A quiet day at camp makes me long for more quiet days at
camp.
Granted, today will only be temporarily quiet, because in a
few hours, a hilarious and day-brightening group of junior-high students will
return to bounce around the property like tiny, sheared lambs. Though this peaceful respite will be
relatively brief, I cannot keep myself from hollering up some soulful thanks to
the Maker, because a few hours of stillness seem like an island-of-wonderful when
you've been swimming through relentless waves of busyness.
There is one particular lesson that I’ve been learning this
year. Since it’s not rocket
science kind-of-stuff, it’s probably old news to you: the reality that
infrequent bursts of energy aren’t what can pull the plug on our passion, but
rather the constant drumming of tasks and unfinished business and the laundry
list of what’s around the river bend. It’s the plugged toilets and unchopped vegetables and rooms
to rearrange. It’s the dishes that
have been sitting in our sink for a full week, because despite what Disney
would have us think, serving plates and coffee cups don’t dance on tables,
speak with a British accent, and just will
not bathe themselves. It’s also because in addition to our
own used mugs and late-night-snack cereal bowls, there are another ninety sets
of dishes to wash in the camp Hobart, which makes the previous truth seem acutely depressing.
My friend, Kristi, bonding with the camp Hobart.
I, like every reasonable American child, dream of dancing
juice cups and coffee pots that sound like Angela Lansbury. Sing, dangit - and please turn on the dishwasher when you’re through.
What is striking about the nature of these everyday hurdles
is that while mine might involve sending (then resending) invoices and cleaning
up hot chocolate spills in the Dining Hall, yours probably include a host of
other duties that drive you to the very same wall I’m scrambling up. None of us are exempt from work. It’s an inevitable part of life on
terra firma, and we all have some load to bear – even if it is simply brushing
our teeth or walking to the corner store for toilet paper (which would take a very long time up here, and probably
require crampons).
That said, I don’t think that true life is about what you
do. It shouldn’t matter if you are
a young account executive with Prudential or if you are spending your sunset years working the customer service desk at JCPenney. It sure feels good to have a job that is fulfilling and soulful and gives
you a great financial or emotional return on your effort - that's a no-brainer. However, life is
not made significant by what you
do. Rather, your spirit is
revealed in how you do what you do,
and this is what I constantly
find myself hung up on.
Do I do my work peevishly, with a dispassionate and
resentful spirit? Am I visibly
bitter and visibly tired? Or
rather, do I treat my work as a gift, as are each of my days. Do I move through it bearing a hopeful countenance,
with grace in my speech and humility in my actions? Am I visibly joyful, albeit visibly tired?
Tiredness is a fact. Attitude is a choice. Moments are opportunities.
So, give me just a couple more hours, then throw some soap in
the Hobart and let’s get crack-a-lacking.
Lady Lansbury won’t wash herself.
