Under Construction

I recently find myself limping on my journey.  This road that I take through life, it looks like it was constructed in the heartland, possibly Ohio, possibly Pennsylvannia, or Indiana.  If you've been to these places, I should not have to provide further description.  If you haven't been, well, I think you can probably ascertain the unspoken.

If you read my last post,  you perchance will understand how passionate I am about the idea of belonging.  Having a place at the table.  You know why I am so passionate about making others feel that way?  Because there are very times that I experience that myself.  All the well wishes. Surface.  All the "I care about you"s. Perfunctory.  That place at the table is difficult to carve.  That seat might just as well be given to someone else if you don't please me enough or fit in the mold I have for you.  I've been working through some of the discomfort of that.

I find myself limping because I am going through numerous changes in a short period of time.  The road has several orange barrels, some holes, some hills, and here and there, smooth pavement.  Change is good.  Change.is.the.worst. Which is why no one ever does it.  It's why many people will go to work unhappy every day for years, because the thought of trying on a new pair of workgloves is unappealing. "Grey gloves will do; I don't need red gloves."  We all need red gloves.  We all need the opportunity to feel uncomfortable.  It uproots and cultivates.  It's good and necessary. (change.is.still.the.worst)

I'd like to run rather than limp. I'd like to feel comfortable enough to run. I'd like to feel like there is a place for me at the table to run. With my ideas, thoughts, purpose.  But it's the uncomfortable stretch of road where ice is pelting the car, wind whips this way and that, darkness settles around you, the windshield constantly fogs up, the gas tank is running low, your hands ache from gripping the wheel, and you are alone.

We learn most about ourselves, and our driving skills, here.  In times of discomfort.  When you don't feel valued.  When you feel disconnected.  Sometimes it's about advocating. Sometimes it's about quietly waiting. Note: quietly. 

I wanted to advocate for myself three weeks back.  One thing that has become increasingly, painfully, obvious to me over the course of the last four years, is how few people understand training.  Do you know what training is? Do you know HOW to train? Do you know how absolutely important it is to provide someone with all the details of every little thing so that they can do their job well?  Do you know how important it is to do a job well?  It would seem that 97% of the population does not, in fact, understand this as a concept.  Every role that I have taken on in the last 5 years has been a miserable failure in this realm. Every. Last. Role.  When it happened as a volunteer at church, I just about lost my last marble.  I went home crying because I was so frustrated to be trained so poorly.  I wanted to write the director and explain my frustration, but I advised myself to sit quietly and do my best.

Last Sunday, the director came to me, whilst I hobbled along at my task, and said, "I've decided to revamp my hospitality sections and provide one specific person for each role.  One person to know everything and provide ongoing support and training.  I want that to be you; because I identify in you the need, dedication, and desire to know and excel in what you are doing, and then have the joy to provide that for others."

Mic drop.

"I identify in you."  Yes.

A breath of air.  A definition of who I am.  Provided by someone else. (Who really does not know me well at all, but is caring enough to observe) Who wants to give me a place at the table.  Who understands the heart of my motivation for life.  Clearly, concisely, delivered.  I. was so grateful for those words.  Someone sees me.  Someone took just a moment to see me.  And nailed it.  I think it would have felt less impactful to me if I would have made an issue of it.  If I had "advocated" instead of quietly continuing on.  In fact, I know it would have.
 Sometimes we advocate.  Sometimes we quietly wait.  Always we push to continue.  Limping or running.  Our role doesn't have to be huge, but it does need to be fulfilling.  It does need to include feeling valued. I'm encouraging myself in these ideas. Making sure I'm placing value.  Seeing with new eyes. And embracing discomfort which in turn encourages growth of character. 

Very soon the orange barrels will disappear and I'll be driving through Iowa.  Nothing but clear, open, sunny country.....