500 Words (Fear part III)

As part of my participation in My 500 words, I am posting what I write each day. I’ve spent the past two days writing about fear. I’ve discovered something worth sharing.

     My wife was still working at Starbucks in the mornings and I was working custodial at a church in the afternoon and evenings. We were living in a mobile home park in a single wide with two add-ons. It was a little cramped, but we managed. One morning in September our phone rang. We still had a land line.

     It was the executive pastor of the church we went to. We had been going to the church for 10 years and new most of the folks there. My friend on the phone was more of a businessman than a pastor. There was an opening at my church for a custodian. I liked the idea of working at my own church. It would be the same hours and the pay would be a little higher.

     The next thing he told me made me want to politely refuse. We would have to move. Wait, what? I hated moving. Moving was a scourge, forget it. But I didn’t refuse the job. The church owned a house just to the north of its property. They needed a custodian who was also in charge of living there, answering the alarm and locking and unlocking as needed.

     When I thought about the job, I realized that the church would become part of my family’s life. My kids could attend any event they wanted to. They could come over and visit me or even help me at work just about any time. I would be the on-call keeper of the keys. I accepted the position, put in my two weeks at the old job and started my new job in October of 2010.

     The previous residents of the house stayed in for another few months. Then when it was empty, my family painted the insides. We moved in February and the move was just about as traumatic as I feared it would be.

     We now owned an empty mobile home that we paid both a mortgage and space fee on every month. We cleaned the place up and tried to rent it with little success. After a bad experience with a realtor, we lowered the price to just what we could get by on and got a tenant. The place is still a money pit and needs more work than we can afford to do.

     But the house we live in now is a real house with a huge backyard. We own chickens that give us eggs. We have two dogs and two cats. The boys have the master bedroom, but one son built a fortress in the side yard that he lives in instead of his room.

     The house is small compared to many houses, but it’s perfect for us. It has a living room separate from the kitchen/dining room/family room. I have a corner with my writing desk. My only daughter has a room of her own.

     I am responsible for locking up six nights a week. I’m there every day, even my days off. Once in a while the alarm goes off in the middle of the night or when someone accidently sets it off. I respond in the golf cart that the church owns.

     My duties are cleaning and setting rooms along with some general maintenance. I have offered my knowledge in other areas like scheduling and planning of events. I spend most of my work days alone listening to my iPod.

     Of all the jobs I’ve had over the past 30 years, I’ve never loved one like this. I would keep this one for the rest of my life if I could.

     So, David… what are you afraid of?

    

  

500 words- Day 13 (My Saturday)

As part of my participation in My 500 words, I am posting what I write each day. Today’s prompt from Jeff Goins was to write about my day yesterday.

     When I’m in the writing groove, when I’ve hit my stride, I wake up every morning at 6am without an alarm clock. Yesterday was no exception. While most days I go to work at one, Friday’s and Saturdays I go at 8, so those days there is a bit of a rush to get anything done before going to work. As is my habit, I got right to writing. I checked my email from Jeff Goins for the day’s writing prompt and decided to forgo it, choosing instead to write about a minor character in my novel.

When I completed that, I posted it here on my blog and checked in to the 500 words site. Then I did what I also do every morning, I went out and fed the chickens. I live in residential area of a medium sized town and zoning laws allow for the family to own backyard chickens.

They’re always happy to see me, not that they’re so friendly, but that I’m the one who feeds them. I told them that they need to be laying more eggs if they want to not be cooked and eaten, but none of them believe when I say that, at least they seem unconcerned. I did tell them that I would remind my youngest son to come and scoop out their coop that afternoon. He tends to neglect that chore for any reason.

I fed the cats after that and showered. On mornings I say home, I might start breakfast for the family then. But when I go to work at 8 I make my own breakfast and then get out the door. I felt too lazy to cook eggs yesterday, or perhaps too lazy to clean up after, so I just had toast and jam.

The commute to work takes less than a minute in the golf cart. When I arrive at work in the mornings I always circle the buildings to look for anything out of the ordinary. We have had overnight vandalism in the past. I parked the cart by the door to the building I would do most work in and then disarmed the alarms. Then I got to work.

One of the things I like best about my job is working alone. Almost as good is the routine that I can set. I had my iPod in and listened to Palestrina’s Masses while picking up the last of the trash around the buildings and then taking the deck brush to the outside walkways. Later in the morning I listened to the latest podcast of Car Talk, and my Audiobook. I’m listening to The Goldfinch right now and enjoying how engaging it is.

Nothing exciting happened at work. For the whole time I was there, nobody came around. I kept my iPod on nearly all the time and went through the motions I do every Saturday. With most uneventful Saturdays, I was done early. I went home and did something that was not part of my routine, I fell asleep for two hours.

The rest of the day went okay, I ended up being the one to scoop the chicken coop. The alarm went off that evening when a new guy went in the wrong door. I can hear the alarm from my house so I went over before the alarm company called me. That could be a whole other story.

And now, this morning starts another day. Thanks for the prompt, Jeff. I wonder if I lead a rather dull life now.

  

The Custodial Arts

When I post a good blog that is well received, I tend to fret for the week following it, convinced that I will never write anything good again. The sad Balloon hinted that there might be people alongside me every day, even in the grocery store, who are hurting something awful.

Last week’s blog was a challenge to write. Then I spent a week at work vacuuming, listing to music and audiobooks, cleaning things and moving table and chairs. Most of the time, that’s when good ideas come to me. But the thought never got away from me how much I just enjoy my job. Was I so lost for a topic that I had to write about being a custodian?

Looks like, doesn’t it?

I don’t know how many kids want to grow up to be a janitor. Some might, if the school janitor makes the job look enjoyable. But there is a certain stigma that comes with being in the blue collar field of cleaning person. When I first started my job as a custodian several years back, I had been unemployed for six months. A job was good. My new boss told me what I was doing was a ministry. And it felt good to think of it like that. But I was still self-conscious about what I did. I wondered what the rest of the staff thought of me and what my family thought of me. It may be that my self-esteem was not good at the time anyway.

It may be that up until then I hadn’t thought much about janitors. I remember the janitors at my school being frowning, cursing people that frightened me. At college there was a janitor lady who loved to stop and talk.

But my main impressions of janitors were from the media. Janitors in movies and television were often the coolest people in the cast.

I am the eyes and ears of this institution.

Carl, the janitor in The Breakfast Club seems happy with his job. But if you look carefully during the opening credits of the film, you see his picture on the wall as most likely to succeed. The movie still portrays him as a failure. But he chats up the main cast and says that he is the eyes and ears of the school. Later, after he blackmails the principal, they bond for a while.

But my favorite janitor is from the TV show, Scrubs.

If I find a penny in there, I'm taking you down.

The actor is a comic genius. His character, just named Janitor, is the patron saint of all custodians.

I don’t think I’m like either of these characters. One is a bitter loser, and the other an evil scheming genius. I enjoy my job. I like making dirty things clean. I like going into a room and re-creating it in my image. (Okay just re-setting it for the next event). I love it when people ask me if I have the key to something and I say that I do. I love working alone for hours on end. I love listing to podcasts, music and audiobooks.

And there is no real stigma at my job. I am expected at staff functions, not just fun meals, but meetings where decisions are made.

So last week I wrote about how the guy at the grocery store might be having a bad day. Today I want to say that the janitor with a mop might be having a good day. But just like the guy with the balloon, he’s thinking about something. If he doesn’t have his headphones in, you can talk to him. There may be a chance he would share what he’s thinking about, which is what I just did.

Freedom from Fear

     I don’t know what it was like living in the days of World War II when the demise of the free world was a genuine fear. I look at the Rockwell Painting with parents tucking in their children at night. The dad is holding a folded newspaper where the only clear words are bombings and horror. The times must have been scary to live in.

     People fought and died to give us freedom from fear. I don’t know how long it was supposed to last. The war ended and new ones came and went. More people died. It’s even happening today. And it’s hard to not still be afraid.

     I hope I am not seriously sinning here not trusting God. I do trust Him for my salvation. And like so many Bible heroes I try to trust and obey. But the world is scary. And it’s not just war. Yes, there are megalomaniacs out there with the power to kill thousands or more. But that isn’t all. People are killing each other for no clear reason. Kids are killing themselves because they are hurting so bad. And so much of this is happening in schools or with kids and young people.

Leaders are scrambling and debating about the best way to end this violence. Putting more control over ways to kill (gun laws) seems to make sense. But then someone rampages through a college with a knife and puts people in the hospital. It looks to me like people are going to lose touch with sense and reality and try to hurt or kill one another no matter what laws are in place. Sure, better laws may be good. Keeping weapons out of the hands of dangerous people seems smart to me.

But I don’t think an important factor is being lost on anyone here. I see it and I can’t imagine no-one else does. We can’t ignore this truth: something is making people snap. People out there are misguided, broken. People are hurting.

And I sit in my safe little house and feel overwhelmed. I hear the newscasts that break my heart and sometimes just want to go crawl under my bed, plug my ears and hum. Or sometimes I become so discouraged I just want to say, “I don’t want to live on this planet anymore.” And it’s overwhelming. I wish I could do something, but I don’t even know where to start.

I get overwhelmed at work sometimes. Once in a while, there is a tremendous amount of things to do and I don’t know where to begin. Let me unequivocally state here that I love my job and hope I can keep it forever. But sometimes when a large event is done and I’ve already worked a long day and I need to get everything ready for Sunday morning, I feel a little beleaguered. And here is the thing: the room will have a semblance of how it should look for Sunday. But the floor will be dirty and need vacuuming. I will need to pick up all the table and chairs vacuum, and reset the room. So I have to step backwards to move forward. The restrooms will need a deep cleaning and the corridors will need vacuuming to. It all sounds easy written out. But standing in a big room late in the day and thinking of all that must be done can give me this feeling. And I realized yesterday that the feeling I get thinking about all the hurting and broken people and the sad state of so many things is the same feeling I get late in the day with a plethora of tasks ahead of me.

There is so much to do. Where can I even begin? I don’t have the strength to do all of this. 

But each time I get onto it. I stride into the room and unceremoniously grab one chair, I fold it, then another and another until I have four in my hands. I take them to the side of the room and lean them on the wall. Then I go get four more. There may be 168 chairs.

I stay distracted listening to my iPod. This is usually when I like to have an audiobook on. I keep at it for the hours it takes. In the end I go home and go to bed and sleep well.

Maybe the same thing would work with helping the world. Maybe instead of succumbing to being overwhelmed, I could look for the first little thing to do and just do that. It’s true I don’t have what it takes to do it all. But, maybe it’s so cliché that it’s unapparent, I have what it takes to do the first thing that I’m capable of.

Perhaps it’s simple-minded to liken my little world to the great big broken world. But my point is that the great big broken world can’t be fathomed unless looked at simply.

If my iPod keeps me cool doing the work resetting a room, prayer could guide me and calm me in the world. And one more thing I’ve recently admitted, I could get help. A few nights ago, there were not 168 chairs with tables, there were 244 chairs and accompanying tables. I got two people, not to help me, but to pick up the room and vacuum it for me while I went home and fell asleep. I was able to get up early the following morning and set for the next event starting with a clean room. 

special setup with 244 chairs and 31 tables

It helps to start small with the first task one can do. But sometimes it’s so valuable to have someone step in before me and help clear things up. What I got was a clearer picture of what I needed to do.

It’s not the task that’s daunting. It’s the vision of it. Looking at the world, the idea that people are hurting and killing and cannot be stopped is enough to paralyze me. But when someone steps in and wipes away the clutter, I can see there are people close to me, within arm’s reach that perhaps I can get to. It would never be up to me to “reset” or “clean” them. I don’t really know what I would do. It’s not up to me to ever plan a response for that. God tends to not work that way. I just have to be ready. There may not be freedom from fear and I might always feel fear. But I can still step forward despite it. Fear diminishes with each guided step.

For want of a helping Hand

     I don’t have to guess too hard as to what type of person wrote the little parable titled: For want of a Nail. It’s an old, unattributed little dirge.

For want of a nail the shoe was lost.
For want of a shoe the horse was lost.
For want of a horse the rider was lost.
For want of a rider the message was lost.
For want of a message the battle was lost.
For want of a battle the kingdom was lost.
And all for the want of a horseshoe nail.

     Nice. Has anyone stopped to think how much pressure that put on blacksmiths? No, I was speculating on the writer of this. Because if he was anything like me, he may have been a blacksmith. And the similarity this smithy and I have is this little obsession I have with getting something right.

     Now, I am not a perfectionist. At least not with everything. I can sleep in an unmade bed, park my truck crooked, and no kidding, even sigh and hit “post” on a blog I don’t feel is quite good enough. I’m not obsessive-compulsive. But I still have this thing. I don’t know if it’s a disorder or how unhealthy it is. Let me explain.

     In For want of a Nail, one stupid, missing nail, or lack of one stupid nail causes a whole kingdom to fall. There are perhaps thousands of lives lost because of this one little missing thing. Most people probably take this story as a cautionary tale. “Little things do matter” or “be sure to cross your t’s and dot your i’s, kids”. And sure, that’s a good way to interpret this story. But I have my own version. It’s not inspired by For want of a Nail. They just remind me of each other.

     I’m a church custodian. I work all week keeping things clean, setting up and breaking down for weekly events, locking up at the end of the day 6 out of 7 days a week, and other things. I work Fridays and Saturdays. My job there is essentially to make the church ready for Sunday. I make sure every room is clean and set. The restrooms need to be well stocked as well as clean. Floors have to be vacuumed or mopped. If there is an event that weekend I need to facilitate that event and then clean up after it and take every step to get the church ready still.

     Before I go any further I have to state that I really love this job. I listen to my iPod, work at my own pace and feel very appreciated and supported by everyone there. And working alone is probably my favorite thing.

     But like I said I have my own version of the nail story. What if there was still a smudge on a bathroom mirror? A stain on a toilet? A dirty spot on the floor? The idea is very disturbing to me. And I am not exaggerating when I say this. Someone might walk into church, see the dirty floor and be put off. They turn around and walk out. They never step into church again. Their soul is lost along with the souls of their family. Their eternal damnation is all because I missed a spot on the floor.

     I know it’s unrealistic and even a little prideful to think that. But that’s what goes through my mind sometimes. Last weekend I had a tremendous workload due to some scheduling conflicts. There was a part of Friday afternoon where I needed to do 2 ½ hour’s work in just an hour. Help was offered me and of course, I declined it. That’s the even more unhealthy thing I do. I would rather work alone than accept help. That’s pride more than the want to be alone. I took a big gulp and swallowed that pride and admitted I needed the help after all. The work was busted out in less than an hour with some help.

     I thought about the story of the missing nail. If a blacksmith was the one who wrote that, he was prideful and vexed about the significance of his work. He went home each night worrying about the strength of the shoes he had nailed onto the horses that day, even if they were not battle horses. But he might never have considered this: The battle could still have been won.

     I’m no battle scholar. But I am learning about human nature every day. I think that if a battle horse or messenger horse threw a shoe. There may still have been hope. Because when there is a need for extra help, people step up. The only way hope would have been lost would be if the rider or some general somewhere refused that help. But help would have been there. It’s not what everyone does. But it is what many people do.

     When the need arises, help rises up along with it. And even if there was a mess from a war horse right there on the floor of the church foyer, someone would have greeted that newcomer walking in the building and made them feel welcome despite my failure. It’s only up to me to do the best I can and then trust God for the rest. He’s got plenty of children willing to come alongside and share the load. The nails were taken care of long ago.