RandomPokesMy Career as a Phone RunnerSteve Dennie
In college, I held an extremely necessary job called Phone Duty, which involved sitting at the main desk in the guys' dorm waiting for a phone to ring, somewhere. I qualified for this extremely responsible job by virtue of the fact that I spoke English, a complex language which consists of participles, infinitives, gerunds, and other multi-syllable terms whose meanings you need to know for at least an hour to pass English Composition 101.
Phone Duty paid hefty wages somewhere around $1.35 an hour, all of which, I understood, came from government grants which otherwise would have financed studies on the oral hygiene of blue-beeked pelicans or some other extremely significant cause. The money came in handy for such things as Dating, an insidious discriminatory ritual intended to make guys happily impoverished. Phone Duty could finance 1.2 dates a month, providing the girl sprung for gas money, which was iffy.
I excelled at Phone Duty, as did most other multi-cell organisms. Here is a typical night (always Friday night or during the Super Bowl) on-the-job in Wright Hall.
I arrive at my post in the second-floor office with a couple textbooks and sit down at the desk. A phone sits there. But as far I or anyone else can tell, it has never ever rung, this being much too easy for someone making an extremely whopping $1.35 an hour. No siree, you have to work your way through college.
The main purpose of this office is to be a central location between the dorm's other two phones--one on the first floor, one on the third floor. When a riiiiing echoes through a hall and up/down the stairwell and reaches my ears, preferably waking me up, my job is to bolt from my chair and race for the phone.
Suppose the riiiiing appears to be coming from upstairs. I run from the office and leap up three steps at a time to the third floor, where I find a silent phone and realize, "You dummy, that was the downstairs phone ringing." So I race downstairs, grabbing the stair railings and catapulting over the steps altogether, and quickly arrive totally out of breath and possibly with a compound leg fracture at the insistent phone, which stops ringing seconds before I pick it up.
Sometimes, though, I make it on time.
Gasp, wheeze, gasp. "Hello?"
It will be either:
1. A girl.
2. A parent.
3. A wrong number.
4. A girl.
5. A lawn care products company.
6. One of those super coupon deals.
7. A girl.
Let's say it's a girl.
"Hi," the sweet voice says. "Is this Wright Hall?"
"Yes it is. Orville speaking."
"Who?"
"Orville. You know, like...never mind."
"Could you see if Wilbur is in his room?"
"Ha ha, got me there."
"Wilbur Zigglethorpe."
"Oh, that Wilbur. I'll go check."
Wilbur's room, as expected, is on the third floor, it being against college policy to call someone on the same floor where they live. So I leave the receiver dangling, rush upstairs, and bang on Wilbur's door. He, of course, is not there; he's out indulging in his 1.2 dates a month. So I return to the phone.
Gasp, wheeze, gasp. "Wilbur's not here right now."
"Oh. Could you leave a message?"
Dreaded words. "I suppose."
"Great. Could you tell him to call Diane? I'm his girlfriend back home."
A snicker escapes--I can't help it. "That's very, very interesting. I'll leave the message, Diane."
After hanging up, I go back upstairs and tape a note to Wilbur's door. Mission accomplished, I return to my post and await the next call, which comes exactly four seconds later. Which floor was that coming from?
Such was the life of a Phone Duty attendant. The stuff that resumes are made of.
Actually, Phone Duty wasn't nearly as glamorous as it sounds, hehehe. In fact, Phone Duty, as a job, ranks in the Grand Scheme of Things just below hand-scraping barnacles off garbage barges. But it was a job and gave this poor college student, and many others, some spending money.
But that's all it was--a source of income. There was no desire to excel at it, to be a hard-working, efficient, conscientious Phone Duty attendant. I took no pride in my performance. It was just a job. I did it for the money. That's all.
Unfortunately, many adults view their careers that way. They go through the motions of income-earning without experiencing any pleasure or self-fulfillment or pride in their work. They hold a job because they need the paycheck; there is no higher purpose. Whether it's factory work or computer keypunching or electrical repair or waitressing--"It's a living."
Then there are Christian careers--the pastorate, missions, serving in a parachurch organization like Campus Life or The Navigators, teaching in a seminary, or editing a religious magazine. We call it "Fulltime Christian Service." My church upbringing instilled the notion that FCS is like being on God's first team. If you hold a secular job, you can still make a contribution to the Kingdom, but not as important a contribution as someone in FCS, which is a higher calling.
I think that's not only ridiculous, but harmful to the Kingdom.
I edit a denominational magazine, applying pretty much the same skills needed to edit a secular publication. My wife, Pam, is a CPA for a secular accounting firm. Does God care more about my job that about Pam's, because I'm in a Fulltime Christian Service job and she's not?
Suppose Pam quit her job and began working in some mission organization's accounting department. Would her work become more important to God? Would she now be doing more for the Lord with her life, because she's doing accounting in a religious environment?
"Yes," according to everything I've picked up in my 30-plus years of church life. After all, she would be in FCS. A first-string Christian.
Or, suppose I quit my job as editor of a denominational magazine and went to work for a secular company. I might be part of a company which provides valuable services to people and society. But many of my readers would lament, "It's too bad Steve's not using his abilities for the Lord anymore."
I doubt that God would view it that way.
I'm part of a church cell group which includes a surgeon, a lawyer, a radiologist, a tool-and-dye worker, a printer, a financial adviser, and several housewives/mothers. I'm the only person in Fulltime Christian Service. Does that mean my job is most important to God? Have I been occupationally "set apart" from the rest?
No. I've just been given a different role in advancing Christ's cause.
Too many people in secular jobs have a low view of their work. They don't feel their job really matters to the Lord, that it's not important in eternal terms. If they worked in Fulltime Christian Service, then they could make their life count for the Lord.
We need to reverse this notion. The best place to make a difference for Christ is not at the church, but in the workplace, where people rub shoulders with nonChristians constantly and can shine their light. That's where you'll find the real spiritual front lines.
Copyright 2005 Steve Dennie |
