Being Used

One of my co-workers throughout the week kept bringing up the fact that his church had volunteered him to drive a bunch of kids in the church van to go see a lighted Christmas village and he didn't seem too happy about it. During one of our breaks he said, “I know why they chose me, it's because I'm single and they won't have to buy another ticket,” to which one of my other co-workers said “They're using you,” then I mumbled “So, it's church.”

If we stop to think about it, if we believe in any cause, secular or not, don't we expect to be used or, at least, shouldn't we? The nature of most good causes do not allow them to fend for themselves, they don't produce the the needed revue to propagate themselves, most are very dependent on volunteers. Yes, if some of them are well put together they can be self-sustaining in terms of resources and finances, but even they require a lot of time and effort; in other words, humanpower.

During my year in AmeriCorps, my group was used and we were sometimes very overworked; if you were to work out how much we got “paid” (in terms of our living stipend), based on the number of hours we worked, it was a few dollars below minimum wage. But it was for the cause of conservation, of fighting fires that could destroy property, of combating chaos in the aftermath of natural disasters. We expected to be used, we volunteered for it.

When you join a church, a group combating cancer, raising awareness of domestic abuse; if you really believe in the cause, expect to be used up, to be called upon, to invest your time and emotions, to try and rally others to your cause. Hopefully, you can also expect to be emotionally rewarded and fulfilled as well.

The church is “using you,” exactly, and I expect to be used.

P.S. My co-worker's mom is one of the chief members in charge of the childrens church, which is the real reason he was probably volunteered for the outing. Also, they paid for his dinner, which he's always a big fan of free food.

I Am Still or The Story of A Boulder

The world moves around me at a breakneck pace and they wonder why they so quickly pass away. I am still and I remain. Trees think they are still, they say “I am rooted to this spot. I am not moving, so I am still.” Trees are flighty things, here today and gone tomorrow. They are not still, but move with the slightest wind. Their roots crawl over the ground and burrow beneath. Trees try to move me, try to lift me with their roots or, with their last effort as they fall, try to push me aside. Even the little plants do their best, breaking pieces off of me, thinking to count that as movement, but once those pieces separate, they are no longer me, but pebbles, rocks, and earth. Trees and plants rot and fall away, but I am still and I remain.

The sun rises and, as the wind blows the branches of the trees, it filters down to warm me. It moves so fast, I wonder that it has been there so long and if one day it will not rise. Oh well, warm or cold, it matters not to me. Whether the sun rises or it does not, I am still and I remain.

I can feel the moon giving me a gentle tug as it passes over me, silly moon, you cannot move me. But as the rain falls, the raindrops whisper that the moon moves the ocean, something far larger than I. Then they tell me they were a part of the ocean and that it is made up of millions of them, rising and falling, rising and falling. I tell them the ocean is not larger than me, but it is made up of millions of them and that is why it allows the moon to move it. The raindrops only laugh at me and tell me that though they are small, they will move me. They move me ever so slightly and movement equals death, their washing the earth from beneath my feet makes me older, they make me smaller year by year. I move, but oh so slowly, so I remain.

Turtles come to seek my wisdom and learn how not to pass away. They try to look like me, but they must eat so they must move; they do but slowly, so time passes by them and forgets them for a while.

Man does not seek my wisdom, but runs through life and wishes everything to run with him. He adds acid to the rain making me smaller all the faster. Instead of going round us, if we are in his way, he does what the trees could not do and pushes us aside. He causes us to move and move, breaks us smaller so we are easier to move, and moves us from place to place. I am not still and so only dust remains.