The 90/10 Problem

There are many things in this world that make me angry. There many things that should and often do incite a righteous indignation in me. However, there is nothing that makes me more irate than when my cats wake me up moments before my alarm is to go off. I’m serious. If WMDs were stored on my nightstand I tremble at how I might respond in the moment. There is many a morning that finds me still seething as I drive myself to work yearning for the morning that I can evict my feline aggressors and sleep until my heart’s content. I, like many people, find myself longing for the weekend. To do so on Friday is one thing, but when it’s Tuesday morning…

I find that this yearning for a weekend’s respite is hardly a remote behavior. I am surely not alone. I hear the desire from my coworkers and friends as well. ‘Only two more days.’ ‘Only six more hours.’

We spend 90% of our time wishing we were living in the other 10%.

Something is wrong with the way we are viewing work.

Before I go on I want to say a few things.

1     I understand that I speak from a position of privilege living in a society in which I even get days off. Still, I believe that we all need to reevaluate how we consider our vocations.

2     Part of the curse delivered to Adam and all his kind (us) ensures that our work will always be just that--- work.

With those caveats out of the way, let me continue.

Something is wrong with the way we are viewing work. We operate under the faulty assumption that if we could only get that job; if we could only win the lottery; if we could only marry that person who would allow us to stay home, then our lives would be infinitely better. Even the best of us spend many of our working hours fantasizing about what we’ll be doing come five o’clock Friday. If you are a bit more controlling like me, you make lists of what you’ll do when you get the time. Much of the time, I don’t even have anything in particular to do on the weekend yet still I yearn for it. Is this really the way that the Lord wants us to live? Constantly desiring some future event while despising the present? Creating idols out of weekends and time off as if they were the day of glory? Surely not.

As I was considering my own conflicted desires, I fell upon three ways we should change our views about work.

Vocation as service

We know that Paul tells his readers (specifically slaves and indentured servants) that “whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as if working for the Lord, not for human masters, since you know that you will receive an inheritance from the Lord as a reward. It is the Lord Christ you are serving.” Zealous believers throughout history have noted the value of manual labor and vocation as an opportunity to serve the Lord. If our focus is on the Lord, every act, every muscle we move, and every word we type can be a service rendered to the Lord. So often we are blinded to this by the stress of expectations or our own grumbling. One way we can alter our course in regards to work is to actively seek to serve the Lord with every action, every movement, and every thought.

Vocation as mission

Our identity as Christians is a bit of a misnomer. We are not simply humans who happen to follow Jesus. We do not add “Christian” to our identification and then progress as before, reaping paltry consolation from God. As new creations in Christ we are not only given new life, we are also given a new mission. The two are inexorably linked. There is no option in which the two are separate. If we are born again in Christ Jesus, we ARE on mission for Him.

Jesus, of course, made this evidently clear in His instructions to His disciples (of which we are included): “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you. And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.”

We know these words. We have memorized these words, but we all know that there are many days (the majority of days?) in which we consider our jobs to be a necessary evil removed from the scope of our Christian identity. However, how would we view our work differently if we truly took to heart Jesus’ command? If instead of just ‘making it through’ the workday we viewed our time at work as a limited opportunity to speak into the lives of those with whom we interact?

For a short period in my life I was able to have a job without the need for the finances it provided. (Please, stifle your groans for a moment). During this time, the sole reason for my employment was to influence my coworkers toward Christ. The two and a half months I worked at that McDonald’s, I knew what I was there for. I surely had days in which investing in my fellow workers was the last thing I wanted to do, but I knew why I was employed. In the years since, as the responsibilities and bills have mounted, I have occasionally returned to that time and the clarity in which I saw the situation.

If we truly believe that the Lord will provide for us, what is keeping us from embracing this clarity? If we truly saw our time at work as a limited resource and the time with our coworkers as slivers of eternity, how might it change the way we approach the days?

Vocation as practice

There is a discipline that comes with completing a task. There are moments in which we see clearly that we do not possess the necessary strength/wisdom/intelligence to complete our tasks. These moments of humility (should) drive us close to the Source of all gifts. In this way, vocation can be an opportunity to practice the faith we so often preach. The heat of the moment is when our faith is tested. It is under trial that the fruits of the Spirit will be manifested. In the ebb and flow of the workday we are met with innumerable opportunities to give in to anxiety and sin or, conversely, draw near to the Lord.

A man who knew the potential for such situations was Brother Lawrence, a 17^th century Carmelite monk (born Nicholas Herman). Early in his life, Brother Lawrence was stricken with doubt and uncertainty about his spiritual state. This uncertainty led him to enter a monastery. There he was often tasked with monotonous kitchen duty. Yet it was during this service that Brother Lawrence came to develop a deep and profound understanding of how to draw near to the Lord in all situations. 

He confidently spoke from personal conviction of the need to maintain an open dialogue with the Lord throughout the day. He learned that even the lowliest task had the potential to draw him closer to Christ. “Nor is it needful that we should have great things to do… We can do little things for God; I turn the cake that is frying on the pan for love of Him, and that done, if there is nothing else to call me, I prostrate myself in worship before Him, who has given me the grace to work; afterwards I rise happier than a king. It is enough for me to pick up but a straw from the ground for the love of God.”

Through a friend, he advised: “Whatever we do, even if we are reading the Word or praying, we should stop for a few minutes—as often as possible—to praise God from the depths of our hearts, to enjoy Him there in secret. Since we believe that God is always with us, no matter what we may be doing, why shouldn’t we stop for awhile to adore Him to praise Him, to petition Him to offer Him our hearts, and to thank Him?”

How might such an understanding of the nearness of God change our attitude at work? Perhaps we might cease to view the workday as oppression to endure and instead view it as the means by which we might commune with the Lord and be transformed into His likeness.

In all these ways we can seek to transform a time of potential drudgery into moments of vivid and profound growth in our sanctification. Let us all prayerfully consider the motivations and attitudes as we serve our Lord here on earth.

Stars

Up until now I have contented myself to posting the non-fiction ramblings of my brain. They were interesting but also manageable. They were safe. Today I'm going to take a risk and post a short story called "Stars". It's a bit longer (but not so long as to curtail your plans for the evening). Be gentle.

The cracks are the hardest part. All the little bits of stuff get stuck in-between and then you have to go at it with jabbing motions to get them out. You can’t just sweep right over it even though that would be quicker. Sometimes-Nice Ron always wants things to be done quicker. He wants the trash taken out whenever it gets full but I like to do it at 12, 2, 4, and at 6 before I go home. I like sweeping because I can see what I’ve done. I can see the clean parts and where it’s still dirty. Sometimes it’s hard during the fall because the leaves blow all over the place. I like fall even though I have to wear my jacket with the hole on the left arm where the stuffing comes out a little. I like the way the cold air makes the tip of my nose cold. I like the way it smells—like leaves. It’s funny how leaves have a smell but you can’t really say what it smells like. They just smell like leaves.

There are lots of waves on the lake today. It’s Lake Michigan (M-I-C-H-I-G-A-N). I like to watch the boats out in the bay bob up and down, like when you go fishing. The wind causes that. It makes it seem like every wave has a little whipped cream on top. When I was little my dad used to spray the whipped cream in my mouth right out of the can until I couldn’t keep it in my mouth anymore. I would laugh and have to spit it out on the floor. Dad would smile. Sometimes I don’t like to think about my dad.

Sometimes-Nice Ron tells me to come back inside the restaurant because it looks like it’s going to rain. He is one of those funny people who isn’t young but isn’t old either. He could be younger than me or he might be a thousand years old. Sometimes I like to pretend that he is a thousand years old and he is a vampire or something. Vampires can live for a long time without looking old. I saw that in a movie once. There were werewolves too. Sometimes-Nice Ron isn’t a werewolf though. I saw him when there was a full moon. He drove me home because it was raining and the buses had stopped. It doesn’t look like rain. It just looks like grey.

I come back inside and hang up my coat in the break room. Susan has to remind me to wash my hands. “Every employee must wash their hands when returning to work.” Sometimes I forget.

I remember that I brought lasagna for lunch today. I’m happy because lasagna is on my top ten list of favorite meals. Only two and a half more hours until lunch. I like to read books on my break. Sometimes I don’t get all the words but I just skip over those parts. I don’t think I’m missing much. I read a story once about King Arthur and his knights. I liked the parts about the good knights fighting and going on quests. Quests are like jobs but people think you’re awesome for doing them. Sometimes I pretend that I am on a quest. ‘Sir Taylor rides out on his noble steed.’ But the story doesn’t end happy like it should. Arthur is a good king and he shouldn’t have died. Sometimes I don’t like the end of stories. Sometimes real life is like that too.

Sometimes-Nice Ron hands me a red bucket and asks me to wipe down the tables in the lobby. The water isn’t very warm. It’s supposed to be warm. I don’t say anything because sometimes when I point out things like that het gets angry and has to walk away. I like my job. I want to keep my job, so I don’t say anything to him about the water. There aren’t many people eating today. It’s only ten in the morning and we just switched over to lunch. Sometimes they let us have the leftover breakfast sandwiches that haven’t sold. Otherwise they just throw them out. That doesn’t seem right. There is a man and a woman sitting by a window. They’re still eating breakfast (even though its lunchtime). The man is drinking his coffee and looks kind of like my grandpa. The water in my bucket is dirty. There’s little pieces of egg floating around but I don’t want to say anything. The grandpa and the woman get up to leave. When they throw out their stuff I move over and wipe off their table.

There are three men eating near the entrance to the play area. I know I should remember one of them. It’s right on the tip of my brain. It feels like when you’re just about to sneeze but it won’t come out. Sometimes I want to go climb the structure (okay, all of the time) but I know I’m too big. Not too old though. Some of my friends at church play a game called ‘groundies.’ You play tag on a play structure with your eyes closed. It’s really fun but sometimes people don’t want me to play though.

The three men are laughing. I pretend to know what they are laughing about. I smile too. They see me and smile back but not the way my friends at church smile. Maybe they don’t go to church. Every Sunday somebody takes me out to lunch. It’s great because we go to places I don’t normally eat at. One time we went to a place with a big fish tank and I got to look at all the fish swimming and the starfish (which don’t look really alive) and the snake-y fish with its mouth open. I didn’t tell my friends but I was pretending in my head what it would be like to live underwater. I wouldn’t be a fish though. I would just be me except I could breathe. I would get to go down into the nooks and crannies where the fish go. I’d make a little house there. I didn’t want to leave when the man said that our table was ready. I went back to look when I went to bathroom. The starfish was in a different place (but I didn’t see it move).

The three men get up to throw out their trash. I go over to wipe off the table. They weren’t very neat. There are bits of fries and salt and pepper on the table. I sweep it all into my bucket and start to clean. At first I don’t hear anything because I’m trying to make sure I clean the whole table but then I see the familiar man coming over and saying something. I know that I should remember him but I can’t. Does he ride the bus with me? Does he work at Fun 4 All toys? I can’t remember and it makes me angry. He’s talking to me. “Hey retard, we’re not done.” I don’t’ know what he’s talking about so I keep wiping the table. “Idiot, we’re still eating.” He points to the table. Then I remember where I know him from. He is Steve … Steve what? Steve Grunaldi from Grand Haven High School. He was a year behind me in school. His face got fat. In school he had a locker on the east wing by where my friend Mike had his locker sophomore year. It was by Mrs. Rosenberg’s classroom. She had pizza parties on Fridays.

I see Sometimes-Nice Ron coming out from behind the counter. He’s saying something to Steve. Now I realize what I did wrong. They were coming back to their table and I wiped it down too fast. Steve and his friends are yelling at Ron. Everybody in the restaurant is staring. I’m mad at myself because Sometimes-Nice Ron has told me before that I need to wait until the customers have really gone before I clean the table. I know that. I know that.

Susan is yelling at the man from behind the register. She looks like she’s going to come out and talk to the men. Susan gets angry sometimes. One time I saw her fighting with her boyfriend in his car on her break. I was supposed to be sweeping but I stopped to watch. Her boyfriend looked at me. He had mean eyes. I didn’t like him. He threw a cigarette on the ground. I hate that even when it looks cool on the freeway when it sparks red. Ron is telling her to stay where she is. I don’t know if the men are staying anymore. I don’t know what to do.

One time when my dad and Miss Jessica were yelling at each other, dad threw a glass against the wall. It broke and I got scared and I ran and ran until the houses were gone and the fields started. I ran and saw the corn was really tall. Running past the corn made me feel like I was running super-fast. I ran for a thousand miles with the corn. I ran until my lungs felt like fire. I sat down and my world was gone. I was nowhere. The sun got all red and started to go down. It started to get dark and the shadows were everywhere and I got scared even though I know there aren’t such things as ghosts or anything. But it looked ghost-y. I was sitting down in the dirt of the road and no cars had come by. Maybe nobody would ever come by. I prayed and started to cry. I didn’t know what to do then either. I wished dad had never thrown that glass and I wished I hadn’t run and I wished mom had never left. Mom had soft brown hair. I saw headlights coming and I stopped crying because I didn’t want them to see me crying. The car stopped by me but I didn’t get up because they were Strangers but it was Miss Jessica and she drove me home. When we got home dad wasn’t there.

Steve is very angry. Ron is telling him to leave. Steve is swearing. He starts to walk away but he has to pass where I am standing. He walks real close to me and says “move it retard.” I try to get out of his way but I kind of trip on my own feet (like the time with the milk). I don’t fall but I have to let go of the bucket and catch myself and it sloshes on my pants and falls to the floor. There is water everywhere. A Big Mess. My pants are wet. I look like I peed myself. Steve and his friends laugh and leave and give Susan the bad finger which makes her even madder and she swears. Ron tells me not to worry about the bucket (even though I want to clean it up) and ways that I can go home which is nice cause it’s not even really lunchtime yet and that’s when it gets busy. I ask him if I can take the trash out anyway. He says okay. I always take the trash out before I go home. At home, Tuesdays are trash day. I do the recycling too.

I put on my jacket and remember to bring my lasagna home. It’s still lasagna day even if I’m not at work. There aren’t many bags of trash but I throw them in the cart anyway and wheel it out to the trash corral. Cows live in corrals. The trash smells so I hold my breath. The sky is still grey but there is no rain. On the lake the ships shimmer like shiny, friendly stars. I feel like I’m floating there, holding my breath like a balloon or a bobber on the water. Floating, floating, floating, never sinking until I can’t take it anymore and breathe like it’s the first breath I’ve ever taken.