Roger That...

If I understood the job description, I would have turned it down instantly.  It was 8:00 pm and our meeting was running late.  I loathe meetings, so when the club director asked if I would be one of the facilities supervisors for the upcoming speech and debate tournament, I said “yes!” because I wanted people to stop taking and let me go home.  Fortunately, she recruited my friend Ann as well.  I assumed if the job was unpleasant, Ann would warn me.  She offered no warnings, merely smiled and gave me the thumbs up sign across the table.  

The tournament was 4 days long and involved approximately 160 competitors and their families.  If you are foolish enough to accept a position on the facilities team, you become responsible for maintaining the facilities and the 26 rooms used for competition.  It is a monumental task. Garbage, bathrooms, chairs, tables, and classrooms; facilities is responsible for the set up and maintenance of all of it.  There is however one small perk.  You get to wear a walkie-talkie. 

In my entire adult life, no one has ever entrusted me with a walkie-talkie. Simply put, no one was ever stupid enough.  But things move quickly in the world of speech and debate and communication between volunteers is key. As a result, certain people are given walkie-talkies in the hope they will respond rapidly to emergencies.  Ann and I were key people in the rapid problem solving fantasy.  I was given my walkie-talkie and shown how to use it.  It was as cool as my 7 year old self had imagined.  When Ann arrived I handed her one.  We were wired for sound, all we needed now was a problem to solve.  

We didn’t have to wait long, inspection of the room set up revealed an issue and suddenly I was responsible for rearranging furniture in six rooms before the tournament was to start in 40 mins.  I flung tables and chairs about like Thor in detention before I was called away to another task involving a lost senior citizen and decaffeinated coffee.  The tournament had begun.

I should explain that Ann and I have a similar sense of humour.  We favour dry, irreverent remarks and possess a love of the English language.  We are generally able to keep things sensible in person but something about our walkie-talkies brought out the very devil; everything was funny.  All she needed to say was “roger that,” and I would giggle myself silly.   I assumed we were doing a good job of using the radios for emergencies only until day two of the tournament, when the logistics director kicked us off the main channel.  Ann and I were sent to timeout on channel 2, where we could be as chatty as our hearts desired.  People knew how to find us if they needed us. Sadly, I couldn’t quite get the hang of switching between the two channels and the logistics director had to exercise extreme patience as I continually chatted with Ann on her channel.  “Karen, you’re on channel one.  Facilities has two.”  I figured it was cosmic justice, poor woman, that’s what she gets for kicking us in the first place.  

As the week progressed, I realized I was enrolled in a crash course on problem solving.  My entire role centered on fixing people’s problems.  I experienced a steep learning curve.  Often, I was surprised by the attitude of those I was helping: it was simply impossible to make everyone happy.  

A large part of tournament life centers around food.  Students need to be fed and so do their families.  Many buy meals though some bring crock pots to cut costs. In addition, tournaments feed those who generously volunteer to judge competitors.  Consequently, the kitchen team sets up a make shift restaurant in the venue where they feed people all day long.  It is amazing. 

The menu on day three was broccoli soup.  Downstairs, crock pots full of hearty green goodness simmered and sent their aroma through the building.  Upstairs, families plugged in their own stews and casseroles to be devoured that night.  I didn’t really think much about it until I met a robust little man in the hallway as I was running to meet Ann.  

"It smells like a latrine in here," he greeted me.

"Really? It does?  Does it?"  I felt confused.  This wasn't a regular greeting.

"Yep, it does," he replied and looked at me expectantly.  

I was at a loss, "Okay, well I'll check that out and see what I can do.  Can I help you with anything else?"

"Nope. Just thought you should know," he offered and marched off down the hall.

"Thank you," I called, intentionally walking in the opposite direction.  

It was 20 minutes before I thought about the broccoli again.  I had run outside to grab something from my car when I reentered the building.  I pulled open the double doors and was hit by a sulfurous wave that just about knocked me off my feet. “Not good,” I muttered to myself.  Running to the janitor’s closet, I grabbed a can of air freshener.  For the next ten minutes, I walked around the wing of the building, opening windows and spraying bursts of air freshener in an attempt to loosen the cruciferous cabbages’ clutches.  Mission completed I returned to my post.   

An hour later I was approached by a very cross human being.
"Whatever you are spraying in the building is making someone have an asmatha attack!"
"Really?" I said uselessly.  "That's horrible.  Do they need medical help?  Where are they?"  I was ready to run again, I just needed to be pointed in the correct direction.
"She's fine.  But you need to stop spraying." She frowned.
"Well, we stopped an hour ao.  Are you certain she doesn't need help? I'll go open more windows!"  Between the sulfur and the dichlorobenzene I wasn't feeling like air was on my side.

I had just trekked around the wing for the second time when I was approached by another parent.  "Karen, I'm working down the hall and there is quite a draft. Would you mind if I shut those windows?"  She pointed to the last set I had opened.
"Of course! What a good idea!" I all but shouted at the surprised parent.
"You do what you need.  I don't mind at all." I smiled reassuringly and nodded my head too enthusiastically.  "Excuse me, I'm being summoned."  I pointed to my walkie-talkie.
"Karen..."  Ann was in my ear.  "The janitor said he didn't want the door propped open, he's afraid of rats getting in the building."
"RATS ARE NOCTURNAL!!" I screamed forgetting to press the talk button.  I bit my lip and made a strange noise.  The parent looked at me puzzled.  "Science lesson," I smiled dismissing myself and walking quickly away.  

By this point in my tournament life I was feeling a bit frayed.  I wish I could tell you that this was a rare example but honestly, the entire four days was filled with situations like this one.  As soon as I had figured out how to solve a problem, someone else got cross.  It was genuinely amazing.  At the end of the day, I felt so misunderstood and frustrated I was happy to take off my walkie-talkie.  The joy had been sucked right out of it.  

Which got me to thinking dear friend, about those of you who are working in your anointing for those who are ungrateful.  You started out with an intention to glorify God and serve and now you are wondering why you even bothered. Every day feels like a kick in the teeth and you’re pretty sure a couple are going to fall out any minute now. 

Can I encourage you my friend to hold on?
Hebrews 6:10 states,

For God is not unjust so as to overlook your work and the love that you have shown for his name in serving the saints, as you still do.

Our God makes note of your hard work.  We serve a God who sees.  Our God is a God of recompense.  Nothing you do out of faith is wasted.  I pray that you will have the strength to put your head down and persevere.  Steel yourself, sing a song, and keep standing.

I’m praying for you this week.


xoxKaren
Photo: http://www.pdpics.com/photo/1810-broccoli-cabbage/

Sharing and Caring

The assignment itself was simple.  Walk into the building, meet my contact person, grab a map and take a photo of each room the club would use.  I was so confident of success I told my job partner to stay home.  “I’ve got this.”  I reassured her.  “It will all be fine, no need for both of us.”  To prove my functionality, I arrived at the correct door on time and waited for my contact to arrive.  He didn’t.  After waiting the requisite ten minutes I called his cell phone.  No answer.  I decided to phone the office instead.  No answer.  What to do next?  I was standing outside a locked building and somewhere inside was the fellow I needed to meet.

 

Figuring I had waited as long as I could, I left my post and walked around the building hunting for an open door.  I played stalker for a while, peering in classrooms and pulling on door handles.  I was getting concerned I would be reported by Neighborhood Watch when I spotted a gaggle of mothers.  I jumped out of the flower bed and headed in their direction.  When I had traveled ¾ of the buildings perimeter, a nice lady accidentally on purpose intercepted me on my way the mommy posse.  She looked at me sternly as I pulled twigs off my sweater and asked me if I needed anything.  I explained I found myself locked out of the building unable to make my appointment. I dropped three names by way of reassurance, dusted bark mulch off my Mary Janes and smiled sweetly.  

Deciding I was harmless, she turned her back on me and beckoned me to follow.  She led me down hallways, upstairs, through doors and just as I was worried she was going to attack me and stick me in a broom closet, we arrived at the office.   I thanked her profusely, took the visitor badge from her outstretched hand and pulled an azalea flower off my skirt.  “It can only get easier,” I told myself as I tried to nonchalantly check my hair for additional foliage. 

My contact was summoned from the bowels of the building.  He seemed somewhat surprised to see me but I was undeterred.  I had come for photos and he was to escort me round the building to ensure I didn’t get lost in the process.  After polite small talk we set out on my mission.

It should be recorded that taking photos was my idea.  Renting event space can be a tricky business.  You need to take a venue, adapt it to your needs and then return it to its original state.  Sounds easy but when the venue is a series of elementary school classrooms it can be difficult.  The classrooms of this age group are filled with bright colors, small furniture, and countless projects.  They are simply brimming with stuff.  Important stuff. And elementary teachers know exactly where that stuff belongs. My intention was to take pictures of the rooms before we used them so the restoration process would go smoothly.  I didn’t want anyone upset by unintentional carelessness.

I didn't think anyone would be in the rooms as I took pictures but many teachers were still in the building.   I explained myself and chatted as I took notes on their room restoration.  The process took about an hour and when I was done, I felt I had a rough handle on the job before me.   I went to my car to gather my thoughts. 

You can tell a lot about a person by the way they share their space and their toys. The teachers had welcomed me into their classrooms, but one or two were aggravated by my presence.  I had in front of me a list of do’s and don’ts; a list of my anxieties of their anxieties laid out on a flow chart.  I was hoping that if I did the right thing I could make sharing space easier.  

Scripture discusses generosity and sharing,

One gives freely, yet grows all the richer; another withholds what he should give, and only suffers want.  Proverbs 11:24

give, and it will be given to you. Good measure, pressed down, shaken together, running over, will be put into your lap. For with the measure you use it will be measured back to you. Luke 6:38

I reflected on my flowchart.  What does the Lord see when he asks me to share my resources?  Does He look down and see a list of anxieties written on my heart?  Am I preoccupied with the technicalities of giving or am I giving freely of my time, talent and treasure?

There are many ways we limit our generosity.  The thoughts are endless.

...If I give my time, will anyone notice – will I get the recognition I deserve?  If I pour myself out, will I have the energy reserves to deal with the rest of the week?  Will I have enough if I put someone else first?  If I give to this child, will I have enough time for my own?  Do I give to strangers as generously as those I love? 

Stinginess wears many masks and its sole purpose it to keep us out of God’s provision and abundant blessing.  More importantly, it robs those in need of the blessing God intends.  Consider your giving this week friend, are you giving out of a full heart or has anxiety and lack become a restrictive force in your life?

“Did you get everything you needed?”  I jumped, I hadn’t seen anyone approach my car, I was so lost in my thoughts.   She was in her 50's and a teacher in the first room I photographed.  I unrolled my window and looked up,  “yes, I think I did.  Thank you.”  I caught her looking at the paper strewn across my dashboard and laughed.  “I’m very aware of trying to take care of your classroom space.  You guys work so hard, I don’t want to make anyone cross.”  I sighed unintentionally, betraying my concern.  She smiled at me, “I think you are forgetting something,” 

“I am?  Oh dear?  What?”  I grabbed my clipboard, ready to take notes.

“We just work here.  We don’t own the place, ultimately it all belongs to Him doesn’t it?  Relax dear, you are just responsible for doing your part.”  With that, she patted my arm gave a wave as she walked to her car.

Amen and amen.

I’m praying for you this week,

xoxKaren

Sweet Sixteen

I was doing well until the spinach. 

It hasn’t been the easiest year, when the cardiologist solemnly sat listening to your heart beat, mine almost stopped.  I knew something was wrong. Growing up in a medical family I had seen that look before.  As far as bad news went, it was the good kind.  We were blessed your surgery was routine. God was so gracious.  The hardest moment for me came when that wonderful fat Santa man came and took you away down the hall for your operation. You hugged me and held tight, lip quivering.  I wrapped my arms around you and screamed silently.  Begging for God to walk with you as He went with you where I could not.  Regardless of how old you get, your distress bypasses the filter of my reasoning.  Your issues tear through layers of emotion, manipulating time like plasticine, leaving me reeling.     

It hasn’t been the easiest month. To start, you have never been away for 4 days before.  That information might astonish some but I’m not likely to apologize for it.  I simply like having you close.  When the opportunity came for you to visit your buddy, I allowed it knowing you would have a lovely time.  I showed great maturity throughout the trip, waiting until you texted first and saying good night only once an evening.  We were ridiculously functional.  In your absence, your sister spiked a raging fever and kept herself busy shivering and blowing her nose.  It was sad.  When you returned with a horrific cold, I suspected fatigue figured heavily in my future.  I didn’t mind.  You surprised me when you joined me at three in the morning, padding down the hall, grabbing a blanket and snuggling down on the couch. The company was nice.  We shared the Kleenex and Tylenol and I thought about when you were tiny.  In those days I was equipped with a nose bulb and Tylenol was dispensed with an eye dropper.  Those were some of the most delightfully hideous times we spent together.  You, feverish with a soft fuzzy head and me, stupid tired and begging Jesus for you to fall back to sleep.  I would give a lot to hold you like that again.    

It hasn’t been the easiest week.  We had a girl gathering to organize and you had to go to work for the first time.  I thank God that my friend thought of hiring you.  It brings me comfort that your first step away is toward people I know.  But that didn’t stop me from getting a lump in my throat when you crossed the street and entered the store.  I phoned my girlfriend as I drove away, determined not to cry.  “It’s so good.” She cooed.  “Good things: responsibility, stretching her wings. This is success.”   I was having none of it.  “It’s horrid!”  I shouted back.  “Stop talking nonsense.  Awful, hard and horrid and I don’t care if you tell me otherwise!”  Blessedly, she was beyond finding me offensive and cooed at me until my eyes stopped stinging.  She moved on to distracting me with current events and questions.  Somehow, I made it home without running into a ditch.

It hasn’t been the easiest 24 hours.  Quite frankly, I feel old.  There was something surreal about the Z Generation, arguably the most tech savvy cohort the planet has ever known, spell bound as you watched a Polaroid camera picture develop.   “Oh my gosh, that is so amazing!” You all squealed as your coiffed blonde heads leaned in to watch white give way to blue green images.  “That is SO COOL!”  The experience was equal parts disturbing and hysterical.  To see an almost obsolete technology make a comeback, made me wish it were possible to own shares in Kodak.  It brought to mind the scripture in Ecclesiastes 1:9,

What has been is what will be,
    and what has been done is what will be done,
    and there is nothing new under the sun.

And so dear child, these are the things that go on beyond your view as we, as a family, navigate your growing up.  Your father and I have been fully engaged in this process for a full 16 years. Without bragging, I think I’m an expert on you.  Which is why, when you grabbed the box of spinach from the fridge and threw a handful of the stuff in your smoothie, I just about lost my ever loving mind.  Here you were, putting a raw green vegetable in a blender and willingly drinking it.  I repeat: you actually added spinach to your smoothie under your own volition. 

Do you, child of mine, have any idea of how much effort went into trying to put vegetables down your sweet gullet?!

That is why, when you had your smoothie in hand, I went outside giggled until the tears started.  I cried because you really are growing up.  I cried because regardless of how much I love you, you still surprise me.  I cried because love hurts and one day we will have to part until at last things are made right. I cried because God loves you the most and He alone will be able to walk you the entire distance of your days.

Happy Birthday Child of Mine. May your days be bright and may you fulfill all the plans your God has for your life (and several of mine),

I’m praying for you,

xoxMummy