It is amazing what you will do when you are young and cash strapped. Pride is expensive, folks. If you want to play you got to get paid. So, in the deep recesses of my employment history lurk a few jobs that have, I hope, made up for the sins of my past lives (because they sure did not pay me that well in this one). Each one has taught me valuable lessons about the benefits of labor unions, OHSA, and getting paid in cash (paychecks bounce, I discovered the hard way). And yes, along the way I gathered some important insights about life and faith which I am sure my overlords, er...employers, would argue was part of my compensation. Right, and I am going to play 007 in the next James Bond flick.
I started working when I was 13 but I did not land my first steady job until I was 16 (something about child labor laws). I, like tens of thousands of Americans, donned the polyester pants and visor cap bearing the logo of the Golden Arches. For the next six years Ronald McDonald and I got to know each other very, very well. When I finally called it a fast food career, I knew how do to everything in the restaurant. I could open, close, count the cash drawers, flip the burgers, fry the fries and chicken nuggets, make salads and biscuits (yes, from scratch!), serve customers at the front counter or drive through, supervise the unloading of the stock truck and, try not to laugh to hard at this one, even do birthday parties. Those of you that know me will, I'm sure, get hours of laughs imagining me with a room full of children trying to play party hostess. Mercifully there are no pictures...that I am aware of.
There were some jobs at McDonald's that I kind of enjoyed doing (like standing in the shade with a clipboard in my hand watching the other employees unload the stock truck in 95 degree heat. Those were some good times right there). Others I tried to avoid like the plague. Once again, pride is for the rich and famous. You want paid you have to work the hours. And many of those hours occurred on Friday and Saturday nights.
When you are in your late teens and trying to have something like a social life nothing crimps your style like having to work till 11pm or later on the weekends. McDonald's is not the type of job where you can just punch out and leave. There is the whole uniform thing, coupled with the lingering odor of grease that makes you less than desirable to the opposite sex (those of your same gender don't find you that aromatic, either). When your shift is over you need time to get a quick shower and put on some clothes that your significant other finds remotely attractive. So, you start shutting things down and cleaning as early in the evening as possible. The store I worked in had two grills. By 10pm one was already cleaned up and out of commission. Come 10:30 and we were down to half a grill. 10:50, and Elvis had left the building.
And that is when it would happen. The stupid drive through buzzer would go off and someone would want a freakin' Big Mac or some other equally unhealthy menu item that would require me to, I don't know, use the grill I just cleaned! Or, and this was the worst, a bus, or two, or three would pull in filled with high school kids. At close there would often only be one of us in the grill area so when the lobby filled-up with hungry teenagers you knew that your own evening just went up in flames. Stupid high school sports!
In those moments when my weekend went down the proverbial toilet I discovered some profound universal truths. First, the Wendy's down the street needed a much bigger sign, one that would attract people with no lives and the munchies. Second, I really hate Big Mac's. Third, your late night hunger needs were my problem. Not my joy or passion (SpongeBob is a cartoon, people!) or even casual concern. You were a obstacle, a roadblock, a thorn in my flesh and, on those rare occasions when I actually had a romantic post-work evening planned, you were a thief. I wanted you to go away, to leave me alone so I could clock out and get on with me life. There were even moments when I hated you and that half-cooked hamburger I served up was no accident!
In there own way these nights taught me a good bit about being a disciples of Jesus. Reading through the scriptures you get the sense that Jesus had more than a few late evenings. Even when he was tired and tried to steal away the crowds always seemed to find him. I know a little Greek and as best as I can tell there is no reference to Jesus ever slipping someone the proverbial undercooked sandwich. Even if he was frustrated he always showed care, compassion, and love for those who came to him. Now, I am not saying working at McDonald's on a Saturday night is the same as what Jesus did (though the whole Bread of Life imagery could be fun to play around with) but my attitude towards other people, people who make demands of my time, is the lesson to be learned.
Being a follower of Jesus means that people are going to come to me with needs. They will come at times and places that may not be best for me. How I treat them in the wee hours of the morning, or when I want to be doing something other than dealing with their pain, will reveal the true depth of relationship to Jesus. Serving others is a gift, a blessing. When I lose sight of that, I miss out on so much.
May you be blessed today with the chance to help someone in need. May you show great compassion and love to those who come to you. And, if you are in pain, may you be welcomed not as a problem, but as a child of God. Because at the end of the day the Kingdom of God is not like McDonald's on a Saturday night.
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Monday, August 9, 2010
I Miss Telemarketers
A few years ago my wife and I signed up for the national Don't Call registry. We did so for two reasons. First, we dropped our land line a few years back and did not want telemarketers using up our cell phone minutes. Second, and perhaps more importantly, I hate telemarketers. With a passion. Now that they no longer call I kind of miss them, but not for the reasons you might think.
As much as I despise telemarketers they did perform a useful function in my life. Namely, they let me blow off steam. I come home from work and I'm not having a good day. There was traffic, construction, I had to wait 45 minutes for the doctor, etc... Then the phone rings. It is some strange person calling from some strange land like India or Iowa and they want to take up my valuable time trying to sell me something I have no interest in buying. So I take this opportunity, this gift if you will, to release all of my pent-up anger and frustration. "When you were a kid did you imagine that your life would be such a failure?" I snidely ask at the first opportunity. Or, "No wonder you can't get a date with a voice like that." And perhaps my favorite, which I reserve just for the guys, "So how many [fill in with product name] does your pimp make you sell each night before you get to go home?" They hang up and I feel better. For the moment, anyway.
Venting on telemarketers was much safer road rage. I am not a small guy, but I understand that cutting off the car in front of me may have some adverse consequences. Like a 6'8", 340lb very angry man who wants to see if in fact I will break open like a pinata when he hits me with a baseball bat. Telemarketers are not a threat. They are faceless voices on the other end of a phone line. They are not people, after all, they are telemarketers. Right?
In an impersonal society we treat people, well, impersonally. Granted, calling me at mealtime to sell me timeshares in Fort Wayne is not a sign of respect. Yet that does not give me a free pass to pretend that the person calling is entitled to have my spleen vented all over them. It is strange, but when we think there are no consequences, or at least no direct consequences that involve baseball bats, we can get pretty cruel. Inhumane. Downright unchristian.
I don't know what Jesus would do about telemarketers and to be honest I don't really care. I know what I am supposed to do. I also know that there have been days when I really didn't want to treat that person calling me with anything that resembled compassion, grace or love. And that is why I miss telemarketers. They force me to be the person I am called to be. Jesus said to love your enemies. But what about your enemy who can't hurt you, who you can't see? That is tough, but just as important. What we do when we think there are no consequences tells a great deal about who we are and what we believe. Real love for other people shows up when someone calls you while your children are screaming, you have a massive headache, and your dinner is getting cold. Valentines Day love is easy. Thursday night telemarketer love is the real deal.
Alright, if you have read this far you are entitled to know that I never really said such nasty things to telemarketers. Usually I just muttered something under my breath and hung up. But I thought the lines up and I wanted to say them. Badly. Which in some ways makes me no better than the people who have teed off on telemarketers. But it might also mean that God's grace has a hold on my tongue if not my heart. I hope that is true. I also hope to never, ever, get a call from a telemarketer again.
As much as I despise telemarketers they did perform a useful function in my life. Namely, they let me blow off steam. I come home from work and I'm not having a good day. There was traffic, construction, I had to wait 45 minutes for the doctor, etc... Then the phone rings. It is some strange person calling from some strange land like India or Iowa and they want to take up my valuable time trying to sell me something I have no interest in buying. So I take this opportunity, this gift if you will, to release all of my pent-up anger and frustration. "When you were a kid did you imagine that your life would be such a failure?" I snidely ask at the first opportunity. Or, "No wonder you can't get a date with a voice like that." And perhaps my favorite, which I reserve just for the guys, "So how many [fill in with product name] does your pimp make you sell each night before you get to go home?" They hang up and I feel better. For the moment, anyway.
Venting on telemarketers was much safer road rage. I am not a small guy, but I understand that cutting off the car in front of me may have some adverse consequences. Like a 6'8", 340lb very angry man who wants to see if in fact I will break open like a pinata when he hits me with a baseball bat. Telemarketers are not a threat. They are faceless voices on the other end of a phone line. They are not people, after all, they are telemarketers. Right?
In an impersonal society we treat people, well, impersonally. Granted, calling me at mealtime to sell me timeshares in Fort Wayne is not a sign of respect. Yet that does not give me a free pass to pretend that the person calling is entitled to have my spleen vented all over them. It is strange, but when we think there are no consequences, or at least no direct consequences that involve baseball bats, we can get pretty cruel. Inhumane. Downright unchristian.
I don't know what Jesus would do about telemarketers and to be honest I don't really care. I know what I am supposed to do. I also know that there have been days when I really didn't want to treat that person calling me with anything that resembled compassion, grace or love. And that is why I miss telemarketers. They force me to be the person I am called to be. Jesus said to love your enemies. But what about your enemy who can't hurt you, who you can't see? That is tough, but just as important. What we do when we think there are no consequences tells a great deal about who we are and what we believe. Real love for other people shows up when someone calls you while your children are screaming, you have a massive headache, and your dinner is getting cold. Valentines Day love is easy. Thursday night telemarketer love is the real deal.
Alright, if you have read this far you are entitled to know that I never really said such nasty things to telemarketers. Usually I just muttered something under my breath and hung up. But I thought the lines up and I wanted to say them. Badly. Which in some ways makes me no better than the people who have teed off on telemarketers. But it might also mean that God's grace has a hold on my tongue if not my heart. I hope that is true. I also hope to never, ever, get a call from a telemarketer again.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
I Want to Be a Weed
The people that occupied the house we live in before us were...how shall I say this...somewhat negligent when it came to caring for the yard. If not taking proper care of your lawn were a crime they would be serving a life sentence. With no chance for parole. Ever. There are weeds everywhere. In the flower beds, in the bushes, under the trees and all throughout the yard. While I have not conducted a scientific survey I am sure there are more weeds in the yard than grass. Somewhere, Frederick Olmsted, the great landscape architect, is rolling over in his grave.
I do have to give the previous occupants some credit though. What they lacked in concern about weeds they easily made up for it their apparent love of weed diversity. Surrounding our house is a virtual United Nations of weeds. You name it, we have it. Every shape and size, color and texture can be found in our quarter acre of weed heaven.
Sadly, I do not share their love of weeds. I respect weeds unbelievable ability to multiply at the drop of a hat (even rabbits are jealous). I am in awe of their capacity to muscle out other plants and take over a yard in less than a season (even the Mob is envious). But I don't like them. They wreak too much havoc, are too difficult to control and some of them are down right painful to touch.
As I was gazing upon the weed wonderland that I call a yard it occurred to me, as it has to many a great thinker who has plumbed the intellectual depths of weeds, that they are a lot like the negative things in our lives. Fear, greed, hatred, anxiety, envy - each requires just a little foothold in souls and soon there is room for nothing else. These emotions spread quickly, take up all of our time and energy, and they turn our lives into ugly messes.
Still, I wonder if weeds are getting a bad rap. Is it not possible that positive emotions - love, happiness, generosity, hope - can also be like weeds? Why don't we ever compare these attitudes to those plants that can thrive on very little, transform not only your life/yard but that of your neighbor, and keep coming back no matter how hard we try to get rid of them? Why can't we call the best things in life weeds? Because Lord knows our society treat them like they were weeds.
Think about it. Our culture (including politicians and the media of both the left and the right) teaches us to work very hard at uprooting the positive attitudes in our lives and the lives of others. We are uncomfortable spending too much time with folks who are always happy (especially if they are happy first thing in the morning. These folks are not only annoying, they are possessed). We label those who are overly generous "naive." If your life is defined by unconditional love we call you a hopeless romantic and a sucker. And woe to the one who always hopes. They are dreamers and unrealistic. Be honest, we don't want our lives filled with too many of these positive traits. We treat them like weeds. We put a lot of time in trying to eradicate them from our lives. Just like we are taught.
What if we just let the weeds do their thing and grow. Instead of trying to make our lives look like a manicured lawn how about letting the weeds of joy and happiness and love and hope overrun everything. That is what Jesus did. Granted, he was treated like a weed, but guess what - there is nothing stronger, more resilient and just plain beautiful as love, hope and happiness. Try as we might we can't control them. They are contagious and unpredictable, just like weeds. And they are from God.
I will go you one better. I want to be a weed, to spread all that is good and wonderful into the lives of other people. I know, not everyone will appreciate me or what I am doing. Like Jesus, I may suffer the same fate as most weeds. But that is ok. Because like a weed Jesus keeps coming back with more love and hope and happiness. I want to be like that. I want to be a weed.
I do have to give the previous occupants some credit though. What they lacked in concern about weeds they easily made up for it their apparent love of weed diversity. Surrounding our house is a virtual United Nations of weeds. You name it, we have it. Every shape and size, color and texture can be found in our quarter acre of weed heaven.
Sadly, I do not share their love of weeds. I respect weeds unbelievable ability to multiply at the drop of a hat (even rabbits are jealous). I am in awe of their capacity to muscle out other plants and take over a yard in less than a season (even the Mob is envious). But I don't like them. They wreak too much havoc, are too difficult to control and some of them are down right painful to touch.
As I was gazing upon the weed wonderland that I call a yard it occurred to me, as it has to many a great thinker who has plumbed the intellectual depths of weeds, that they are a lot like the negative things in our lives. Fear, greed, hatred, anxiety, envy - each requires just a little foothold in souls and soon there is room for nothing else. These emotions spread quickly, take up all of our time and energy, and they turn our lives into ugly messes.
Still, I wonder if weeds are getting a bad rap. Is it not possible that positive emotions - love, happiness, generosity, hope - can also be like weeds? Why don't we ever compare these attitudes to those plants that can thrive on very little, transform not only your life/yard but that of your neighbor, and keep coming back no matter how hard we try to get rid of them? Why can't we call the best things in life weeds? Because Lord knows our society treat them like they were weeds.
Think about it. Our culture (including politicians and the media of both the left and the right) teaches us to work very hard at uprooting the positive attitudes in our lives and the lives of others. We are uncomfortable spending too much time with folks who are always happy (especially if they are happy first thing in the morning. These folks are not only annoying, they are possessed). We label those who are overly generous "naive." If your life is defined by unconditional love we call you a hopeless romantic and a sucker. And woe to the one who always hopes. They are dreamers and unrealistic. Be honest, we don't want our lives filled with too many of these positive traits. We treat them like weeds. We put a lot of time in trying to eradicate them from our lives. Just like we are taught.
What if we just let the weeds do their thing and grow. Instead of trying to make our lives look like a manicured lawn how about letting the weeds of joy and happiness and love and hope overrun everything. That is what Jesus did. Granted, he was treated like a weed, but guess what - there is nothing stronger, more resilient and just plain beautiful as love, hope and happiness. Try as we might we can't control them. They are contagious and unpredictable, just like weeds. And they are from God.
I will go you one better. I want to be a weed, to spread all that is good and wonderful into the lives of other people. I know, not everyone will appreciate me or what I am doing. Like Jesus, I may suffer the same fate as most weeds. But that is ok. Because like a weed Jesus keeps coming back with more love and hope and happiness. I want to be like that. I want to be a weed.
Monday, June 14, 2010
Your Life As An Infomercial or An Ode to Billy Mays
Hard to believe that it has been almost a year since TV pitchman Billy Mays left us. Sadly, Billy did not take the infomercial with him into the great beyond. Yes, there are others who have tried to carry on his legacy (thank you, Vince "The ShamWow Guy" Offer). Yet Sunday afternoons seem hollow with out Billy and his beard. Who knows what wonderful products Billy could have introduced to our lives. So much talent, gone too soon.
All may not be lost. Ponder, just for a moment, the possibility that even in the afterlife Billy might still be at it. Instead of pitching OxiClean, what if Brother Mays is making the case for souls before God? Sound too good to be true? Well, wait! We're not done! If you call in the next 30 minutes it could be your life Billy is selling to God.
Admit it, you are intrigued by the mere thought of your life as an infomercial. Granted, its not as cool as having your time on earth turned into a made-for-TV movie, but with Billy you get a full half-hour of hardcore, non-stop, in-your-face salesmanship. There is one question you need to ask yourself (besides whether God is going to turn to another station as soon as Billy appears before the throne). What are you going to give Billy to work with? Remember, Billy does not create the product, he just sells it.
Now, if this whole idea is making you a bit uncomfortable, relax. We "package" and "sell" ourselves all the time. Have you ever applied for anything? Created a resume? Had a job interview? Been on a first date? If you answered "yes" to any of the above then you have nothing to fear. You are an old hat at this infomercial thing. The only difference is the format, the excitable guy with the beard, and, oh yeah, God.The thing about infomercials is they try to convince us to buy things we really don't need. Did I know, or care, about Orange Glo before I turned on the TV? Absolutely not. Was I living a fairly complete life without a Big City Slider maker? You bet. Billy's job was to make these products seem so indispensable I could not live without them. Yet, God already feels that way about us. We are God's creation, made in God's image and likeness. God knows us, loves us, wants us, even without free shipping. There is no pitch to be made, no infomercial needed. And you know what, even Billy Mays does not have to try to sell God on Billy Mays. God's already got the original.
Take a moment today and feel what it is like to be truly loved and wanted. Then, try to share a little bit of that feeling with somebody else. Why? Because if you order now, we will throw in another supply of unlimited love absolutely free. You just pay shipping and handling.
All may not be lost. Ponder, just for a moment, the possibility that even in the afterlife Billy might still be at it. Instead of pitching OxiClean, what if Brother Mays is making the case for souls before God? Sound too good to be true? Well, wait! We're not done! If you call in the next 30 minutes it could be your life Billy is selling to God.
Admit it, you are intrigued by the mere thought of your life as an infomercial. Granted, its not as cool as having your time on earth turned into a made-for-TV movie, but with Billy you get a full half-hour of hardcore, non-stop, in-your-face salesmanship. There is one question you need to ask yourself (besides whether God is going to turn to another station as soon as Billy appears before the throne). What are you going to give Billy to work with? Remember, Billy does not create the product, he just sells it.
Now, if this whole idea is making you a bit uncomfortable, relax. We "package" and "sell" ourselves all the time. Have you ever applied for anything? Created a resume? Had a job interview? Been on a first date? If you answered "yes" to any of the above then you have nothing to fear. You are an old hat at this infomercial thing. The only difference is the format, the excitable guy with the beard, and, oh yeah, God.The thing about infomercials is they try to convince us to buy things we really don't need. Did I know, or care, about Orange Glo before I turned on the TV? Absolutely not. Was I living a fairly complete life without a Big City Slider maker? You bet. Billy's job was to make these products seem so indispensable I could not live without them. Yet, God already feels that way about us. We are God's creation, made in God's image and likeness. God knows us, loves us, wants us, even without free shipping. There is no pitch to be made, no infomercial needed. And you know what, even Billy Mays does not have to try to sell God on Billy Mays. God's already got the original.
Take a moment today and feel what it is like to be truly loved and wanted. Then, try to share a little bit of that feeling with somebody else. Why? Because if you order now, we will throw in another supply of unlimited love absolutely free. You just pay shipping and handling.
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