I've been fired twice. Once I think it was because I ate too many breadsticks and boxed too few pizzas (little caesars). The other time, well, I think I just didn't have the chops they were hoping for (Hoppe Construction). I laid a patch in Hoppe's parking lot with my Mercury Lynx. Totally. I think that was before I had to take the hood off because the latch broke. (Sorry, Amanda, I tried to take good care of her-but it was never meant to be...)
I've quit some pretty good jobs. I quit my job at Pella Windows because I was moving to another area code. I quit a job I didn't like very much, only to find out that it wasn't the job, so much as the employer. And I recently quit working at what I would argue is probably the best cabinet shop in the state. I had some very mixed feelings about that one...
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I seem to generate friction all by myself. Friction is generally something that occurs when 2 or more opposing forces come into conflict with each other. Somehow I manage to do it all by my one-sie. I mean, it's not riding your bike with no hands, but it's not nothing, and as Tigger says "Doing some-fing's NOT nuffin' ". I seem to create tension where previously there had been none. Maybe that's my special little imago dei - creatio et nihilo. Sum-(p)- 'fin from nuffin (that's not Latin, that's just Tigger).
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My faith, my education and my pleasure in words have enabled my tendency to opine (I say "po-tae-to," you say "po-tah-do," I say "o-pine," you say "pon-tif-i-cate"...). That can be an endearing trait, to those who are actually interested in other people's thoughts. However, that's not most of the people I've spent time with. At least at work.
I don't mean to repulse people. In fact I intend quite the opposite. I'm just not very good at it. I've been working on that. In all fairness I think I've come a long way over the past several years. But I'm young yet, and it's a pretty deeply ingrained habit (if "habit" is the correct word).
I don't want you to get the wrong ideas. It's not like I built a pulpit next to my bench and stood up there yelling at people. Frankly, I kept to myself for the better part. But you know sin: No matter what your intention, it's going to be interpreted by somebody else through their eyes. And my isolation came off as aloofness. That's often the case isn't it? You figure somebody who doesn't really engage with everybody else is... a snob. Or holier-than-thou. When really they're just not paying attention, or maybe they're actually scared of you.
Sometimes people thought I was trying to chastise them. But this is the truth: I was probably feeling the desire to participate! I was probably feeling the urge to escalate the darkness, to amplify it! To somehow exaggerate or continue whatever mischief was going on.
So I simply took myself out of that situation. Or said nothing. And often that was perceived as being self-righteous, or holier-than...or prudish. Or whatever. I don't know.
I have never seen a person won over to Christ because of my testimony, witness, or presence in their lives. The joy and relief, the knowledge that my inability to perform perfectly, or appeal convincingly---these things have not spurned those around me to ask me why. Nobody, to my recollection has ever said to me, "There's something about you that I want to understand better." I've heard plenty of people suggest that I have a "uniqueness" but not in a really envious or curious sort of way, if you get my drift.
It's been a burden to me that I have likely caused people to check Jesus off the list. It distresses me when I think for even a moment that somebody is walking around cursing Jesus with my name. The thought has given me many extra tosses and turns. At times I still hate that I left my last job, because I feel like there was so much unfinished business. But on the other hand, I also felt many times like I've blown it so bad with so many people just by being a flawed person that there wasn't any ground left to cover.
I've dreaded the day when I have to answer to God for my part of those peoples lives.
But then there is grace.
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I wrestled with the suggestion that I was running away from battle when I decided to quit my job and take on being a stay-at-home parent. Jesus stands over the entirety of creation and declares with confidence and expectation, that "this is mine." And he left the church to, by the strength and wisdom of the Holy Spirit, go about the work of reclaiming what had been claimed. And I left a battle ground. No. I practically ran from it. At least this is what the enemy whispers in my ear.
But I think the truth of it is that you can't escape the battle, just as you cannot escape confrontation with the enemy. There is no part of creation that is uncontested. The business of spiritual warfare is not something you can choose to just disengage with. You simply become subject to its currents unawares. My battle now is to raise up two men who will become great warriors and conquerers for King Jesus. And the enemy is working, even now, to make them spiritual pacifists-apathetic, unconcerned, undisciplined, and un-discerning.
My battle also has arrived on the scene of the institutional church. It has become a greater and greater role for me to help uphold, instruct, pastor, and care for the body of Jesus. I try, still a flawed human, to search the depths of ancient wisdom, to listen to and perceive the quiet whispers of the Spirit, and to minister to God on behalf of the people He's called. In other words, I sing with people. I sing FOR people who don't know how to let their spirit and heart sing. I have given people songs to sing. That's kinda my thing. It happens on a stage sometimes, but I've stood on the back edge before. I've never been "THE" leader. Just the first one to follow. That kinda works for me too.
We do small groups, and been on a variety of "teams" in our congregation. Set-up, worship-band, class leaders, small group leaders. We don't interact much with the "outside" world. And I don't always know how to reconcile that with the ministry of reconciliation that GOD is on. But for now, when people ask, I sort of shrug and say, well, I'm kinda a janitor of the church. I mean, we sort of all are supposed to be, I think. I don't clean toilets or anything. But I try to keep things moving when their s'posed ta, and to stay put when they ain't. Ya know?
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