For the last twelve hours, I’d been thinking about the floor of the large common room (formerly known as the church basement.) We’d all noticed how sticky it was. I’m going to mop that floor! That’s a good thankless job.
My goal on this trip has been to do thankless tasks. Well, that, and not to complain.
(That's Brian, the youth director, during a youth mission this summer.)
On past trips, I'd echoed others in their desire to do things that made a tangible difference – like building a wheelchair ramp or mending a wall. Something one could look at, and say, “We accomplished something.” And I usually got my wish.
The next morning, we arrived at the mission and people headed upstairs to sort clothes,
or to the dorms to paint,
I stayed and, after moving some things, dry mopped a wide strip between the first bank of tables and the wall. Then I got a string mop and bucket of water. The bucket was one of those industrial types school custodians use, with the wringer resting on back. You lift the dripping mop head into the hopper, and lean into its handle so the water is squeezed back into the bucket. I smiled, remembering all those school custodians I ever saw using similar mops, bucket in tow.
The floor was truly awful, and I suspected most of the grunge would outlive my efforts. I was right. As I reached the end of the wall “row” I came to the first “spot” I knowingly washed away. (In the course of the entire experience, I would find nine such spots.)
After dipping the mop into the water twice, I couldn’t see the bottom of the bucket. Two or three dips later, the water had turned to a thick-ish gray yuck and I headed for the sink to reboot.
I continued through the room in strips, moving chairs first one way then another. Although I assured people that walking across this floor wouldn’t matter, everyone tried to find different paths. “I can just hear my mother’s voice,” Bill responded.
The job took a couple hours (okay, I’m slow) and I didn’t even do the whole room. I avoided where one crew was cutting drywall and under the food tables where someone would soon be setting out food. I mopped right- and left- handed and still got a blister.
The whole while I saw almost no difference, but once the floor dried, I conceded that others were right: my efforts had borne some fruit. No one would want to eat off that floor, but if Carol tried downward dog again, it wouldn’t feel quite so nasty.
In the end, it was hard work, but not thankless. Plenty of people praised my efforts. And, just as when building casitas with a team in Rio Bravo, I felt a weary sense of accomplishment.
I had wanted my efforts to go unnoticed, but that wasn’t possible. Being the pastor surely had something to do with it, but I believe something else was at work here. Some of you have no doubt experienced it yourselves.
While Oscar Wilde famously shared, “No good deed goes unpunished,” I believe the opposite is true. Sometimes maybe we can get away with an unobserved good deed, but I’ve watched as strangers stop and thank someone they’ve never met for some seemingly unimportant thing. And except on our worst days, I suspect most of us have done the same thing. We certainly praise the efforts of the people we know. Even if it’s making a filthy floor just a little less dirty.
A tree is known by its fruit; a man by his deeds. A good deed is never lost; he who sows courtesy reaps friendship, and he who plants kindness gathers love.
Saint Basil
No comments:
Post a Comment