Showing posts with label Work. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Work. Show all posts

Monday, September 5, 2016

Meditation for Labor Day


The wisdom of the scribe depends on the opportunity of leisure; 
only the one who has little business can become wise. 
How can one become wise who handles the plough,
   and who glories in the shaft of a goad,
who drives oxen and is occupied with their
work,
   and whose talk is about bulls? 
He sets his heart on ploughing furrows,
   and he is careful about fodder for the heifers. 
So it is with every artisan and master artisan
   who labours by night as well as by day;
those who cut the signets of seals,
   each is diligent in making a great variety;
they set their heart on painting a lifelike image,
   and they are careful to finish their work. 
So it is with the smith, sitting by the anvil,
   intent on his ironwork;
the breath of the fire melts his flesh,
   and he struggles with the heat of the furnace;
the sound of the hammer deafens his ears,
   and his eyes are on the pattern of the object.
He sets his heart on finishing his handiwork,
   and he is careful to complete its decoration. 
So it is with is the potter sitting at his work
   and turning the wheel with his feet;
he is always deeply concerned over his products,
   and he produces them in quantity. 
He moulds the clay with his arm
   and makes it pliable with his feet;
he sets his heart on finishing the glazing,
   and he takes care in firing the kiln. 

All these rely on their hands,
   and all are skilful in their own work. 
Without them no city can be inhabited,
   and wherever they live, they will not go hungry.
Yet they are not sought out for the council of the people, 
   nor do they attain eminence in the public assembly.
They do not sit in the judge’s seat,
   nor do they understand the decisions of the courts;
they cannot expound discipline or judgement,
   and they are not found among the rulers. 
But they maintain the fabric of the world,
   and their concern is for the exercise of their trade
~ Ecclesiasticus 38:24-34

Though he was a craftsman and not an academic, my father was still a scholar. He was always reading. His example is the one I immitate by keeping a stack of books by my chair, picking up one, then another, their subjects ranging from history, to fiction, to health and wellness, to nature. He was a printer and proud of his trade, and he was also widely respected  in our community for his wisdom, his kindness, and his dedication to serving our neighbors. Had the wise preacher of Ecclesiasticus ever met my dad, he would have had a very different opinion of people who work with their hands and their backs.

While the writer may not have known much about working people, the message of this passage is clear. Artisans and craftspeople, the ones who make and build and produce; they are the threads that hold the "fabric of the world" together. Today, our country whose history of labor relations has far too often been an inglorious one, takes a moment to give thanks for the sacrifices and to honor the labor of everyone who helps to carry the burden of civilization.

As we honor the workers of our own age, we also remember those who came before. The ones who struggled and bled and died to win the dignity and respect of powerful people who were eager for profit, but reluctant to reward the laborers who made their profits possible.

On this Labor Day, may we remember that when we work, we honor ourselves and one another. Work connects us to our neighbors and to creation. Everyone deserves the chance to know that connection. And everyone who works deserves to be rewarded and respected.

Almighty God, you have so linked our lives one with another that all we do affects, for good or ill, all other lives: So guide us in the work we do, that we may do it not for self alone, but for the common good; and, as we seek a proper return for our own labor, make us mindful of the rightful aspirations of other workers, and arouse our concern for those who are out of work; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen ~ Collect for Labor Day, the Book of Common Prayer, p. 261

Saturday, May 22, 2010

#168: This is Happening to Us

The days between the PET scan and our next meeting with Dr. Colin were distracted. The nights were filled with unblinking stares at the blackness above our bed. Long fearful silences. "Denial" is as good a word as any.

Kammy was the first to notice at work. She is a young woman at work (nearly everyone is young at work) who pretends to be a silly girl to hide her intuitive compassion.

"You aren't as cheerful as usual today," she observed in that musical Congolese dialect of hers. "What's wrong?"

My candor took me by surprise. "I've been having some tests. The Doctor thinks I might have Cancer." It was the first time I'd said it out loud. Her response was honest and startling.

"I hope you don't. I don't want you to die."

And there it was, out in the air. Together, we had given my silent fear a voice. It was the first of many times I would realize how much I share my condition with the people who know and love me.

The day the Doctor gave us his opinion, Mrs P took it harder than I.

"I can't say for certain that it's Cancer, but if it walks like a duck... There is no time to lose with this. If you delay..."

I finished his thought, bad habit. "It will just keep growing."

The Doc corrected me sternly, "It will take your life." This was not a joke.

He described the surgery and the risks. Nerve Damage. Muscle removed. Loss of taste. Loss of hearing. We thanked him and moved across the hall to schedule the surgery, three days later. The treatment coordinator had strange news for us. My insurance was a strange, bare bones plan. Great for physician visits and prescriptions, but it did not cover inpatient procedures. Blue Cross would not be paying for my surgery.

It was a lot to take in. We rode the elevator down to the lobby and left. In the car, Mrs P started to cry. I was angry about the insurance. She was frightened about the diagnosis.

"I just don't understand why God is letting all this happen to you.."

I would deal with God later. "This isn't happening to me. This is happening to us."

What Kammy had taught me, what I wanted Mrs P to know was that I knew this was a burden we would share. I would not have the luxury of playing the victim. This was going to hurt everyone who cared about me, starting with her. We stopped by work. I picked up a prescription and told my supervisor that I probably had Cancer and would be missing a couple of weeks work after my surgery. I noticed his Livestrong bracelet.

"I may need to get myself one of these." I reached out and touched it, and he smiled sadly. I wondered why he wore one.

Mrs P and I walked out into the sunshine. It was a beautiful April Kentucky afternoon.

I wondered why God was letting this happen to my family.

Monday, September 1, 2008

"Life is What Happens to You..."

"...while you're busy making other plans."

I remember the first time I heard "Beautiful Boy" on Double Fantasy, John Lennon's valedictory masterpiece. My friend Tom and I wept together in his dorm room as we heard the music and grieved the fallen poet.

I knew intuitively that his words to his young son were true -- 28 years later, I know it from experience.



I think it's important to have a plan. I also think it's important to recognize an opportunity when it comes along.

I think I have seen such an opportunity. I have decided to try to be an insurance salesman. Gross? Bizzare? I don't think so.

Here's what I want from what's left of my life:
  1. I want to help give Mrs P the kind of life that my wandering career and modest income have never made possible.
  2. I want to go to bed every night knowing that someone's life is better because I got up that morning.
I spoke with a splendid person from an insurance company that I believe in. (I don't want to mention any names, but you've seen their duck on TV.) One with products that are affordable and necessary. One that doesn't make money by scaring people. I've been a policyholder myself for several years. I've been studying all weekend, and I'm taking the licensing exam as soon as I can.

It's an entrepreneurial opportunity that's way out there where the ice is thin. Commission only. You're only paid to produce, not just for showing up. I could fall right through into the icy water. Or I could learn that this is a chance to have the living and the life that I have wanted for myself and my family. Mrs P and I have had several long talks about it. We're both a little apprehensive and a lot hopeful.

She believes in me. How can I fail? I believe we're going for it.

By the way, I ran 2.4 mi in 30 minutes yesterday. That's a 12:30 per mile pace, and a new personal best. "Every day, in every way it's getting better and better."

Thanks, John. You'd have been a great Pennsyltuckian.

Peace,
Pennsy