P.S. Some days are just like that

Some days are just like that-

My boss has been working harder than usual to help this congregation feel loved and appreciated. I say harder, but in truth there aren't many things that are easier right now. Pre-pandemic days he would be visiting folks at the hospital; welp THAT ain't happen' right now. People would be in and out of his office like bees in and out of the honey hive. You can hear the echo of a pin drop in the stairwell these days.  When I try to mimic my normal morning check-ins with him,(that aren't as needed of late)  my voice echoes off of the dust that has accumulated on and around the collectibles that fill his office. The figurines look lonely and narry a tissue has been used or offered in months.

He and the other pastors have been delivering the UPPER ROOM magazines, talking to people on the phone and of course, ZOOMING like mad. This week he asked if we had a wheelchair that a member could use, if so, to please let him know and he'd be happy, no THRILLED  to deliver it. The man is desperate for human contact- if I had wondered before, I didn't after that-

We found one and sent him on his way- expecting him back sooner rather than later. Tick. tick. tick.
Late afternoon brought him back, disheveled and wide-eyed. "How'd it go?" I asked when I saw him come in.
"Well, this is one for your blog, church chick!"  and I thought it might be, so here you go.

He had rolled the chair from the church to his car, finagled and fiddled with it until he finally figured out how to fold it and then -oof!- lifted it into his car. He drove to the member's house and unloaded the burdensome wheelchair, fought with it to open, and rolled it up to the house. He knocked on the door. No answer. He called and someone finally came out, so glad to see him, they didn't even notice the chair! After a few minutes, he made mention of the chair he probably wished he could be sitting in, and the cheerful member casually said, "Oh! that's not for us- that's for a friend who needs it, would you mind?" He graciously accepted the request, then rolled, folded, and pushed the awkwardly shaped chair back into the car and headed to the 'friend's' house. It was way over there somewhere, so he asked Siri to tell him how to get there. "Well this road is closed and that one is blocked and the other one has a sinkhole in it, so which one do you want?" She answered his simple request for directions as if she really cared, which we know she didn't. Doesn't. She's not real, yet her voice resides in many of our phones. So he tried roundabout ways under bridges, over railroad tracks, then through frightful forests until he finally arrived at the 'friend's' house and once again, dragged that wacky wheeled monster out of his car where he very well could have plopped right into it and wheeled his way to their door, but being the Senior Pastor, he once again, pushed it to the door, up the hill and over the pebbles where it was grateful to rest somewhere other than his car, then he headed back to church.

What a fiasco! a comedic distraction! Yesterday, Mr. wheelchair showed up outside the front doors. It had been returned, yet abandoned in a rush to drop and go, go, go. We brought it inside, Gillian gave it a detail cleaning, and parked it back in the closet where it resides. She closed the door and went about doing other work. A few times later that afternoon, I could have sworn I heard sighs of relief coming from that closet. Sometimes, it's good to be home, even to a church wheelchair.

Never a dull minute, thankfully

Over these years, as I’ve learned more about my job,I have merrily passed on that knowledge for the benefit of those who come after me. Discovering tasks that a churchchick is expected to do flavors the work.  The  list grows, even now. File this under job description/miscellaneous….possibly staff support.

I got a call from my boss. He was in the car with his wife on their way to a funeral.

“ Church chick, Bobbie- the -mailman stopped us when we were pulling out of our driveway. He frantically waved us  to roll down our window and he had a tight grip on a hand full of mail. He was so up set, and worried. He said he had just delivered mail to a house that had a strong and peculiar odor. He’s afraid something very bad has happened there. He’s terrified. I told him not to worry and that I’d take care of it.”

“Hmmmm”, 14 years on the job said.

“So, you saw Bobbie-the-mailman and he’s afraid something horrible has happened there? The odor reeked of treacherous: scary, awful?”

“ Very, very bad. He was panicked!”

“ And you told him you’d take care of it?”

“Yes, and that seemed to calm him right down.”

“And so why are you calling me?”

“Well, I was wondering if you’d maybe go over there and…..”

“Take care of it?”

“ Well, yeah.”

“Ok,no problem, I just want to be sure I’ve got this right. Our mailman (who is a strong and stocky guy who walks miles every day so his stamina is also pretty fit) is freaking out over a possible crime scene across the street and you want me to risk my life to check it out?”

“Yes, and can you call me when you find out?”

I loved the trust.

“ Of course I will.”

I walked across the street to said house. I noticed no sinister wafts. I went up the front steps and there on the ground beside the steps lay a mountain of used doggie bags that were in full sun, and covered with flies and other worse crawling creatures.

“That’s probably what it is.” I said to myself. But what if it wasn’t that?

I opened the mail slot in the door and peeked in. The mail that Bobbie-the-mailman delivered in a mad rush was still half way stuck in the slot, but I could still see through. I didn’t notice anything out of order, but of course, I’d never been there before.

I pushed the mail over and stuck my nose into the mail slot and took a sniff. ….another….Nothing.

“Well, I guess it’s nothing.” and I headed back across the street to work.

Bobbie- the -mailman was just coming out of the church.”Did you notice anything? Anything at all? I mean people can be hurt or die and be left there for days and I don’t want anything like that on my route.” 
His heels clicked sharply. “I’m a mailman who cares.”

“You sure are, my friend. You sure are. I didn’t really notice anything other than the dog poop, but if it happens again tomorry, we can go together to check. That troubling odor might be coming from the vacant house next door that is for sale, or maybe even the house on the other side.”

There we were standing with our heads together looking at the houses in question, when the door of the poop house opened and a woman's head appeared. Crazy gawking eyes looked around, crackling with suspicion.  Her hair was mussed and messy, stressed. She stepped out onto her front porch holding the wrong end of a broom. 

“She sort of reminds me of Gladys Kravitts.” I crossed my hands genie style.

“Yeah, she does.”

" Oh, wow. She's looking pretty freaked out, man"

We turned our backs to her. “Okay, Bobbie, listen. If a Police car pulls up in the next few minutes you may have to bail me out of jail. She’s going to say,”I know it wasn’t the mailman, because he already delivered the mail. It was someone else, I saw a nose. I heard a distinct sniff.”

“ Okay, I can do that. No problem.” We parted ways.

I called my boss to let him know the neighborhood appeared to be safe again, and not to worry. “I knew you could do it.” Such faith. or such something…

No sign of police cars later that day or since, but I have noticed an ADT security systems van out there the last couple of days. 

First venture out…

My boss has become the Godfather. He is presently residing inside the parsonage across the street from the church in a soft leather recliner. He started receiving some appointments and there have been some people seeking him out as well. I haven't seen anyone kiss his hand yet. I think that at this point that kind of thing wouldn't be a very good idea. His right arm is being held prisoner to his body by a curious looking stripped down straitjacket. It wraps and holds tight and travels all around to the other side to wrap and hold tight again. All of this in a perky shade of white. That arm is not going anywhere for a while and he isn’t either. His left hand/arm is bored and looks a little lost.

Someone loaned him a piece of equipment that has managed to give some relief to his aches, but I have to say I am confused by the contraption. The small white cube shaped cooler has two blue flexible tubes coming out of it. They wrangle and wave like the whiskers on a catfish but they have a very important job to do. They connect to a shawl that looks like bubblewrap with a lovely blue cover. The tubes deliver cool/iced water to the entire area that is injured. It’s kinda neat. The shawl stays attached to his shoulder with matching blue ace bandages. The machine sounds like a hesitant pump. It says "poooosh" then nothing."pooooosh" again and then nothing.

 I have bonded with the ice pump this week. I’ve learned how to work it and put it on the patient patient. I expect my certification license to come in any day. Something has been bothering me about it, though. The machine is a miracle worker,the idea  came from an obviously brilliant mind. I’m just thinking that this machine was created for people who can’t move well, who are hurt and need to sit in the shawl and rest. So, why do you think there is no on/off button within reach?

I came by a couple of days ago to check on the pastor patient, and the machine was off, shawl off. He asked me to help him put it on, and I did. While I waited for the poosh sound, the newly injured and weak-eyed boss slipped past me, gently treaded across the carpet  to a dresser a few feet away and picked up a ginormous plug. “Now I just have to plug it in and we’re all ready.” As he tentatively  reached behind the dresser to plug the machine in, I said, “Stop! I’ll do that.” He looked relieved. The worn out one-armed pastor meandered back to his chair and melted into it. …..

 Are you kidding me? Talk about a bad joke. Did the inventor really expect people who are in bad enough shape to use this machine to be able to get up, walk over anywhere and plug/unplug the darn big bazooka  plug? I decided that the inventor must have had some serious unresolved issues when he created this thing.... might have had to do with caring for his ailing mother when he was really wanting to go outside and play baseball with the team.

 I went to the hardware store and got a surge protector that reached to his chair and now he just has to turn it on or off. He can do that very well with his toe. Toes don't get to do much except wiggle and point.  What in the world was so hard about that, Mr. Inventor? I’m sorry to say that I hope you get a splinter one day that you can’t find. And I hope it hurts for a while.

After a couple of days of agony, my boss’s brain began to clear and send him whispers, “Go to church. Get up out of that chair and go to work. Go visit someone who is in pain, pray and plan a service or two. Go on now, do it.”

His body was sending him answers to those whispers on a louder scale. “DO NOT MOVE OR SHIFT YOUR BODY OR BREATHE TOO DEEPLY.BE STILL. IF YOU INSIST ON VISITING SOMEONE IN PAIN, VISIT YOUR OWN SELF. PLAN A SERVICE OR TWO IN YOUR DREAMS. GO ON NOW, DO IT.” The tug of war continued and grew stronger until he decided to prove his brain right and so he got up and waited by his window to watch the church finish the day and settle in for the night. He gazed through a cracker jack telescope (because the binoculars were just too heavy for his out of shape free hand.). He waited as the last Bible Study closed and the members left. He waited while two friends stood outside and talked through their day. He watched the lights go off one by one and he waited until even the bunnies who frequented the churchyard settled in for a good sleep.

Unfortunately, after being in a recliner for 3 days, the standing wait exhausted him and the pain meds got tired, too and wore off, so back to the recliner he shuffled- carefully and as still-like as he could go. An odd thought crossed his mind as he sank into the chair. "I'm glad we don't have earthquakes around here." He fought off the shudder inside him that heard that thought.

He was awakened by the sound of the morning paper hitting the front storm door and knew the time was right, and short, so he eased himself out of the chair and hiked the rugged terrain of the parking lot over to the sleeping church. The steeple light led him across the street. All was quiet but for the gentle jingle of his church keys and the nearly silent, lower case sounds coming from his own mouth with every other step. “ouch” step step “ahhrgh” step step. “yeow”.  His right fingers were thrilled to finally be given a useful and painless job, holding the keys.

He made it to the front door, looked through the glass and saw the alarm was shining green. “Whew, no alarm to deal with this early morning.” Out of habit, his right hand tried to put the key in the lock, but the automatic movement came to a screeching stop when the straitjacket prevented the motion and the pain of even considering it screamed at him to “STOP”

“Oh, yeah.” He relaxed and let the pain drizzle away.

His left arm started twitching and his fingers were full of energy. “It’s our turn!!! We can do it!!! We want to try!! Give us the keys, we’ll get the job done, by golly!!” His left hand swept up and gently, out of sensitivity for it’s mirror twin, took the keys out of the pained right hand.

In his mind’s eye, the key made a beeline for the lock- zip, zing, turn. In reality, he watched as the keys tried to cast the  awkward hand closer to the lock. “Look, we’ve not done dexterity trials in a while, give us a break. Give us a minute, will you? “

He watched as the working left hand moved the keys closer to the general area of the lock finally zero-ing in on the keyhole. Alas, the key was upside down. He stared at his fingers and willed them into turning the key around in preparation for a second go. Key hit glass. Move it over a bit. There. Key hit metal, missing hole.

The Pastor froze in aggravation  and looked around.

“Oh dear Lord, how long have I been here? He glanced at the sky and was relieved to see the sun had just barely started to show a bit of shine to the coming day. The key was still maintaining contact with the metal.

With a bit of a left-handed jiggle, the key finally made it into the keyhole. What a feat! The surrounding audience of churchyard grass and morning dew applauded and wept at the long awaited success. Surely  Ripley would be interested in publishing this exciting accomplishment in the next Believe it or not edition. He stared at the connection between key hole and key and with deep concentration, he watched his hand turn. Although he was making good use of his one good hand, the left, he was still thinking in right hand mode, so instead of unlocking the door, he locked and re-locked it.

Deep breath. Try again. The key turned, the lock released and he was free to enter his workplace, his worshipful space, his church. His hand tugged gently on the key, getting a head start on opening the door.

His right hand tried to reach the door handle , to open it as he had done every day for the last 6 years, and immediately recoiled from the mistake.The door settled back into its frame and the lock clicked back in place.

 Sad eyes peered through the glass. He was soooo close. He could see the welcome mat just inside the doorway, patiently waiting to welcome him to HBUMC. He saw the outline of the front desk and the round lights on the elevator against the back wall. “We’re right here, Pastor. Take your time. We’re not going anywhere.”

Two tries later and he was in. He was in, exhausted and ready to go back home to the recliner. He could feel it calling to him, the soft leather saying, “Come on back, my friend. Come back and rest. We’ll make you an offer you can’t refuse.”

Determination kept him moving forward. He shuffled through the lobby, around the corner and approached his office door. His working hand reached for the handle and pressed down.

The door wouldn’t budge. His office was locked.

If you have ever experienced the power of a perturbed pastor’s silent scream then you will understand why , at that moment, the sleeping bunnies awoke and ran away as if a fox was on their tails. You will know why the pictures hanging on the hall walls rattled, and you will feel sad in your heart to see what flocks of birds that live in churchyard trees look like when their feathers fly right off of their sleeping skins.

The silent scream woke up some much needed endorphins, and he felt a wave of patience break over him. He shuffled three steps over and leaned inside the mailroom, his free arm reaching in a cubby for the spare key. Yes. It was there. That’s a first.

He relaxed and entered his office. He walked around his desk and slowly lowered his weary self  into his chair. He had made it to land at last.

Guilt ridden

I know I'm bad minded. Concerned about me, me, me. I'm sorry. But if you are going to know me, you might as well know all of me. Something happened this week that brought out the me in me. Something terrible. Horrid. Painful. Sad and just not fair.Not fair to my boss, anyway.

 The day started out  like every other day to him... Fast and furious. zoom zoom Monday. He levitated out of bed in the darkness that predawn  snuggles into before the birds awaken.  Like every other Monday,he drove to the gym and sweated out enough liquid to make room for his morning caffeine- then headed to the coffee shop. Even though the parking lot speed limit is 50 SPM (steps per minute), his legs were still in cycle spin mode, and he screeched in at a cool 75. The coffee shop doors, accustomed to his morning visits opened just in time and he irrked to a stop at the cash register where the clerk, who was familiar with his preferences in latte, held his grande like a gold ring on a carosel.  The fast exchange of payment for coffee went smoothly and the liquid nearly jumped into his gulp. His morning intravenous coffee began to kick in."Ahhhh. Now the day can begin." he jittered to himself.

The regulars were there, and the friends exchanged nods and laughter, funny eyebrows and head tilts.My boss walked by, crisp and clean after a hard workout and quick shower.  A wave of his cup and he was off. As he backed out, pushing against the double glass doors, someone said, "Have a great one, Pastor!"
and although my beloved boss had every intention of following through with that send off, well, it was just not to be.

While he was inside gearing up for the first fresh day of a new and wonderful week with coffee and friends, there was a viciously unhappy  horizontal parking space hurdle, disgruntled with his laid down hurdle life in the concrete jungle where he lived, a few feet outside the coffee shop doors. Un beknownst to speedy-start-the-day boss, the hurdle had just hit an emotional wall. Maybe he  held one too many pieces of chewed gum, or maybe he had been tinkled on by one too many peekaboos . We'll never know, but we do know this. Somehow, that hurdle had gone to the dark side and with evil in his hurdle heart, had discovered how to cloak himself.

When my boss backed out the doors and turned to walk, skip, leap- whatever mode he was in at the time, to his car, that hateful hurdle activated his cloak , then braced for the impact of the pedestrian trip. My boss never saw it coming. He fell so fast he didn't  see the pavement leap up to meet him.

One second changed the lives of so many (for 4-6 weeks).

 The slight of build bustling man fell hard and fast. His breakfast coffee leapt to the safety of his shirt and suit. The liquid clung to his clothes, not wanting to meet the 'crete or come near the invisible monster that had caused such a collision. The irritation of the wet beverage soak over-shadowed the reality of the fall and he picked himself up, got into his car and headed home for a shower.

He called me from the house to tell me he was running late and we discussed if staff meeting should start later, or if we should go ahead without him.
 I was curious who had died, gotten deathly ill, or cried for help. "So what's up?"
"My  coffee spilled and is all over me. I really just need to take a quick shower and oh, by the way, I can't move my right shoulder." echo echo echoooo can't move move move my right shoulder shoulder shoulder......

Being messy in most things by nature, it was the right shoulder comment that caught my attention. " Do you want me to come over and take a look at it?"
" No I need to get this coffee off of my clothes. I hit the sidewalk like a brick and nearly all of it spilled onto my tie and shirt." The additional information sent off a tiny alarm. Sidewalk like a brick.
" Or, How about I come over and take you to the ER?"
" No, thanks. I'll be over in a little while."
" Well, at least take your cell phone with you into the bathroom so you can call me when you have fallen and can't get up, okay?"
"okay"
Twenty minutes later, I left my office,  walked two doors down, rounded the corner, and walked past the front desk. The phone rang."It's your boss, for you."
"Hey"
" My wife's on her way home and  we're going to see about having my shoulder x-rayed."
" Want one of us to stay with you til she gets home?"
" No, thanks. I'm just having a little trouble with my clothes. I'll wait til she gets here. It won't be long."

I imagined him realizing that sometimes clothes that come off, are harder to put back on again, especially when one limb is immobile and I hoped it wasn't the day for the cleaning lady to come and I hoped Fed Ex did not have any morning deliveries for him. I prayed that Girl Scouts didn't sell door to door anymore, and I especially hoped that the sweepstakes van would not pull into his driveway in the next 15 minutes or so.

The staff worried, but we forded on through our day. By mid afternoon, his loving wife called to give me an update. "His shoulder is broken. Surgery won't help, so he'll be in a tight, secure sling for 4-6 weeks."

" Oh, No!! I'm so sorry!" I heard the genuine concern in my voice, but at the same time something else was at work in me. It was the bad me. The me, me, me at work. I hung up. A Pacific coast wave of panic  began to rise up inside me. Someone walked by my door and said, "What is it? What's wrong, church chick?"
"Boss's wife called and he's broken his shoulder. He'll be wrapped up- his good arm, for 4-6 weeks."
"Oh, gosh. Oh, Man"
I stood up. Placed my hands slam down on my desk. "You know what this means?" "OMG DO you KNOW what this means?"
Several staff had gathered around my office door, the hub of the church, the place to find a moment's peace, the bubblegum factory office.
Someone said, "what?"
"THIS MEANS THAT HE'LL NEED A REAL SECRETARY!" "OH MY OH MY OH MY GOSH!"
I never claimed to be that. Even when applying for the church secretary job years ago, I never signed anything that certified I was, in fact, a secretary. I said I would do my best. That's it. You can check the records.

"He can't use email, or write letters. I'll have to glue myself to his good side and type/write down his every word, I'll have to buy new running shoes and try to keep up with him and type at the same time. I'll have to turn my head the other way and cover my ears and sing LaLaLa while he's counseling  OH MY"

 I plunked down in my chair and put my thinking cap on. Then I picked up the phone.
" Mr. publication wizard, we have an emergency." I spoke to our magic man of the computers at work.
"Tell me where the fire is, and I'll be right down" he rolled out those words in his usual comfortable and pleasant voice.
I began to ramble. " Boss... broken... right shoulder.... computer use kaput.... email no go.... need voice recognition installed immediately."
I could feel him picture the near future and what it meant and he suddenly appeared before me , tights, cape and mask all in tact. "I won't return until i find what we need!!" and he was off. My hero.

He came back later with a microphone and we found a program that sounded reliable. THE SAVE YOUR SECRETARY'S SANITY SOFTWARE  by Worth a try, inc.

I went through the tutorial and started practicing the program that was about to save my career.
I watched the screen as  I spoke, " I am here talking into the computer."  The screen showed, " In any gear walking to the can opener."
I looked down at the reference card of cue words. "Delete phrase."
The computer spit out , "Deplete the race."
I held the sheet and looked again at my clear and simple directions. "De LETE phrase"
"De FEET brakes."

oh. so that's how it's going to be.

I took the directions to the program that  I was counting on to save me and carefully crushed the pages into a tight ball.

"Write what I say! Write what I say right now! Write it write it write it write it!"
"No. No I will not. The End."
Sigh
Sigh again.

I closed out the useless program and pulled up his inbox. It only took 25 minutes for the Bizzy Hub copier to print out all 300 emails that had come in over the last day. Then, I picked up the phone and called the tech turned- super hero- turned human. "I think we're going to need a lot more paper for a while."
"Oh, okay, I'll place the order for more delivered weekly. How long do you think?"
I closed my eyes. " Probably 4-6 weeks."

Manna.... the rest of the story

If you have not already read the "manna" entry, you may want to do that before you tackle this one-

My boss had the honor of being asked to teach a workshop last weekend.
The job was supported by a grant that was very specific -as grants can be.

During the weeks prior to the workshop,as he was putting his teaching plan in action, he chose items from workchurch and his basement that he could use as props. He was very intentional in not purchasing materials unless he absolutely had to.

A couple of days before the workshop, he touched base with his contact person and discovered that part of the grant was designated for materials, a signifigant amount, and he HAD to spend it or else. This caused his rightbrainy-ness to go retro and start processing in reverse.
He was in a panic because now, he had a blank canvas to work from- and not much time to regroup and shop- yikes.

He asked me where he might find some props- unusual items like giant pots, old and worn authentic items... I suggested the store next to the restaurant at the Farmer's Market. I visit there on occasion to find things I like, then I look for them at yard sales and the flea market. He was desperate. He trusted my idea and took off in his batmobile.

The afternoon wore on. Winter was blowing bitter blasts and it was dreary to boot. I was getting ready to leave when he blew in with the wind.
" Come see what I found!!!" he bounced.
"Did you spend what you needed to?" I asked as I put my coat on.
"Yes, and I found things I never even would have considered. It was so much fun!!! Come see!! Come see!!!" I paused and breathed a sigh of envy for whoever babysat for him when he was 5 or 6 because surely it must have looked like this but even cuter.

We went out to the batmobile and opened one of the doors. That car was packed slam full. Like a magician reaching in his bag, he began pulling items out and telling me just how they would be used at the workshop and how we would later use them at work church.

"Look, a trough!!! a Realllll trough!! We can put manna in it, or turn it this way and we can put rolls in it or candles or prayers!! Can you believe it?"
"I'm trying, but it's pretty hard to believe, alright."

"And these wooden blah blahs... you can turn them over and they become blah blah blahs!!! This is soooo exciting!!!"

I watched him reach into his car and pull out his found treasures countless times. I soaked in his excitement and wondered if the participants would also be energized when they saw his presentation.

I couldn't imagine how he had been able to fit so many items in his car. Wow. Good minutes. Cold, good minutes.

"Yes! I love your finds!!! Wow! I'm so glad you found so many things so fast!!" I poked my head into the car and took a closer look. I saw round pieces of this and boxes with holes in them and then I saw something else.
I backed out and took a step away from the car. I wasn't cold anymore.
The winds stopped and whispered away. Everything got quiet. still.

"Crap! Are you kidding me? Seriously, are you kidding me? You were gone a couple of hours and you found this? "

Looking confused, he dipped into the car and then he reached for something and just stayed like that, his body half in and half out of the car.

I spoke to his coat."I like everything you got today except THAT."

He pulled himself out and faced me. He was holding a beautifully rustic, real,even Biblical THREE FOOT SPOON. I could tell just by looking at it that the aged utensil longed for manna.

"I'm just letting you know now, if that spoon comes within my reach, well, I can't guarantee what will become of it."
and I went back inside.

Manna

When Christmas comes, children are filled with anticipation. They are enthralled with the mystery of the season and the wonder of all that it brings. Christmas works the same way for me at work church. After being here 5 years, I have come to anticipate Easter and Christmas in ways you might not expect. My boss, creative genius flowing briskly through his veins, has a knack for last minute artistic revelations. I call it the “Hey, can you find me a picture of prayer that doesn’t have hands in it?” syndrome.
When the spell comes alive, his feet stay about ¾” off the ground and his sense of reality is replaced with lightbulb ideas.
I’m talking the kind of lightbulb that doesn’t break or flicker- Strong bulb ideas. He will speak in strange tongues, sling phrases and questions out as if I can understand him, which, usually, I can’t. The whole of it is fun to watch and be a part of. I find that I look forward to the idea -spring every spring and early winter. The energy around it is all good. All. Good.

I expected the spell to hit late on the afternoon of the 23rd, but this year it came on lightening fast on the 22nd. I first questioned whether this was, indeed the “Hey, can you find….” moment, but then decided it probably was and it probably came early so there could be a REALLY last last last minute change. I figured right.

So, on an unassuming Dec. 22, my boss casually walks into my office and then right out. He continued this in/outness for a few minutes. I was working away at the usual- baptisms, calendaring and trying to see how many people I could cram into his Bible study which is another story I hope I’ll write.

Finally, he stepped in and stayed. He stood in front of my desk in wait, wringing his hands. – This is a sure sign something is cooking, so I put the top back on my pen and gently set it down. I scootched back into my chair and looked up at him; I was at the ready.
“Do you have time…. Uh, No really, do you have time to ……?”
Without losing my gaze into his now glazed -over -with -artistic -imagery –energy- eyes, I pushed the papers I was working on off to the side.
“Spill it.”
“Well, Do you have a feed bag?”
My lips pressed themselves together in an effort to keep me from smiling.
“You mean a burlap bag that has feed in it like horses eat?”
He brightened at my understanding of his request.
“Yes!!”
Unable to keep my composure, I reached for a tissue and pretended to blow my nose. Inside, my thoughts were screaming-
“Why in the heck do you think that your secretary would have a 48” burlap feed bag at her fingertips? And Why do you ask that question as if you are asking me if I have a blue pen, or a paperclip?”

I tried to remain casual, but I could tell my composure was twisting about some. I feared my facial expressions would soon take over.
I pulled a note pad over to me and grabbed a pen. I started a list.
1. Feed bag

Holding that writing pose I looked up and said, “Okay. What’s next?”
He let his hands drop and stepped back through the doorway as if he was in a hurry to get back to his office for more ideas.
“Can you google manger?”
2.Manger
“Do you want me to find out what it is? Or what?” I tried not to sound facetious.

“No No, see what you can find out about its meaning. Liturgically.”
“Okay. Got it. Anything else?”
He headed across the hall to his “cave” then spun around on his heel and popped his head in.
“Can you pick up some Manna while you’re out? We only need a few pounds.”
3.Manna
“Manna? Okay, so if you give me the bible verse I’ll look it up . I didn’t know we really knew what it looked like. Maybe it’s on special at the Teeter. Or do you have a coupon?”
He smiled because he knew I would try very hard to do these things for him and because he knew that I trusted his ideas. “Something grainy that we can run our hands through.”
“Okay.” I scribbled down grainy manna on my list. I was relieved that he did not request spongy manna because I was pretty sure most of the stores had sold out of that type. Whew.
He stood in the doorway of my office and spoke low and fast. “There’s one more thing.”
I waited.
“We need a 3 foot spoon.”
4. Ginormous spoon

Then he left. I heard the bell on his door jingle when it closed.
I sighed, picked up my list and gave it a good look before letting it fall back onto the unassuming desktop.

I looked up. I looked under my desk. I stood up and looked out tothe alley.
No candid camera in site.

I googled for a while and finally came up with a couple of definitions and some liturgical jargon around “manger”. Slimpickins, but at least it was something.

I went downstairs and opened up the box of flower bulbs I had wintering over. The burlap bag that held the sleeping bulbs looked like it knew I was coming for it. In fact, now that I think about it, I believe the whole box had a slight glow about it. Not as bright as the North star, but still…

I had spent the last few months looking for a suitable storage bag for bulbs and a friend found this in the mountains and brought it back for us to house our bulbs on their off seasons. Wow, I thought it was serendipitous but maybe it was more….. hmmmm…….I headed upstairs.

So, I tiptoed into his office and said, “You know those days when you wonder why you hired me? I have those often enough. Well, THIS is WHY!” and I presented the bag and miniscule info on mangers to him. He looked relieved.

I hit the road and searched most of the morning for manna and giant spoons. Thrift shops, novelty stores, Tuesday Morning stores, Big Lots, Mexican restaurants, and finally, I just couldn’t do it anymore, so I took a break and went to the whole foods market and checked out the manna assortment. Finding a grain that seemed like it might enjoy being manna for a one night stand, I headed to the check out. When I passed the restaurant section I felt a chill. I asked one of the bakers if they sold soup and when he said yes, an idea tapped into my brain.

“So do you make it in big pots?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“and what do you stir it with?”
I could tell he thought he may be talking to an overzealous and organically grown veganatrian. Yes, veganatarian. That’s a vegetarian and a vegan and every other type of 'v' person rolled into one.

“We use a paddle. BUT it is made of all natural wood with no additives and most of our soup paddles have come from trees found in the hidden jungles of organic continents that have given their tree lives up- voluntarily- so that other baby trees and vegetation may thrive, thus helping end global warming.”

I tilted my head to the side and took a good long look at this young baking man. He was really trying hard. I decided if I had the power to, I would have patted him on the back and given him the day off and I also would have hit him with a $5 bill and told him to go get a Happy Meal at McDonalds so that he could have a reality check. I figured he’d been pesticide free wayyyyyy too long.
“Thanks, sir.”

I headed to the nearest restaurant equipment store and lo! Wooden paddles sat in wait. I bought one, took it back to work, stuck a sticky note on it that said, “I CAN be a spoon!” and waited for my out of body boss to return.

The manna passed snuf, but the spoon made it all worthwhile.He said, “It’s a paddle. No spoons?”

I said, “This spoon was forced into being a paddle. It wants to be a spoon and it can be if you’ll call Clay and ask him to perform a conversion on it.” Boss was excited. SOOOO excited. Made me feel really good inside to see him in his Christmas best.

So, my thinking that this “Hey” day came early for a reason was right.

The next day, he came in and said, “We’ve decided manna should be mashed potatoes.”
Of course you did. But let’s be truthful about this, boss. It wasn’t quite that human, was it? I bet sometime in the night, an angel came to you in your dreams and sang on high, “ Mashed potatoes” and you woke with that understanding.
At any rate, I hit up the Kroger and bought the last of their super sized manna mashed potato flakes. When I got back to work, I typed labels that said Manna and I stuck them all over the boxes.

When he returned, he grabbed the boxes, glanced at them and said on his way out, “ Oh good, they had some”
I called to him.
“Excuse me?!”
“Yes?”
“You know what this means, don’t you?”
“What?”
“It means that Kroger is old as dirt. Which is a little different than the history books say.”

He flashed me a smile and hit the sanctuary running.

Just as I locked up to go home, I heard his footsteps on the slate floor of the sanctuary. He was running and I flattened myself against the wall in preparation.

“The baby Jesus is too small!!!!” he cried. So, is this what the season has come to? The baby Jesus is too small? I made a few calls to families that I knew had children and then I shopped downstairs in the preschool area and came up with a bigger baby Jesus.

When I carried it into the sanctuary I stood in shock and wonder. I was quickly and delightfully reminded of my boss’s gifts and talents, his wisdom and spirit. The sanctuary held all of the elements I had purchased, but he had transformed the simple items into something Godly.
He carries a spirit inside him that is good and strong and fullof love and creativity. This church is so lucky to have him lead them.

Take a closer look at the picture and .....
Just remember: grain, mashed potatoes, plastic babydoll, wooden paddle and burlap.

Happy holidays

appearances

On occasion, my boss will ask me to help him with his computer. I am no computer geek, I am slightly computer -phobic when things don't work. When we both get stumped, we call upon the master on site- Doug. His name deserves to be real. If it wasn't for Doug and his largely invisible presence, your newsletter would look like a first grader authored the pages, and they would arrive out of order and in sections. The bulletins would be folded off center. Actually, i believe it is entirely possible that the bulletins may very well end up origami cranes and the type would more than likely be reversed. Next time you see Doug, give him a pat on the back. He doesn't accept verbal accolades readily, but pats seem to carry well with him.


So, my boss calls me on the true phone intercom. "Can you come help me? Do you mind?" I stood up and grabbed my pen. My speech began before I ever left the office. "Okay, listen," I said as I crossed the hallway into his office. " YOU are the boss, and I am the secretary and that means YOU get to say, 'I need your help with this ', and I get to say,'Yessir, I'll be right there." "Got it?" He ignored me as he usually does when I remind him of how things work according to the Strunk and White of Church Secretaryisms. ( Strunk and White is a writer's how-to best friend).

I entered the office, and approached his desk, where he was sitting hunched over paying homage and praying over his laptop. By habit, he scooted his chair over, and by habit, I held onto his chair back while I creakingly folded my body down and kneeled beside him so I could meet his monitor eye to eye. I looked at the screen and reminded myself that this was just a machine. It needs help communicating, much like a two year old does, much like a teenager does,as well. My boss waited patiently while I had this mental exchange with myself, and we resolved the issue.

I reached up, pulled myself to standing, creaking and cracking all the way up, then I went back to my office. Mission accomplished.

We do this dance often. If the problem seems like it is going to take me more than a few seconds, I don't even have to ask him to go to the bathroom anymore, he automatically gets up and gives me the space and time to think at my aged and older- than -dirt pace. He is very respectful that way. So,it is a system that works for us well, and one we don't give a second thought to.

Apparently, someone noticed us working together and later in the day, they commented on the sight. It went something like this: " You and your boss seem to work well together. You were both concentrating so hard. Gosh, it was touching to see that bonding."

I tried to figure out what she was talking about. My recollection of the day appeared a little different than that. I recall giving him a hallway holler, I remember opening the men's bathroom door and saying, "Are you in here?"... I recalled interrupting his Bible Study that was running over (in an effort to get him to his next meeting on time), and closing the electric wall on the group, hoping they'd finish up. How working together is that? Those recalls sound crude now that I think about it. Ah, well, I live in the moment- thank gosh those moments have now passed.

Finally, I remembered working on his computer; and I realized that if one had not seen the call for help, or heard the banter, seen the loud kneeling or rising, one might have considered the vision of two heads working together as a special moment.

Truth is, I like being asked to help, (as if I can), and it is always a relief when I've made the round trip- across the hall, down and back up again. One day, we may install a zipline. I'll ask Trustees to consider it.

I love my job and the people in it.

The season approaches

Oh, my. My fingers are soooo itching to show and tell. 24 hours in a day is not long enough during this season to give me that luxury of typing about my days here. It makes me sad in my heart because I so love to share the mystery and magic of being in this job, and of late, my stories seem to have expanded somewhat outside these church walls.with no noticeable complaints from readers. whew. How tolerant you are, my friends, how truly tolerant. Thank you.
More and more, my mystery internet radio station fits the activity around here. It adds levity when there is none to be found, and it gives me something to smile about when I'm running short on smileabouts. I've been told that in the dead of night, when no living being dare be wandering the halls, the radio still tells the tales of woe, murder and mahem. A fun friend enlightened me to this this week. On occassion she comes in late and when she enters my office, it sounds as if Dick Tracy himself has returned from his grave to solve this or that.


She suggested that it made for a very effective security tool. Think I'll stick with that.

A miracle occured today, or maybe it was a "This is exactly why" moment. I wonder still, why these kind hearted souls continue to allow me to come in day after day and play office. Yes, my responsibilities have grown in abundance, but my demeanor has not changed much. I still use voice activated live action intercom most days, instead of ATT&T, and I continue to plug in my Christmas lights in my office. I keep candy and gum handy. and I file a different way every day. Fortunately, I leave myself notes, and my next door neighbor has grown accustomed to my meandering methods, so we don't lose too many things. Still,professionality is not my forte.

Anyway, you may wonder on occassion, why my insecurities persist after now, 3 years. Yes, 3 years. I've made it through teething and potty training. whew. Well, here's a perfect example.

My boss has been pastoring for 25 years + ( I figure he prayed while he was swimming his way into the world, as well) He collects publications like the bullitens, newsletters, etc... For all those years. There are volumes of notebooks in his office that span that period. Think about it.

Bottom line is this. That is a lot- a LOT of paper!!. So, this week, when I was asked how long someone had been working in their job, or this and that yada yada, before I could email the business administrator, my boss had flown across to his office and in the twinkling of an eye, returned to my desk with one of the aforementioned volumes. Not just one. But one in particular. Like Moses' parting (with a little help) of the Red Sea, that book fell open and my boss's fingers did the walking through those yellowed pages and lo! the voice of my brilliant boss cried out!!! "Here is is. ........."

Okay. I stopped typing my inquiry. My fingers refused to continue. My head dropped and i felt my eyes slide left, searching for the source of the exclamation. My eyes found his fingers, holding the page open, then they followed up the hand and arm and eventually met his eyes.

His brightness paused. " What? What's wrong? It's right here. What we were looking for. It's here in this newsletter." I remained still, yet focused. .....then I blinked.

" and you wonder WHY I worry that i won't live up ?? oh, for heaven's sake. I haven't got a chance in hell if you're going to pull stuff like that. " This, I said to my boss. My boss who performed a modern day miracle in my very office.

The real miracle is that he let me come back to work the next day. Take that, Moses.

Mid week splendor

Well, well, well. Today is Wednesday, and, I am NOT at my desk. I think I have found a way to experience vacation in drips. Today is a good one. I am messy-cheffing at home church tonight, and was planning on taking a half a day off today, but my boss dropped by yesterday and said to me, with lots of love and support, "Go for it- take the OTHER half and make it a day."

So I am. I was productive yesterday especially because I did some things I really didn't want to do. Doesn't that earn brownie points, people? Why, yes I think it does. So I slept in until 8 this morning, and here at 10:16, I'm dressed and have already had breakfast. wow. Work has only called once so far. That's pretty good.

My notes for CLC are on scraps of paper at work,so I really don't have anything especially swell to share, but my biggest fan has called me today and said, "WRITE" so I am.

I think the sign of a great working environment and team connection is when the boss is out of town and things at work stay the same. I have 2 bosses, you know. The Business Administrator and the Senior Pastor and then the Associate Pastors and the other staff are also really that, too. We work so well together that when one or more are gone, the flow doesn't really change.

It feels more like summer this year because , well, I don't really know why,but it just does and because of that i have been able to peck away at catch up stuff. I mean, the people coming in for assistance is wayyyyyyyyyup, but the event planning is a little sleepy, so I have some flexibility in my time and I want to be ready for the Fall when it crashes in.

The Pastor boss and 19 or 20 others are experiencing Zambia this week and next. It has been an intense planning, and I expect it will be an intense visit. I would say I can't wait to hear about it, but I am afraid their weary eyes will return wearing the pain of a reality they did not fully expect. So I am prepared to sit back and have lots of hugs ready. The day they left was a big big send off-

I don't do crowds very well, so I bided my time, and drove around trying to decide how the big giant bus would make its way to the highway. ( There are many winding narrow roads around the church, just as there are in life) I parked on the side of the road, close to the main road that they most surely would need to take, put the top down and waited. Sure enough, a big bad bus came smoking through. I stood up and waved waved waved.

I only saw one face. The woman sitting on the front seat row.She looked still and sad at first, then she noticed this idiot waving and i would like to think it distracted her as she looked up and her eyes popped right open!! Maybe seeing the last minute crazy church chick wave off helped them transition from leaving families to visiting new friends. I hope so.

When I came into work, not one person gave me a hard time for not attending the send off. They know me well, and they knew I probably wouldn't attend. I was happy to say I had a personal bon voyage!! I will remember this and use it again, as it felt really good.

I miss my boss Pastor. But I'm glad to have a chance to brace for his return. He seems immune to jet lag, sad to say.

WEll, I'm off to cook dinner for home church tonight. Tomorrow, I'll be clucking along in my haven at work church. The day off won't leave me with dread of going back to work, either. It's kind of nice to work in a place that feels like home. Really nice.

Breaking the spin cycle

My work boss likes to spin. He likes to take spinning class at the Y and after spinning class at the Y, he likes to spin right in here to work, and spin down the hall into his/out of his office, up and down the hall, up the stairs and down the stairs, and out the door to the hospital where he spins into ER or ICU or wherever it is he is called to spin.

You can hear him coming if you keep your radar up. He emits this low humm, much like an old timey fan.. Whirr is more like it. It’s best to stay out of arm’s reach when you hear that noise. If you get pulled into the spin you may come out looking something like hair with gum stuck in it, or you may find out your clothes are on backwards or your shoes are tied together. It’s dangerous. DANE- gerous I tell you.

He doesn’t always give off the humm. He doesn’t whirr every minute of every day, but when we approach critical Church events/ times/ occasions, well, the whirr is with us. Whirring is not a bad thing, mind you. Whirring is actually the sound of creativity in motion. This church is all about that. This church is full of creativity and this church is always in motion. I’m surprised the building hasn’t left the ground yet; lift off would solve many problems I’ve heard mentioned in the hallways here.

So, anyway…. I had the opp to break the cycle (if you will) of the spin. The week had been full of humming, whirring, continuous spiritual spinning. I was dizzy at the end of every day. By mid week I had taken to wearing my tennis shoes so I could get a better grip on my days. Even with the windows closed, I had to paperweight all the loose papers on my desk. Let’s just say it was a busy busy week, and much of it originated from the chief’s cave.

I came in early to try to get a handle on the day, and found an email from my boss.
It said, “ WE NEED ANOTHER MAILBOX FOR BLAH BLAH BLAH. tHANKS ….

I read the script and was shoved away from my desk by the all-caps message. I could tell by his thoughtful closure- (little t followed by caps on hanks) that he was spinning when he wrote. I envisioned him in his chair just rotating around and around as he batted around ideas and visions. I was certain he would never intentionally start my day with a scream. I got up and stood by his door. It was vibrating. Air was rushing out from underneath it. Yep. Clear case of Spination. So, I wrote him back.

I wrote, “WHY ARE YOU YELLING AT ME FIRST THING THIS MORNING?”Then I waited.

Suddenly, the barometric pressure dropped. The building released an exhausted sigh. His door opened, and he came over with a most perplexed look on his face. “Yelling?, I wasn’t yelling. Why did you think I was yelling? Why, church chick, I wouldn't yell at you...” I explained the facts of email etiquette and he understood right away. I think it broke the immediate spin cycle, or at least it slowed it down a bit. Anyway, I am sure I saw him take at least one complete and full breath before he whirred back into his office. Ah, respite comes in short blurts at times, but it is respite all the same.

Learning curve

I am so glad my boss has a new phone. Whew. One knot along the way, though. The simple process of replacing his phone really reflected the slow down in brain cell function in my own head. I am a creature of habit.

He was in a rush, as usual, and had found a smidgen of time somewhere in the corner of his back pocket. He fled the building leaving a trail of words flapping behind him. " I'm going to the cell store, I'll be back with my phone soon."

A little while later, I got a call from him. His voice was low and sort of congested. I heard car-lift noises , and the sound of spitting; country radio finished out the background. " Melanie, I need the address of the cell store. I thought it was here, but it isn't. Can you do a map-quest for me?"

I was on hold with someone else, and was in the middle of looking up some information on the database for a customer/member. My mind kicked into multi-task routine.
I said to my boss," Let me call you right back." Before I could get the phone snuggled back into its cradle, a shrill noise rang out from my phone. "NOOOOooooOOOoooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!"

I looked at the screaming receiver and spoke into it, hoping to quiet the squall " What's the matter? I can call you right back on your cell. Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh You don't have it, that's why you are there. oh yeah. Well, where are you then?"

" I'm calling from a gas station, a service station, an auto shop."I noticed a distinct twang of dis-ease in my boss's voice. He seemed uncertain.
Echoing from across the phone line came the sound of hack and spit -and a distant deeper toothless voice threw out, " Yeah, that'd be BILLY BRECK'S BIG MAN'S BODY SHOP, bub."

"Hold on, and I'll look it up right now, right this minute, how's that?"

"That would be great." he sighed with relief.

I gave him the directions and returned to other things that needed my attention. Then I started thinking. If the phone was completely damaged, how was he going to be able to retrieve his saved information?

A while later, he returned, but he looked more tired than relieved.
"So, tell me what happened?" "Did you get a new phone?"

"Yes, but none of my numbers saved and I realized that I don't really know anybody's phone number. I tried to call someone who I talk to often, but realized that I only know them as 3. I pushed 3 and nothing happened. I'll have to reprogram it all....

I started thinking and decided I wouldn't let it get to me. I tried to recall some of the numbers in Alex's phone number , and dialed. But Max answered. I don't know a Max. So I rearranged the numbers and tried again, but Francis answered. After Jonas picked up on my third try, I decided to give up calling random strangers and just put the numbers in again. I guess I could have used those windows of opportunity to save souls, but gosh, it was so frustrating. I wanted to talk to #5, 2, and 6 today, and quite frankly, I'd really like to talk with #9 but I am lost without the contact information. He looked pretty pitiful. Even for a Pastor.

"Hey, boss,I say we go back to using tin cans and string"
"Let's talk about it next week at staff meeting" he said as he left..... already on the path to another appointment.

In the office, we have started using the battery-free/ electricity-free system more often than not. It is an intercom system that is made in America, locally, actually. Each system looks a little different, I think that's neat. A unique quality you can't find in items manufactured overseas.
Equipment involves oxygen, and two hands. Cup your hands around your mouth, breathe in and holler. "Ellennnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn" works well. Sometimes we use the phones, or email, but this system seems to work just as well most days. I like it. cheap and clean. You can't beat that.

Clean as a whistle

My Pastor boss moves a mile a minute. No kidding. He runs marathons in spirit on the pulpit, and he runs marathons on the pavement as well. He probably sleeps in motion too. I wouldn't be surprised. He is full of something that is backordered forever. Everybody wants it, not many can get it. The world would run smoother if we had more of it. It's a good thing to have, it's a good thing to see in others. good good good.

The thing is, that sometimes when you are full of this mysterious spiritual fuel, your odometer is changing so fast that your speedometer goes out. This is what happened today. Well, technically yesterday, but I'm still enjoying the story today.

I took yesterday off. Before I did, I looked at his calendar and, I have to admit I was a bit forewarned. The squares that Franklin Covey gives him to fill his time with were full. They were penciled in, erased, and rewritten upside down and this way /thataway. It was clear to me that my boss would be running harder than hard- faster than fast while I was lounging about on my day off. Maybe I should have taken heed of that warning inside me. But, I did not. I packed up and took my day off off off.

During the day of ping pong speedy activities, my Pastor boss shifted gears . Most days, he can manage that just fine, but on this day, he was driving a 5 speed on automatic. That doesn't fit, does it? Nope.
He was friend/Pastor/boss/dad/husband/neighbor/athlete/brother/.................All. Day. Long. One minute he was sharing soothing words with someone in need, the next he was typing wisdom in an email, phones ringing all the time in between. Landline/ cell phone... Whew.Phone call after phone call, checking voice mail, returning calls,typing, sermonizing, answering his cell. It was a hyper-cell day for sure.

The shifting gears zoomed out of control, the day became a blurrrrr and suddenly, he realized, in mid- conversation, that he was talking to himself. I mean, I do that all the time, but he noticed that he was talking and not getting any response from the other end of his cell phone. He released his squenched up shoulder, lowered it carefully, and removed the phone from the crook in his neck. He rolled away from the computer and leaned into the lamplight across from his desk. He looked closely, only to find that he was not holding his cell phone at all, but his computer's wireless mouse!!!

"Well, when did THIS happen?" He thought to himself. "I've been talking all day to people, what in the world is going on? Where is my cell phone? Where could it be? Who have I been talking to all day?

The staff came to his aid and they circled around him, ready to problemsolve. "Where did you last see it?" "Retrace your steps" "Let's call it" "Let's call it again" "Try it one more time" "Does anyone hear it ringing?" No. No. NO. NO.

Bedraggled and disappointed, the staff returned to work, and the Pastor to his own tasks. The day moved on. Finally, it was time to go home. He walked the 25 steps from the church to his house and entered his cave. He slipped off his shoes, laid his jacket on the banister and headed for the bedroom to crash. What. A. Day.

When he passed the laundry room, he remembered that he had run a load of laundry earlier in the day when he was ping ponging about. Yes, this is a Pastor who washes and wears. I tell you, people, he does it all.

He picked up the wet and lightly spun clothes and placed them in the dryer. Then he heard it. plunk. He looked inside the dryer to see a very clean and shiny cell phone- minus an antenae, but clean and shiny just the same. "Is that?... What is?..... Oh!....My phone!!" He cradled the small flipphone in his palm and looked at it. "blip" "blip" " frummmmmmmmmmmmmmmm zzzzt." The silence said it all.

The Pastor sighed, gave the last rights and carried the laundered phone to his room. His wife was concentrating on a good book, but when her loving husband entered, she stopped and looked up. She watched him slowly drag his feet into the room. "What is it, honey?"

He sat beside her, then released the phone into her lap."It's a both/and thing. Clean, shiny, and yet, out of order." "Oh, well, tomorrow is another day. Another day, another phone."

I guess life is just like that sometimes.

Funerals 'R 'Us

I have made a discovery. I have had an “aha” moment. I’ve been looking for one of those ever since I began my job as a church lady/chick. I was certain that working so closely to help God’s work get done would certainly present a clarity for me. An answer to my questions of faith. 9 months into the job, I believe that those ideas were frivolous fantasy. The fact of the matter is that faith is faith, and a church is a building that houses a miniature world and when you enter the doors or spend any time within the confines of the church walls, you enter a slide show of life. Unfortunately, there’s no guarantee of a clear message from God showing up on your outlook inbox, though.

The minutes of a day in the life of a church lady are filled with variety, just like life is. I find a macabre-Addams Familyesk humor in some aspects of the job. Take funeral planning for instance…. funerals can offer so many opportunities for mass chaos. It seems ironic the amount of energy it takes to help someone rest in peace.

A Funeral is a bipolar beast. The initial announcement brings up all sorts of emotions in people. Sadness, of course. Shock, grief, relief, confusion, bitterness, you name it-and disequilibrium flows through the hallways like forced air. Sitting in the church lady’s chair, I am privy to all of that.

A call comes in. A quiet voice whispers that a loved one has passed. I used to keep an ongoing list of quick responses such as “ well, it was her time…… Oh, I’m so sorry….. She’s with God now,………He’s in a better place now…..” . Now, I look at those silly comments and I think to myself, “ how the heck would I know if it is or it isn’t her time?... ..I don’t know who God is much less where he resides, nor do I know if he/she is receiving guests….. as far as better place goes, well there are days when I’m thinking any place is better than the place my life sits at the moment, so I’m not sold on that comment whole heartedly.

Now a days, I just say simpler things like, “ I’m so sorry, what can I do for you? …or if they are in house when the news is shared, I offer a hug. The fact of the matter is that nothing helps the pain of loss, nothing that we have control over anyway. There are instances when family talks for weeks about how much a loved one is hanging on, how they wish it would just be over, then, when it is, well.. it’s hard to let go regardless. And so the hourglass slows a bit, as the sand runs through us when we hear the news….

Then POP! It’s time to plan! Throwing a funeral is in some ways similar to throwing a surprise birthday party without the surprise. I haven’t yet been to a service for the dead that includes having the congregation pop up out of their pews when the body or urn enters to yell surprise.. No, can’t say that I’ve heard of that one. But the details are similar. Instead of invites, there’s the obituary. Instead of cake and icecream, there’s a family meal or light reception. Instead of chaperones, we have ushers. Event directors? See-Altar Guild. Caterers? Call the Bereavement Committee. Instead of gifts, there are memorials. Someone asked me once, how many _____( religion withheld, substitute as you see fit) does it take to change a lightbulb? The answer is NONE- as it is a memorial gift and can’t be touched.

No Karaoke band or DJ,- music comes via organ. Reception toasts or roasts? – Funerals offer sermons, and childhood stories. The two events parallel in many ways. The biggest difference is the time factor. 48 hours tops to pull a Funeral extravaganza together. Take the details for the birthday party and caffeinate them the hold on.

I came into work this morning, and poked my head into my boss’s office. The doorknob was warm and that is never good. If he’s got frenetic energy going, his whole office temp raises 10 degrees. I knew I was in trouble when I opened the door as my glasses fogged. There he sat, facing his computer typing away a mile a minute. The keyboard was puffing out smoke with each stroke. His phone receiver lay splayed out on his desk hissing. The cool hallway air hit him up side his head and he snapped around to face me. “We’ve got a lot to do, to pull together. We need ushers, quick quick, and an organist. Ben is handling the food, but we need to tell the bereavement committee so they won’t cook, too. I’m working on my sermon for Sunday, I have 3 counseling sessions today before lunch, and my article for the newsletter was due yesterday, I’ve got to visit the family, we don’t have the flowers figured out yet, there’s some issue with flower urn size and delivery time……I ran 6 miles before breakfast, and had a pre-dawn meeting before my usual weekly breakfast meeting. I think its gonna be a busy day.” Now, a few months ago, I might have dropped my morning mail and run away. I know better now. This is the process at work. The process of planning a funeral. …so I stayed in my position, one hand holding onto the door frame, the other on the door knob. I looked at him and said all that I could say, “okay” and I left him to his tasks. I entered my office, prioritizing as I went. First things first. I checked my desktop jar of MnM/peanuts. I figured he’d be in for a protein/chocolate fix momentarily. I refilled my container of comfort foods and sat at my desk. I called and arranged and waited and called back and before the day was over, the pieces had started coming together.

Part II
The Big Day





Church Chick