February: Fired from the Homeless Shelter
[PART 2]
Sometime in mid-January, I had begun to ask Jesus for the favor described in Proverbs 10:22
“The favor of the Lord brings wealth, without painful toil for it.”
It seemed I had worked a lot of jobs over the past years that had demanded much from me… physically and mentally.. but had not amounted to much wealth. I said,
Lord, I know you are rich. Will you give me your favor and supply all what I need… without pain or trouble?
As I worked my shifts in a continually empty tavern, sometimes bringing home no more than $4 in tips, I asked him honestly,
“Am I being faithful with little?”
“Whoever is faithful with very little will also be faithful with much, and whoever is dishonest with very little will also be dishonest with much.”
On February 3, I was excited to start a temp job as a “cook” at a large organization serving the homeless. It seemed perfect. I could work there in the mornings, 7 to 3, before my shifts at the tavern.
How poetic!, I thought, God is providing me a chance to feed the hungry- as the method by which he will also feed me!
Unfortunately, the reality wouldn’t turn out quite as ideally.
The job title may have been “cook”, but in practice, there would be no chopping, measuring or mixing involved at all. My function would be to read the orders for ~20 schools and shelters, pull the requested pre-packaged meals from a deep freezer, and reheat them to liquifyingly-high temps before packing them into Cambros, and wheeling them onto the trucks. The work was important. But I struggled with the dissonance from my expectation. I had imagined hours spent dicing a thousand carrots and onions: soulful, tactile, artist’s work. Instead, I took on the sterile, methodical tasks of a timekeeper.
The industrial scale of production made this food quite different from that of a little church soup kitchen. I couldn’t help but feel ashamed of the food we were shipping out. To me, it seemed to be neither healthy nor delicious. I wasn’t willing to eat it- so I felt slimy sending it. Add to that every third man in the kitchen remarking on my height, and asking for its measure. (Although this happens everywhere, and I might have gotten used to it, it continues to be a pain point for me.)
So when one person after another would ask me throughout the day, “How do you like the job?!” I would answer them by saying truthfully, “I don’t like it.”
At the same time, I was mandated to get a flu shot in order to be cleared for this 1-month temp job. In the medical office, I signed the ‘consent’ form, mentioning that it seemed dishonest to call something “consensual" when there was no choice. Frowning, the practitioner stuck the needle in my arm, but I got a call from HR a few minutes later saying that what I had said had been reported. I was fired that day.
So, on the afternoon of February 7th, I sat on the kitchen floor, sore and stunned, wondering what to do.
Wow. Look at me. My church is having to pay my rent. And I can’t even serve the homeless right!
What kind of Christian even am I? Did it get any lower?
I debated if there would be any way to try to hide this latest humiliation.
But I realized, hiding and denying would be the only way I could sink lower than where I already sat.
Who, after all, did Christ die for?
Not for the righteous. Not for the wise. Not for the politically correct, or the perfectly polite. Not for the heroes. Not for the worthy. But for sinners. For messes…. beautiful messes… like me. That is the story that has turned the world upside down.
“This is a trustworthy saying, worthy of full acceptance: Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners, of whom I am the worst.”
Damon was the first to walk through the kitchen door. So he was the first to hear the whole, cut-and-dry, gut-punching account.
I was fired because, I wasn’t being paid for my opinion. I was fired because of my mouth. I might not like it, and I might not agree with it— but either way, the consequences were mine now.
After some prayer, and without moving from my lowly place on the floor, I wrote an email to that nonprofit. I offered them my real contrition for any offense I had caused. I thanked them for the work they do. I also wrote a tiny explanation of how the ‘friendly' comments from their staff had made me feel not at home- for balance. They never responded. I hadn’t expected them to.
The report of this yet another setback reached the rest of my friends, in short order. At least that bandaid was ripped off, and now I could get up, and move forward.
On February 9th, Lena walked to my house- one hour in the dark and cold to bring me a message. When I opened the door, she walked directly in, leading me silently up the stairs to my own bedroom, where she knelt down on the hardwood floor. She did not mince words, and I found myself afraid of her intensity.
She told me that she had been seeking the Lord for me, with tears. She told me that after praying for days, she had become convinced that I needed to go to our Pastor Michael, and ask for financial help to get out of credit card debt. She had met with him already.
She appeared so grave.. so distraught. Though I have hated being in debt for the last few years, and though I have been frustrated when my progress gets undone, I had never lost heart. I knew God wasn’t the least bit oblivious to my plight- so I carried no worry. Her face wore a lament truly foreign to my own. I could feel none of the anxiety that was gnawing at her now.
But I knew what it was taking her to be so brave and to plead with me in this way. So I prayed with her, and asked God to make me humble enough not to resist, if this word that Lena brought was His own. I had turned on the oven as soon as she walked in the door, and now I made her divide a frozen pizza with me before she left. Again, it was Damon who passed by the kitchen after I was left alone, and I told him this latest development in the story of my abasement.
The next day, I wrote to Pastor Michael, and waited for his reply.
In the weeks that followed, I met with Pastor Michael in his high-up office at our gorgeous, historic church in downtown Boston. He left the door open, but apologized to me as other ministers passing by were able to clearly see me cry. I told of the past years and their challenges. But I told more of the palpable nearness of God: his gifts of contentment and peace, and my sure hope: that this barren season had purpose, but was not meant to last.
Pastor Michael listened. He challenged me at a few points. He asked me what I wanted to do. He cared. He connected me with a brother in our church who is a financial advisor, and we agreed to check in before the Spring. I prayed for the both of us before we said goodbye.
True to his ever-standing promise, the Lord had not let me be put to shame, even in the bright daylight of my need. He had even allowed me to be a blessing to his servants, by encouragement and prayer. He had enabled me to walk with my head held high. Today I was more seen, more known, and more beloved in his family than I had been before.
On February 26th, I turned 32, and gave a magnificent party for my friends. They showed up with arms full of drinks, snacks, sweets, and presents. I made trays and trays of eggplant parm. Together, we started the party with prayer!- leaving the food and drinks, to kneel with heads low in a beautiful, vulnerable assembly. Voice after voice, and quiet, bowed hearts sought God’s help for the people of Ukraine… his mercy for all the world. At the last Amen, I said, “Ok! Now we can party!”
Snow kept falling outside, but the front door kept swinging wide. All evening, friends reveled, blessing me with their presence and their dripping rich love.
I had bought the cake plates with mermaids and pirate ships on them- for at that time, I was believing God for a job opportunity on the water. I had interviewed twice so far for a job with a brand new ship, and a stupid comfortable salary. Anticipating a change in the wind, I found Grace and Dustin. If I do get this job…I asked them… would they be willing to give me a place to stay when I’d come home? I would love to have some steady anchor among our people when the ships weren’t holding me. I held my breath, while they consulted each other. Then with a quiet meeting of the eyes, they both nodded YES.
On February 28th, between stirs of a pot of vegetarian gumbo on the stove, I signed my job contract with that top-rated cruise line. The salary was three times what I had ever made, anywhere or at anytime before.
the story continues
Part 3: March: A Marvelous Rescue
previously
Prologue & Part 1: January: The Money Runs Out