The People You Find in Warehouses

I have had my share of menial jobs while in college:  janitor, McDonalds….My latest stint of menial labor helping do inventory for Colonial Williamsburg during which I endlessly counted and recounted wing-dings, jib-jabs, and knick-knacks.  I always take a moment, or several, to appreciate the seeming irony of a William & Mary student making fries for hours on end or cleaning up trash.  Then there are my share of existential moments during which I consider how the entire cause-and-effect trajectory of my life somehow led up to this moment in which I am cleaning urine splatters off of a McToilet.

While working these various menial jobs, I also can’t help but consider the people working along side of me.  I usually consider that I am just passing through and that I have a bright beaming future ahead of me, but for these co-workers, this is their career—THIS is their future.  And I usually consider why this is the case: I worked hard in school, they did not work as hard, I had an aptitude for intellectual rigors, they did not, etc.

Not very humble, I know.  And I realize this, and I am aware of these thoughts, but I can’t un-think them.  That would be like trying to un-ring a bell or not thinking of a boat after someone said, “don’t think about a boat.”  As is my nature, I do my utmost to be kind and respectful and humble.  But I can’t seem to un-feel the feeling that in some way, I am higher than these people.

I recently worked in a warehouse doing inventory along side an older man, in his late 50’s I suspect, gray haired, thick glasses, wearing a drab-gray jacket, and always stuttering when trying to speak.  And off my preconceptions went again…

Only to discover days later that this man is actually an excellent internal medicine doctor who grew tired of practicing medicine and enjoys the simplicity of working in a warehouse during his elder years.  Apparently I wasn’t smarter or more informed or “higher” than this man at all.  This man could blow me out of the water.

So much for our perceptions.  Jesus wasn’t what 1^st Century people were expecting either.  I think that’s God’s way of doing things and showing us how astute our analyses and assessments really are.

And I don’t think we decide to be humble, as though we flip a light switch on or off.  No, we learn to be humble every time some unimpressive warehouse worker turns out to be a brilliant doctor, and turns our preconceptions upside down.

Why I Started This Blog

This fall, I will be joining the Capital Fellows Program through McLean Presbyterian Church in the Washington D.C. area.  This program is basically a Christian leadership development program for aspiring young professionals.  As someone who has long sought to be an attorney, before I start law school, this fellowship should be the perfect opportunity for me to learn what it means to be a servant in God’s kingdom as I pursue the field of law.

From September 2011 through May 2012, I will spend part of each week doing a professional internship in D.C, part of the week taking classes through Reformed Theological Seminary and attending periodic conferences and seminars, and part of the week contributing to the mission of service both inside and outside the vibrant McLean Presbyterian community.  I will gain a deeper insight of fellowship both as older Christian leaders mentor me and as I get the chance to pour my energy into the church youth.  I will even join another household for a year, as a family graciously and sacrificially welcomes me into their home to help mitigate my costs.  A friend of mine who was part of the program last year likened this whole experience to “spiritual boot camp.”

We are each entrusted to raise $6,300 for the program which will cover expenses including text books, conferences, seminary classes, etc.—everything not donated by the church (This is a flat budget program – McLean Presbyterian does not profit from it).  Of course, at this point in my life in which I already have educational debts and limited income, the costs of this fellowship plus the car I will need to commute each day amount to my first real substantial financial hurdle in life.

In an individualistic society like ours, so often we think that whether we succeed or fail is entirely a matter of our own effort, our own initiative, our own resources, our own strength.  While I have always been self-driven in my endeavors, I am humbled to realize that my loving community is what has truly made me who I am and lifted me up so that I might stand tall (and we all know that I need all the help I can get when it comes to standing tall!).

I will continue to need the loving support of my friends and family whether financially or in prayer, and perhaps in both.  Pray that as I pursue this endeavor, that I might grow in the spirit, know God ever more, and learn to be part of the mission of being a light in a dark world.  I’m learning to believe ever more in a God that can move mountains, and I hope that you will lift me up in your prayers, that the great Potter would continue to mold this lump of clay into what he has purposed for it to be.

If you can and would like to offer financial support via a one-time gift or a pledge of continued gifts during the year, know that all gifts are tax deductible and should be made out to McLean Presbyterian Church with “Fellows Program” on the memo line, including a cover note with your name and my name.  Gifts can be mailed to:

McLean Presbyterian Church

1020 Balls Hill Road

McLean, VA 22101

Attn: Fellows

This blog is for my friends and family who wish to join me in my journey.  I will blog several times each month leading up to the program start date, and starting in September I will blog two or three times a week sharing my thoughts and reflections on my Fellows experience, my faith, and my life.  And in the words of the twentieth psalm, “May God give you the desire of your heart and make all your plans succeed!”

Candy Land and LSATs

A month ago my mother challenged a four-year-old boy to a game of Candy Land.  Little Matthew pulled a big upset.  (My mother doesn’t take defeat very well.  While we brothers were growing up, she was ruthless at board games—no wonder we turned out the way we did.  She says she wanted us to be hungry)  My mother proceeded to hound Matthew for a rematch, and he, wanting to remain undefeated, resisted her challenges.  Finally after much “persuasion,” Matthew relented.  It is said that the rematch was an on-the-edge-of-your-seat nail-biter.  After an early-game controversy over who was entitled to go first and a late-game instant replay review, Matthew had won again.  I’m betting my mother’s response was similar to that of Darth Vader at the end of Star Wars, Episode III.

If there is a game entirely devoid of skill, strategy, or brains, it is Candy Land.  It is a game in which two people move a token around the game board by drawing a card each turn.  The card determines where you move.  In fact, once the cards are shuffled and it is decided who gets to go first, it is logically predetermined at the outset what the outcome will be.  Players really aren’t competing to win, they are merely finding out who won before the game started.  Post-game victory celebration would be like gloating over someone because you beat them in a coin toss.  Impressive!

So much is determined by a single card shuffle.

With just under a month to go until the formidable LSAT, I realize that this will have been the hardest test that I will have yet taken.  So many tricks and twists and brain benders.  I expect that I will be ready, but boy progress is frustratingly slow.

Your LSAT score basically figures as half the weight of your application for law school.  The other half of your application is your entire seventeen-year academic development and achievement from kindergarten through the end of college.  23 years of my life, and one day of my life.  A single test.  This will affect which school I get into, whether I get any merit scholarships, maybe who I will marry…

So much is determined by a single number.

The Ultimate Contest

Sometimes this is how it is.

Good News, Please

Home from work.  What’s new in the world today?

Here is CNN’s latest news listed in order as of 7:45pm December 28, 2010: “Ski lift malfunction injures 9 in Maine,” “Skiiers describe moment of fall,” “Flyer charged after bag ignites,” “8 killed in fire in New Orleans,” “5 teens dead in Florida motel room,” “College baseball star charged with rape,” “Man says wife died in sex accident,” (as curious as I was, I thought I would be happier overall in life not reading this article) “Body of burned child found in Texas,” “Boy, 12, vanishes on Christmas Eve.”  Finally the tenth article listed isn’t even an article: “Vote now for 2010’s most intriguing.”  It’s even bad news for Sarah Palin according to the eleventh article!

Man, the world must really be a terrible place.  Although, human nature hasn’t changed in thousands of years, so these things, or things like them have surely been happening all along.  But this is what CNN tells us is most important to know about the world today.  CNN is simply driven by market pressures though.  They give us what we want to read, which means it isn’t the CNN folks who are the sick freaks—we’re the sick freaks who secretly love reading about how terrible the world is!

Refreshingly, there are some good-news-only websites such as HappyNews.com.  There I learned about a Sign-language Santa down in Texas who gives learning-disabled kids a chance to have the mall-Santa experience.  Goodwill was helping unemployed people find jobs, and firefighters handed out free toys to kids in drug-war-ravaged Mexico City.  I even found this cool picture on another good news site

This will do for tonight, but I’m sure I’ll be back to CNN again tomorrow.  That’s where all the sick freaks go.

Humility

I just returned to my cold, dark apartment after working all day at the bookstore in Colonial Williamsburg.  My family is gathered together this evening hundreds of miles away in Coldwater, Michigan.

Today is Christmas.

I’ve recently received many condolences from friends concerning my perceived burden.  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” or “They can’t do that to you!”  One friend was almost ready to go over hill and dale to ensure I would have people to be with on Christmas day—bless her heart. (I did see my family in November at Jeff’s wedding and will see my parents next week—it’s not the end of the world!)

I’ve assured everyone that I really am ok, that I’m not tying a noose, that I’m just in between things in life at the moment, and that it’s only for a year.  In fact, given my career trajectory, I would be surprised if I ever had to work on Christmas again.

But it is humbling not only to work on Christmas, but also to join so many others who work on Christmas every year.  It’s good to have those moments in life that knock you off your high horse and make you realize that you aren’t inherently better than others; some people are just blessed with different lots in life.

Christmas of all days is a day to reflect on what true humility really is.  True humility is when the God of the universe takes off the mantle of His divine glory to take on the form of a helpless, pitiful baby born in a smelly barn, only later in life to wash the dirty feet of His disciples before being gruelingly executed on a Roman cross for a world of people who couldn’t care less.  That’s humility.  That’s Christmas.

I'm Smarter Than An Ant Colony

I think it’s time to clean the ant carcasses off the kitchen countertop.  We’ve been tolerating a controlled infestation for a while now.  The ants have been content to station only a handful of footmen patrolling the countertop for crumbs.  They haven’t felt the need to launch an all-out assault on our food reserves; neither have we felt the need to employ the nuclear option on their nest.  Up to this point, I have simply snuffed out the little suckers one by one with my fingernail—mere skirmishes. 

We William and Mary students pride ourselves in our geeky, over-intellectualization of things.  In this case, I have outsmarted the collective intelligence of the ant colony because I understand how ants patrol for food.  Ants send out scouts to forage, and if an ant returns empty-handed, nothing happens, but if an ant successfully returns with food, that ant deposits a chemical signal alerting other ants to follow that trail for that food source.  Consequently, a few more ants venture out, and as ants successfully return with food, more ants follow that trail in greater number.

So even though there have been plenty of crumbs littering the countertop, my sniping the ants has skewed the colony’s data: they think there is far less food than there actually is.  Instead of sending a big wave of troops, they have kept their footmen to a minimum.  Thus, I have successfully kept the invasion at bay.

That’s how William and Mary students tackle problems—by overcomplicating the simple.  I could have wiped up the food crumbs from the counter a while ago, which also would have solved the problem and kept the counter free of dozens of ant bodies.  But why would I do that?

Maybe this is why I don’t have a girlfriend.

Rich

I’m sitting underneath the overhang of my porch, bundled in layers on a cold, drizzly night with half a butt cheek resting on the corner of a decrepit chair with a hole punched through the middle of the seat.  The pitter-patter of the rain is picking up.  Behind my head, a fan whirrs in the window blowing fresh air into an apartment, which is currently uninhabitable due to the noxious fumes emanating from the window sealant that I applied earlier this evening.  The temperature inside is now in the mid-50’s and plummeting.  It will surely be warm and cozy sleeping tonight!

Across the parking lot a woman adjusts her bedroom drapes—she probably figures I’m sitting out here to spy through her window.  A gnarled cat skirts by and slinks off into the darkness.  A bit of a shiver.  Pitter-patter, pitter-patter…

A few weeks ago someone stole the radio out of my roommate’s car at night.  A few months ago there was an armed robbery in my block of apartments.  Questionable people aimlessly meander through the neighborhood.  On some nights, I sleep with a nine-inch knife next to me in bed.

I had frozen vegetables and cheap pasta tonight for dinner.  That’s what I had last night.  The night before I mixed it up with frozen vegetables and eggs. 

Life is cold at the moment, but life is good.  My friend Chan would point out that statistically I am one of the richest people in the world.

I know.

Pitter-patter, pitter-patter…

My First Birdbath

Names are so arbitrary…and yet…names are so important. While growing up, my dad used to call me Jaybird—very appropriate considering the running career that I would come to have. (Fortunately not all my dad’s nicknames had such foreshadowing or descriptive qualities. I’m not sure “Bird-Dog” or “Squirrel-Meat” would connote anything good.) In any event, he called me Jaybird.

I have tried to come up with a good name for this blog—something that would capture this blog’s essence. I have chosen “Jaybird’s Birdbath,” and hopefully that will prove to be a worthy name. But why a bird bath?

When a bird settles upon a bird bath, it first perches on its rim. For a brief moment, the bird reflects above the still surface of the water. Then it hops in, splashes about for cleansing and refreshment, probably takes a drink, and then alights in flight once again.

This blog serves the same purpose. It offers a brief moment each day to reflect, to refresh my mind, to drink deeply, and then to resume my day. My name is Jaybird, and this is my birdbath.