was talking to Prajna last night, kind of lamenting that I had been bouncing around some blog topics in my head but never settled on anything. Lately I have liked to write a rough draft on Sunday afternoons, but was not able to yesterday. So here it was, Sunday evening and I wasn’t sure what I wanted to say. I told Prajna about how little I’ve actually been thinking about blogging lately. I have been actually enjoying working on my second draft of Sidewinder.

The last time I worked on my novel was Thursday morning and I had to quit writing when 7am was rolling around and it was time to feed the animals and think about breakfast for the family. I wasn’t ready to stop. I was wishing that I could write at night like I used to. There was no quitting time then. Write ‘till I can’t. I mentioned to Prajna that maybe I could stay up late one night writing. She didn’t care for the idea and reminded me that I am rigidly fixed in routine. I almost never stay up past 11 anymore, and am usually up at 6. If I stayed up to the wee hours of the morning, I might still not sleep in, I would be tired and cranky all day, more than usual even, and everyone’s day could be ruined.

I thanked Prajna for the reminder and went out to set up the coffee pot for the next morning. A horrific surprise awaited me there. Someone had used the coffee pot that morning and not washed and dried it. With the filter basket wet, I could not put the next day’s fresh coffee into it for a delayed start the next morning. And I the filter basket is ribbed and ridged in a way that it’s impossible to hand-dry. It only takes lots of time to dry. But I was tired and didn’t want to stay up a lot later. My routine was disturbed. I felt justified in losing my mind. But I held it together. My daughter Sarah rebuked me for blustering over such a first world problem. I poured the water in the coffee pot and set aside the measured coffee for the next morning where I would have to make the effort to place the fresh coffee in the basket and push START, and then wait for several minutes while for the coffee to brew. Sarah experienced extreme amusement at my fuss and she remarked how much I loved routine too.

Last week I was sharing with a friend how much I loved my job. I love to work alone and listen to my iPod. I love the predictability, the routine. My friend listened and informed me that it wasn’t routine that I loved the most. He told me what it was that I really loved, not just about my job, but every day. I didn’t like what he told me, but it was too true to ignore.

I love control. Like the coffee pot, I set it every evening that I want coffee the next morning. When I get up, there it is waiting for me. Everything is where I left it. I don’t have to fuss, or even think hard. I don’t stress, and therefore I don’t really rely on God too much for my peace of mind.

I confessed my love for control just last November and have already forgotten it. I don’t remember how deep I delved into it last time, but I remember when I was dealing with Naomi being sick, how I flew into rages when things were not in my control. I hate to think of myself as a violent bully. And I don’t think I really was, nevertheless, I acted wrong. I know that I’ve come a long way in dealing with anger, but I still do not like to not have control of my life.

So I’m grateful that the coffee pot wasn’t in condition for me to set it up. Yes, it was nice to get my mind around a blog topic I had been working over in my head. But I was reminded, by the coffee pot and by Sarah, that I take way too much joy from having things work out the way I want them to and not enough joy from important things.

By important things, well I could go on and on about my blessings. But in addition to all of that, just 10 years ago I was still an emotional and mental wreck where nothing was stable or predictable. I definitely wouldn’t have been able to eventually laugh about my weeping over the coffee pot.

So I had to wait for the coffee to be ready and I still managed. The sun still came up and here I am. Still learning and sharing what I’ve learned. By the time the sun goes down tonight I will have dealt with minor victories and defeats. But I’m thankful I have the tools to deal with them both and loved ones who don’t tolerate my tirades.  

Cleaning up what I've made

     One of the things about trying to walk the straight and narrow is that I have to be honest with myself and others. And I have to admit that no matter how much better I am than I used to be, I still have a tendency to lapse into my old mentalities.

     I don’t just do custodial work at church. It’s more than just cleaning bathrooms. I also take care of the buildings being locked and secure. Anyone who knows me will agree that I tend to be a little anal about things being the way I think that they ought to be. This attitude got me in trouble a few years ago when it was coupled with a self-destructive state of mind and a disregard for reality. I hit bottom back then and finally got into Celebrate Recovery. I’m thankful that Celebrate Recovery has given me the tools to stay clean. I wouldn’t have lasted this long. And I still use them.

     At work, I tend to be a stickler for security. I don’t like random people showing up and using the facilities without making a room reservation. I like to say it’s about security. But I think it might be more than that. Before our church’s Halloween Harvest Carnival began, I made it clear that our secondary building that wasn’t being used needed to be locked up for the night. Restrooms would be open in the main building only, and that would be enough.

I told everyone I thought might want to get into the building that they would need to be responsible for letting themselves in. Only people with keys could get in. This was a change from last year when people went in and out of the building to get needed items from the kitchen. Not this year, I thought.

     I overheard someone asking if the building could be open that night and another person answered that no, Dave wanted the building to stay locked all night. This overheard exchange delighted me.

     That night, only authorized people were able to get into the building. Or so I thought. A couple times I found people hanging out or even (gasp) using the restrooms. I politely told them that the building was closed and made sure they left.

     And I was oblivious to how I was being. So then the next night a brass band started practicing on the stage above where our Celebrate Recovery was meeting. I walked up the stairs and told them that we were having a meeting downstairs and they couldn’t practice there. They looked surprised and packed up and practiced in the foyer instead. The next day I looked at the schedule calendar and discovered that they had been given permission to be there. I was stunned. Then I was embarrassed, ashamed and miserable. I remembered the face of one of the musicians when I told them that they couldn’t be there. He looked sad.

     I realized what a schmuck I had been, and not only that night to the horn players. Even on Halloween night, I went around indignantly closing the doors if someone left it open. I took it very personally if people didn’t keep with my wishes. When I started thinking about how I was feeling that night, I was pleased when I overheard people saying the building needed to be locked because that’s what Dave said.

The reason I was pleased was because I felt the world bending to my will. I am a control freak.

So I started thinking about a worst-case scenario. People get into the building. They couldn’t really steal anything big and not be noticed. Kids might run around the hallways. So what’s that to me?  Someone would have found them and shooed them out. Oh dear, what if people had used the restroom? What if someone took a dump in a urinal? Was that a worst case scenario? Because I could handle that. I’m a custodian. I’ve seen some gnarly stuff.

But no, a worst case scenario was not any of those things. I had to think for awhile on this. I had to relax and be as honest with myself as I could be. That’s not an easy thing to do. But when I did, the answer came to me. The worst thing that could have happened was this: things wouldn’t have gone my way. Things would not have been under my control.

And when I realized that, there was a shock but a little bit of a relief too. Sure I would rather clean up crap from a place where it doesn’t belong. Do you see what I’m saying? I would rather put things the way I think that they should be. A lot of the time on my job I am doing what’s right. I don’t think most people want to see what I’ve seen and I’m doing what’s best for everyone by making things right. But sometimes I judge things without thinking of other people’s needs or feelings and I act out of line.

So I apologized to our music pastor who told the band they could be there. I was dreading the apology but he’s a man full of grace and I felt so much better afterword. I asked him if I could apologize to the band when they got together next. I am dreading this too, but I need to do it and I think I will feel better after. Making amends is like cleaning up stuff that doesn’t belong there. With the right tools, it can be done.