Sometimes I start writing about one subject and then land in another. This is one of those times. I didn’t know where I was headed until I arrived.
Back when Don and I still lived in Atlanta, I spent a few years working as the executive assistant to the CEO of a recruiting firm that had locations all over the world. The Atlanta office was on the smaller side, staffed with about 70 people.
I knew most of my coworkers well -- knew their majors in college, the names of their kids and their pets, knew who was vegan and who followed Paleo. Knew what sports teams they cheered for.
But aside from my boss, they didn’t know me. Conversations only went one direction, with me asking questions of them. They asked none of me.
I chalked it up to their age. They were young. Many fresh out of college.
On my last day with the company, my boss spoke at my going-away luncheon and shared with the staff about how I was a writer and had bought an old warehouse and lived with a squirrel and that Don and I made ray guns out of found metal objects.
Afterward, coworkers kept coming up to say, “Wow. I wish I had gotten to know you better.â€
I felt sad that I hadn’t been deemed worthy of knowing until it was too late.
This sort of thing wasn’t new to me, though. When in my early 20s, I worked as a secretary for two executives. At the time, I had no children, only a young German shepherd named Jade. One day at work, my boss was in my office when I received a call telling me Jade had bitten someone. The call left me rattled.
“It’s not a big deal,†said my boss. “Little kids bite people all the time.â€
I realized then I had been spending 40 hours a week working with a man who knew nothing of me.
Life is a bit different in a town as small as where we live now. They check in. Ask thoughtful questions. Leave produce.
There’s a warmth in being seen, even if it’s only by a few.
But then, this past weekend, an old acquaintance appeared out of the ether long enough to say hi and drop a couple of compliments. And then ask a favor.
Chump that I am, I didn’t say no. Yet later, as I was driving and thinking -- and perhaps stewing a bit, feeling taken for granted by someone who only recalled my existence when there was an unpleasant task to be completed -- I had something click. A realization that I wasn’t alone.
Nor was I innocent.
I doubt anyone longs to be a means to an end. It hurts to be that person. To feel back-burnered until needed and used and then forgotten again.
I realized many of us do something like this with God. We bop merrily along through easy times, forgetting He exists, until we get in a bind. Then we pray fervently and furiously and add on promises and praises.
But as soon as the road levels out again, we head back off on our own.
Many of us don’t try to get to know Him better. We don’t read what He’s written. Study His way. We want Him there when we need him, but don’t invite Him along for the other stuff.
