Friday, September 29, 2006

The People on the Bus

I get to meet lots of people working in my job. .....Church members, service workers, and small children, deliciously interesting olderpeople, and complete strangers. Yes, I get it all. many people disguise their angel wings with clothes,but know that between you and me, I can see their glimmer through fabric. My office pals shine the best. One friend calls me when she is on her way into work nearly every morning, and she sounds like she is glad to hear me answer. Even now, she still sounds that way. It's a good thing.

Another work friend, always stops by on her way to her upstairs office. She's been bringing baby along for the last several months, but it is just now starting to show. I'll be glad when I get to know that baby outside of the ultrasound pics as they just don't do her justice.

Another friend works odd times, and so it is always a surprise to see her. We share a liking for hot dogs and crinkle cut fries. I have a new friend who pops in for a quick sit and I love those times.

Work people aside, I'm here to point to a few special Avon families that I have come to know.
We have a woman who frequents our premesis. She also visits my home church, as we are not far from each other. Here, she knows me as pretty stingy. I don't give help to her too often because I don't think she really qualifies as an Avon person. She's more of a teenager mindset avon person which is to say that she needs everything everyone else has, and wants more of it and wants it NOW. I understand that thinking, but it isn't very feasible when you think about it. So when she comes in these days, she doesn't expect much anymore. We're on a first name basis. She doesn't come as often, hoping that stretching out her requests may give her a higher yield. I hope she'll figure out the reality soon.

This week, I was at home chuch, waiting to speak to my mentor home pastor, and the church phone rang. I answered. I immediately recognized the voice on the other end. It was Alma. the aforementioned avon person. She asked for "Pastor WW, or Miss YY". Then she stopped in mid-syllable. " Who am I speaking with?" she asked, warily.
I responded with, " Who am I speaking with?"
She lowered her voice. " Melanie?"
I answered. " Hi Alma."
Suddenly she had other things to do. Gosh, I hate we missed an opp to chat.

A man came in to talk turkey. We talked. I gave he and his wife the help I could. They left.
The same man came in again, and we talked again. It wasn't long before I realized that he didn't need money. He needed a Pastor. or maybe a beer buddy. " Maybe we should make an appointment with the Pastor for you? " He looked confused. " Well, okay. When do you want to talk again?" I was under the distinct impression that he thought I was a Pastor. Stop laughing.

I may be pasteurized, but I am NO Pastor. " Let's go look in the Pastor's calendar and find a time" He came along comfortably, but he never stopped talking about the whims and ways of his relationship. We made the appointment. He ditched it.
A week later, he came back. " Let's make that appointment, Melanie" he said to me.
"Bernard, you missed your appointment with the Pastor. I am disappointed because he has a lot of wisdom he could share with you, and I really wish you had called to tell us you could not make it."
Bernard hung his head. " Well, I really just wanted to tell him about the woman. She couldn't come that day, if we make another appointment, I'll get her here. But we want you there, too."
I finally had to come clean with him. " Bernard, in case you haven't noticed, I'm the church secretary. I'm not the Pastor, not even close. Heck, I don't even pray that good. You really need to share your story with him." Bernard said that his wife wanted me there, too. I'm thinking that maybe she just wants to talk girltalk? OH, good grief. I guess we'll see. Let's hope they don't ask me to pray.

My most favorite visiting friend is a schitzofrenic who I have known before and after meds.
The first time he came he was hearing voices and he was hungry. I took himback to the kitchen, got him a plate of lunch and sat with him while he ate. " So, Marvin, are you hearing them now?
"Yeah"
" Do you know that they are not real?"
" Yeah, can I have another tea?"
"Sure." "So what are you hearing now?"
" A woman. She is screaming for help. She is on the floor and screaming for help"
I thought a minute. " Marvin, are you sure you are hearing this now, NOW, and not a , let's say a half an hour ago?" At this, Marvin stopped and looked right at me.
" Yeah, Marvin. I'm better now. I just brushed myself off and got on with my day."
He looked at me. Looked me over. Saw my dusty knees, and random hair. " So you doing better now?" I patted him on the shoulder and answered. " "Yes, I am. Sometimes it's nice to know you've been heard, though. Hey, want another potato?"
I think he was relieved in some ways at my response. Then again, he may be thinking he is a time traveller and hears realities that are 30 minutes behind real time. No telling.
The next time I saw Marvin he was cleaned up and clearer in the eyes. I hope he can stay that way, but I'd have another sit down with him at lunch any day.

Yep, lots of people around this place. Lots.

Money Matters

Money Matters-
It didn't take long after I had started this job to realize that I might be involved in the Avon People. Avon is a name I decided to call folks who come in for assistance. At my home church they ring a doorbell. There was a time that I helped with that ministry andthat's what I decided to call the assistance calls. It paints a more pleasant picture of a hard fact of life. Here, at work church, we have no doorbells. People needing help don't rely on doorbells to be heard.

I hold a lot of empathy for people in need. Whether emotional, monetary, spiritual, I'm one of those people on a daily basis. I need to have people around me who I trust, I need to feel adequate at my job. I need a life. need need need.

I want our assistance offering to be available to families who truly are in need. How nice is it tobe able to offer spiritual fuel and a tank full of gas in the same sitting? Yes, possibilities when there are none to be found sounds like a good God thing to me. It doesn't make me feel good, but it does make me feel as if we can provide tools to others so that they can stay on a path of possibilities.

I meet and get to know some very interesting folks. That story will follow this one today.
This particular entry is to give examples of the state of my middle aged human condition. It used to be, when I first started working the Avon Ministry, that I offered snack bags to visitors. I have found that if you are truly needing food, you will accept food. On the other hand, if you are truly wanting cold cash, food won't do, even if you've used that ( I need food) line with me. So, the snack bags act as a screen. I borrowed the idea from my home church who now gives out 30 or 50 bags a day, in a two hour block. Home church resides in a hungry neighborhood.

After a while, I found that additional resources like gas, or a few bucks would come in handy at times,maybe someone needed their meds, or money for the bus. So, I asked if we could buy bus tickets, and store cards to cover incidentals. That works great. I am careful about giving them out, but when I feel like they can help, they are passed out with ease.

Still, there were many times when eviction notices called for a check or, a cut off notice, security deposit. So we decided that i would be able to write a check to a third party- i.e. the electric company, or a landlord sometimes. This measure has helped speed along the process. I can't tell you how many times I've needed the Pastor's signature when he's right in the middle of saving someone's soul or sanity. When the Pastor is in, He's the go-to guy, but sometimes the avon people have to wait. That's okay.

The system is working pretty well with one exception. I tend to, out of habit, sign my own name when I write a check. I mean there is clearly a disconnect. Once I start writing, I complete the process. Then, the check has to be voided, and we start over again. I think we've spent more money in reordered checks than I have in the actual giving of funds . I am kidding of course, but it is irritating to me that I continue to play office with these checks, rendering them useless.

I've tried to come up with some strategies to help us save paper. Sometimes, I write the check title line and then put my pen down. I find that overall, this stopaction creates anxiety in the person sitting across from me. Their relief when the checkbook comes out quickly dissipates when I put the pen down. Eyebrows furrow, tears well. ... Once I pick up the ink again, everything rests. Rests, until I jerk back into my chair, plop my pen down on the desk and mutter, " Rats! Criminy! UGH!" These comments are followed by a quick tear out and tear up of the now- useless check.

The visitors lose their sense of relief- go straight into a second round of anxious anticipation; I begin writing a new check and the cycle starts all over again. Recently, I 've decided that this system may have some hidden value. If it is too nervewracking , maybe we'll have fewer requests, and secondly, maybe I should ask the Pastor if we can start giving out valium. That might make all parties feel better.

I don't know what we'll do when checks are outdated, when debit cards are the only way to go. Guess we'll deal with that when it comes around. This, my friends, is yet another example of how fortunate I am that my bosses are tolerant of their church chick.

Money Matters

Money Matters-
It didn't take long after I had started this job to realize that I might be involved in the Avon People. Avon is a name I decided to call folks who come in for assistance. At my home church they ring a doorbell. There was a time that I helped with that ministry andthat's what I decided to call the assistance calls. It paints a more pleasant picture of a hard fact of life. Here, at work church, we have no doorbells. People needing help don't rely on doorbells to be heard.

I hold a lot of empathy for people in need. Whether emotional, monetary, spiritual, I'm one of those people on a daily basis. I need to have people around me who I trust, I need to feel adequate at my job. I need a life. need need need.

I want our assistance offering to be available to families who truly are in need. How nice is it tobe able to offer spiritual fuel and a tank full of gas in the same sitting? Yes, possibilities when there are none to be found sounds like a good God thing to me. It doesn't make me feel good, but it does make me feel as if we can provide tools to others so that they can stay on a path of possibilities.

I meet and get to know some very interesting folks. That story will follow this one today.
This particular entry is to give examples of the state of my middle aged human condition. It used to be, when I first started working the Avon Ministry, that I offered snack bags to visitors. I have found that if you are truly needing food, you will accept food. On the other hand, if you are truly wanting cold cash, food won't do, even if you've used that ( I need food) line with me. So, the snack bags act as a screen. I borrowed the idea from my home church who now gives out 30 or 50 bags a day, in a two hour block. Home church resides in a hungry neighborhood.

After a while, I found that additional resources like gas, or a few bucks would come in handy at times,maybe someone needed their meds, or money for the bus. So, I asked if we could buy bus tickets, and store cards to cover incidentals. That works great. I am careful about giving them out, but when I feel like they can help, they are passed out with ease.

Still, there were many times when eviction notices called for a check or, a cut off notice, security deposit. So we decided that i would be able to write a check to a third party- i.e. the electric company, or a landlord sometimes. This measure has helped speed along the process. I can't tell you how many times I've needed the Pastor's signature when he's right in the middle of saving someone's soul or sanity. When the Pastor is in, He's the go-to guy, but sometimes the avon people have to wait. That's okay.

The system is working pretty well with one exception. I tend to, out of habit, sign my own name when I write a check. I mean there is clearly a disconnect. Once I start writing, I complete the process. Then, the check has to be voided, and we start over again. I think we've spent more money in reordered checks than I have in the actual giving of funds . I am kidding of course, but it is irritating to me that I continue to play office with these checks, rendering them useless.

I've tried to come up with some strategies to help us save paper. Sometimes, I write the check title line and then put my pen down. I find that overall, this stopaction creates anxiety in the person sitting across from me. Their relief when the checkbook comes out quickly dissipates when I put the pen down. Eyebrows furrow, tears well. ... Once I pick up the ink again, everything rests. Rests, until I jerk back into my chair, plop my pen down on the desk and mutter, " Rats! Criminy! UGH!" These comments are followed by a quick tear out and tear up of the now- useless check.

The visitors lose their sense of relief- go straight into a second round of anxious anticipation; I begin writing a new check and the cycle starts all over again. Recently, I 've decided that this system may have some hidden value. If it is too nervewracking , maybe we'll have fewer requests, and secondly, maybe I should ask the Pastor if we can start giving out valium. That might make all parties feel better.

I don't know what we'll do when checks are outdated, when debit cards are the only way to go. Guess we'll deal with that when it comes around. This, my friends, is yet another example of how fortunate I am that my bosses are tolerant of their church chick.

Tuesday, September 19, 2006

The job description

When one begins a job, one is given important documents to help them function effectively. There are forms to fill out for the government, promises to make regarding honesty and crime checks that hopefully will come back NOT having the applicant listed as one of America’s Most Wanted. One of the most important documents, however is the very understated job description. The importance of such a document is clear, I’m sure.
I mean, one cannot truly complete a job without said job description, now can one?

I write today to warn you readers to guard your job description. Hold tightly to its type. Watch its font and size. In my nearly two years here now, in a job I truly love and count as a blessing, the job description has proven itself to be a slippery eel. The type has rearranged itself many times, and always when I’m not looking.

I thought I was going to sit at a desk, answer the phone and send appointments in to see the Pastor. In truth, I do have a desk. And I do sit. But my chair is a bit bipolar and we engage in a constant battle of sit, no stand, no sit, no stand. The chair at times holds me tightly for hours on end, and other times, I can’t seem to aim right and find that at the end of the day, I have not ventured near my desk chair at all.

As far as sending appointments in to see the pastor, well, it’s a race. I’ve explained this all before. The chase is on when someone enters the building expecting to see my wonderful boss. I’m an Olympic jumper these days, my hearing is set for the sounds of foreign feet outside my office as they near the Pastor’s cave. We Try Harder should be on my door. I try hard to run interference for the sole purpose of accomplishing a job that was at one time listed in my job description. “ The Pastor will see you now” doesn’t get used nearly enough, though not for lack of trying.

Calendaring sounds a bit like gardening. Planting the seeds of events into the ever growing organic calendar so that they may prosper, flourish. Shoot, I read that and thought, piece of cake. I have come to learn that placing events on the calendar mimics the action of picking up marbles with greased fingers. The events roll around to different times and days, once they hit the day and date, there’s no telling where they might end up. I recall having a very special poultry event become so on-the-loose that we nearly gave up and changed to bologna sandwich dinners instead. A big annual chicken dinner, held in late winter began showing up in Spring, summer, or not at all. It became a joke at staff meeting. “So, where’s the chicken dinner hiding out this week?” I wondered if chicken dinner therapy might help. Or if DBT, dialectical behavior therapy might come in handy. Were the chickens chicken? Did they not want to be dinner? The dinner eventually settled into a spot and stayed there. This year it seems a little more stable. I’ve pretty much decided that it was all a matter of personality conflicts between poultry and Microsoft.

My point being that the job description of what calendaring is , well, it really isn’t. We have a lovely form called a facility use form, but for those of us in-house, well, we’ve come to know it as the BLUE SHEET. The sleepy soft blue sheet rules all activities. ALL. Plan a meeting- fill out a blue sheet first and hope we can put you where you want to be. Plan a bathroom break, good luck buddy. Schedule a practice, rehearsal, fill it out and go to the end of the line. The blue sheet rules this building .and sometimes, it rules my day. Let me summarize for you, simplify if you will-If you have a cold, and you begin a sneeze in room 328, you’d better darn well have submitted a blue form before you finish that sneeze, or someone who has scheduled the room will beat you to it. People are afraid of the blues. I mean the blues give me the blues sometimes, too. Sometimes I dream in blue, too. Sad, I know it is.

Calendaring doesn’t stop there, though. Oh, no. I get to dance with the maintenance team, too. Every day, and twice on Fridays we dance through the set ups and take downs. Sounds simple enough if you are dancing the same dance, right? Right. Most days, I’m foxtrotting, and the other side is hustling. Different rhythms, different directions. We make it work though. Let us not forget that when one has parented 4 children, one tends to continue to use successful parenting tactics when needed regardless of the age of the other parties involved. Actually, the team works okey dokey and we play well together the majority of the time. Once again, though, my point is that the original job description morphs. Take note, oh ye who are considering such a job as this.

Part II Money Matters

Safe haven

I couldn’t get my eyes to stay shut last night, so I answered the keyboard’s call and clicked out my thoughts. When I read the night words by the light of day, I wondered if other people might understand and have places that serve the same purpose for them, so I sent the piece to the chronicles for review.

When I was a child, I sought refuge under a hydrangea bush, but the name is very deceiving. I rarely was able to remain hidden in that place beneath the lavender and periwinkle blossoms long. My red hair stood out against the blue maybe? Or maybe my sense of sneaking and quiet were off. Although I still hold resentment towards the hydrangea bush for giving me up- time and again, the hopefulness of finding a place of safety scents my memory still-the redolence of damp dirt that acted as my seat resembles the scent of early morning fog, or a rain that is trying to make its way home.

In my house, the top shelf of the linen closet kept me out of reach. A park ranger’s stand in the woods works the same way. The sounds of life in motion circle around outside, while you are kept safely tucked away from wild animals and stinging insects ; for me, I hid among the freshly folded sheets and towels and other neglected linens, unnoticed until my mom found toe prints on her white pillowcases, and the sheets that were resting on the next rung above them. The only thing missing from that hidey spot was a back exit. If I ever build a house, you can be sure that the linen closet will have shelves spaced for climbing, with a back door somewhere up top.

My life is speckled with an array of hiding places, maybe that will be the book topic that makes me a million, though a million can’t come close to the value those hiding places have meant to me over all these many years.

There is an interesting life force that resides in the building. Our church building. It changes with the tides of traffic and it shifts with the energy that comes and goes throughout the day and night's activities. I am not ever afraid there except in the kitchen where the echoes bounce around among the pots and pans and stainless steel sink and counter. The building is a very safe place for me.

I have mentioned before my permanent standing reservation in the balcony. I sit there every Sunday morning before the birds are up, and I enjoy feeling the day begin there. …Subtle notes of noise become voices, then take shape as people and families until by the start of worship, the sanctuary is full of souls hoping for spiritual fuel.

On Wednesday nights, I sit in my spot and listen to the choir practice. Watching the angels sing in the chancel and listening to their God given talents is second only to feeling the effects of driving around on a warm day with the top down and LifeHouse screaming from my speakers. The choir’s songs aren’t exhilarating in quite the same way, but the notes move through me just the same and they stay with me somewhere close to my heart until the next time I get to go listen to my musical family.

I can’t imagine the bravery it takes to sit or stand in front of the world to sing out. That is not to say that I don’t sing out, mind you. I have quite a reputation for singing out while I mow the grass or for singing along with LifeHouse while cruising the highway. I rely on the motor to drown out my discrepancies and I can only empathize with the cars behind me who catch my sour notes. Let’s just say it’s a good thing windshields are shatterproof. That was a smart idea, Mr. Ford , Mr. Edison or whoever decided that, you earned your money that day.

Church provides more than a spiritual foundation for me. In fact, I’m on the early side of that journey. The balcony is my hydrangea now, my top shelf. The space is welcoming. Safe. Wanting for company of any sort or condition.

There is a texture to the silence that permeates the balcony when it is empty. Different in day than night, different when the surrounding rooms are full or vacant. Sometimes, when I am overwhelmed, or confused, or not knowing what I am or how I can manage both past and present challenges- if I wait until dark and venture upstairs, I can sit in that silence and let myself be embraced by the darkness. It is real. And it holds me if I let it. Rarely comfort; sometimes calm or clarity let their selves be known.

Henri Nouwen writes that connection with God must include solitude, quiet, to create an opening between human and higher power. The balcony provides that opportunity for me. Not that I’ve gotten a conscious answer, but the questions run strong.

Questions come up, pass through my mind and my heart. Is God here? Why am I? Why did God create this world? How do I find God? Does forgiveness really exist? How long do we rely on friends when our hearts are heavy? How long do we count on someone being there for us when we can't be there for ourselves because we are still lost?. How do we rebuild when we have uncovered false or faulty foundations? What do we build with? The balcony holds the essence of all who have ever been there, the spirits of more than that. Sometimes it seems to me that the entire sanctuary is really a time capsule that keeps getting added to.

The church building. The church building.
When the day is done, and people leave, the wake of their activity lingers, and the building creaks or vibrates a little. Mostly that only happens when a big truck goes by.

There is a distinctiveness to the empty building. The evening energy is anticipatory. At the close of the full day, when all that needs to happen there is done, and all human life has left, the body of the building murmurs. The Chapel's heartbeat is more easily felt, the hallways release breath, the walls let go a little. I like to walk the halls during those moments. I like to hear and feel the building transition into peacefulness, I like to be there as it gets ready for whatever the next day has to offer.

This entry may seem disoriented and a little undone, maybe, but truth still.
Where is the place that holds you safe?

Monday, September 18, 2006

Freefalling into fall

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times....

It was a dark and stormy night....

She was working on the altar Guild booklet, as she had been for many many nights.

a note popped up! She was being missed!!!

Funny, she thought to herself.. to be missed by someone I don't know.. Hey!! I miss myself, and I don't know myself, how about that? Could I have sent myself that comment? NO,

Her friend, Lanie, looked over the weary church chick's slumped shoulder. "You need a nap".

I need to write, she thought to herself. She was so tired, that she wasn't sure if she spoke or thought or typed that consideration.

sigh.... I'll be back soon. I am hungry to share some church snackling stories. Hope my readers don't give up on me.