how to work when it's lovely outside: a three-step process

when the sunshine is hitting the little shed just right and there's a sweet breeze ruffling the azalea around, i don't want to be inside. not even a little bit. so yesterday, when the paper i put off all weekend finally beckoned me to work, i had to think of an alternative. and while i'm a huge advocate for keeping the sabbath holy and not doing any work, i hardly considered this work. i played a little laura marling and sat out there, a few feet from the clothesline. oh, and i wrote a few paragraphs.

my transformation, in a series of three easy steps:

 

step one: find an old well cover. preferably one near a hydrangea bush and under some pretty oaks.

  

step two: cover it with a pretty, thick blanket.

 

step three: run inside and get some sweet tea, your papers and your laptop. find a shady spot with just the right amount of sunshine (*disclaimer: these pictures appear extra sunny. it was actually quite shady and my laptop did not get too hot)

and there you have it. a little way to make work not quite so...workish.

sometimes

 

it's okay to dress up in your favorite vintage frock

to swirl your hair up in a fanciful updo

to wear your special gold necklace and diamond earrings

...even though  you work behind a desk all day and the only people you see are your co-workers.

blue collar, warm heart

there are some chores i hate. chiefly, scrubbing bathrooms. but there are some that for whatever reason, be it the repetitive motion or the solitude and reflection they provide, are not too bad. i feel this way about dishes and laundry. when warm water is running between my fingers and the hundredth plastic cup fills the drying rack, there are no stresses. for ten minutes, there are no worries, and no tasks that need to be accomplished sans these dishes. and i love it.

last night was laundry night. with robert and pablo watching television in the dark living room, i snuck out to the mud room. the unheated one with brick interior walls. with the three big windows and screen door leading out to the  blueberry bush. and i filled the machine with robert's plumbing clothes. cornflower blue work shirt and navy work pants. with a logo sewn on by his grandmother. they are dirty, yes. but they are my husband's.

one day, he might work in an office. and he'll re-wear the same variation of a suit and tie every day, and the laundry basket will be exponentially lighter. he'll dab on the gray flannel and tuck the handkerchief.

but for now, i'll buy the extra strength detergent and check his pockets every evening. and i'll breathe in deep the smell of pipes. the scent cemented in my memory along with mama's clove cookies and pablo's soft, downy fur. and i'll complain about the loads of wash sitting in the basin, but really cherish that time. in the little cottage by the woods, where work is shed at the threshold, and real life, real love begins after five.

a breakthrough in the shutdown

 xxx

i walked into the corporate kitchen, and into a conversation. i sidestepped the men and reached for the coffee machine, my creamy white mug and vanilla toffee creamer jumbled in my hands.

one man left, leaving just me and another. i smiled politely and said hello. i started walking away, when he asked me. "did you hear about it?" 

of course i heard about it. of course i got the e-mail. of course i've been worrying about it since last night, i wanted to tell him. instead, i murmured "uh-huh." i tried to walk away, to retreat back into my little office nook where i could hold my mustard seed necklace, read a psalm and let the morning sunshine pour past the  window pane and into my weary spirit. but he kept on.

"are you worried? what do you think? i've been watching the news and..."

he proceeded with a re-cap of the pending government shutdown. the indecisiveness. the right-wing, left-wing, he-said, she-said debate. the effects on our company. the preventative measures being taken. the midnight deadline that felt ages away. he walked away slowly, with an air of defeat.

i watched my co-workers on friday. when faced with an angry circumstance, true colors are shown. i watched for the hurt. i watched for hate, disgust and blame to be thrown. 

i didn't see any of it. because like i've said before on this blog, i believe in people. and call it blind optimism, but i also believe in their goodness. and in their ability to cope and be okay. on friday, i saw people consoling, encouraging. i heard "it's all going to be okay" more than once. i said it myself, to girls in my office who were new. and scared.

and it worked out. the government struck a deal and nothing shut down. and i'm not political, and can't even tell you all the details, but i can tell you this: in a crisis, or in this case, the threat of a crisis, there might be a tendency toward animosity, resentment, and outrage. but in the midst of the rubble is a chance to come together. to unite and create a combined energy. and against such a beautiful force, no disaster can stand for long.

working from home

weekends are for savoring. for sleeping in. eating a little bit more naughty, skipping the salads. they are for late night movies, mid-afternoon yoga breaks, and hours of conversation around a kitchen island.


working full-time, i look forward to the weekends, starting on monday. i usually try to plan little trips on those two precious days. little day adventures that have us home by suppertime. a reprieve. an escape. this weekend, however, flew by much like my the rest of my week. behind a computer, working.


and it made me sad to think that another week will go by before i could rest. it really hit me on saturday night, our usual date night. there were no high heels. no curled hair. no lipstick.


instead, i spent the greater portion of the day and evening in sweatpants, hair in a bun, typing. it's a good thing i have a window in my home office. the gorgeous, natural light that streamed in through the blinds was a blessing.


i went to bed discouraged, sad.


and woke up to this:

and all of a sudden, working from home didn't seem so bad.

a mustard seed

source

 "I tell you the truth, if you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, 'Move from here to there' and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you." -Matthew 17:20

From behind my desk, I watched the clock strike 6:30 p.m. My boss and I were some of the only employees left in the building. We had been working painstakingly since 8 a.m. on a big proposal that, if won, could mean great things for our company. For more than 10 hours, we had hole punched, typed, edited and formatted until the project was complete. The only problem? We were in North Carolina and it had to arrive in Georgia by the next afternoon. We had to deliver it via FedEx. In our area, the last delivery time is typically no later than 6:30 p.m.

We browsed the Internet until we found a self-serve drop box nearby that was open until 7:00. We had less than half an hour. My boss hurriedly scribbled the address on a sticky note. In my haste to get out the door, it fell to the floor and was locked behind me. "Lewis!" I yelled across the parking lot. "What was the address again?" He hesitated for a moment, then yelled back "7027 Albert Pick Road!" With a broken GPS and a terrible sense of direction, I headed toward where I thought the road was. As I drove, I began to pray, Lord I'm not sure where I'm going. This is all riding on me now. Please help me find this place.

To my great surprise, I found the road on my first try. However, my satisfaction quickly dwindled when I looked around me. The road was home to a huge business park. Dozens of office buildings lined its side streets, each with its address hidden behind towering shade trees. The place was empty, as most of its businesses shut down at 5:00. Dodging roundabouts and merging lanes, I entered from the east side. Almost immediately, I found Building 7027. I had less than 10 minutes to go but was feeling pretty confident. Then, I circled the building five times. No drop box in sight.

I swerved in the vacant parking lot and desperately ran up to the door. Locked and dark inside. With less than five minutes to go, I hopped in my car and started the long, sad process of giving up. I searched on my phone for other local FedEx offices, telling myself that this was hopeless. I prayed again. Lord. We have worked so hard on this. Please help me find the drop box! All of a sudden, I looked up. A light went on in a building across the park. A completely random, unmarked building. It was the only lighted building as far as I could see. I thought to myself, if there are lights on, maybe there will be someone in there who can point in the right direction. Immediately, I drove over, ran up to the front door, package in tow, and found that it opened into a vast lobby with nothing but elevators on both sides.

One woman was exiting the lobby from the other side. "Excuse me!" I yelled, but she walked out the door without stopping. Confused and lost, I started to walk back to my car when something caught my eye. There was a little room off to the right, no larger than an office cubicle. As I entered it, my heart leapt. There, nestled in the tiniest of spaces, was the drop box, with a bold, beautiful sign that said "Today's Delivery has NOT Occurred Yet." Tears of relief and thanksgiving welled up in my eyes.


The proposal was successfully delivered that afternoon. I quickly put it in the box and slammed the lid, but not before placing my shaking hand on the cool metal and saying a prayer of gratitude to the Great Deliverer Himself.
 -----
faith comes in all forms and is a pivotal part of many religions. for me, it is belief in things unseen and a hope for my future. it doesn't always come in such a grand way as i experienced that day. sometimes it's a shout, yes. but most of the time, it's simply a whisper. a soft echoing into my soul that speaks peace to my being. it comes in the kitchen, when i'm preparing supper after a long day. in the bedroom, when i'm on my knees in prayer late at night. in the conference room, as my shaking hands grasp presentation papers. and through it, i feel Christ assure me. lead me.


this was a story about faith. an aha moment in my spiritual walk. a tangible, loud confirmation of the power of prayer. but more often than not, faith is a quiet space. it is finding the power to believe in those moments between the ahas,  in the deep, dark crevices of life and the lowest of devastating wells, that faith truly finds its foothold, and its power to move mountains. and i'm so thankful it does. because sometimes, that's all i can muster. the faith of a mustard seed. but sometimes, that's all it takes.