I Need Bad Stuff to Happen to You
We may as well get it out of the way right now: I need bad stuff to happen to you.
Your loss, you see, is my gain.
As I sit with Google Maps this morning plotting out a whirlwind tour across northern Iowa (four cities, thirty hours, 901 miles and a lot of carbonated caffeine in a shiny green can), I chastise myself for the occasional quiet wish that misfortune would occur closer to home.
At least as a staff adjuster for an insurance company, I could root for sales reps to sell a multitude of policies on which folks would never have to make claims. In my perfect world you would purchase your peace of mind, but never have to call on us to deliver on the promise of financial security. Besides widespread destruction, major claims events inflate workloads and erase quarterly bonuses in a blink.
We wished for smooth waters, gentle breezes, and no more than BB sized hail.
But now? As an independent contractor I switch channels between Minnesota Twin baseball and the Weather Channel while an occasional Yessss! slips out when the weather starts getting rough.
I only work when people’s stuff gets ruined, or they crash into each other, or somebody gets hurt.
So really, I need bad stuff to happen.
::
Sometimes I feel a little conflicted about that.
Well, a lot of times I feel a lot conflicted about that.
I desire that hard luck not come your way, while at the same time I harbor a (not so) secret need for a steady stream of mishaps and the occasional catastrophe to earn my keep.
I imagine that folks in other professions face a similar conflict once in a while: doctors, mechanics, firefighters, journalists . . . Prevention, maintenance and feel-good stories only go so far to buy baby’s new shoes. Though I’ll admit, I have a hard time picturing any of them wishing ill on their fellow man like I may at times be tempted to do.
Would a funeral director’s thoughts really wander down that road during a quiet stretch? Really?
As I actively trust God to provide for our needs, and know that at least in part that will come through the hardship of others, sometimes the conflict cuts a little deep. (And no, I did not just blame God for the roof that blew off your neighbor’s house. That’s a seminary question for another day.)
Praying for that provision, some days, feels a little funny inside me.
How do we reconcile those kinds of conflicts between our hearts and hard reality in our work?
Here’s the time-tested answer that has served me throughout my claims career: I have no idea.
I really don’t.
I carry on, conflicted or not.
::
On a good day, I know that what I do is a good thing if you’ve just suffered a loss. I can make certain that the insurance company that hired me knows what sort of compensation you’re entitled to.
Sometimes I can even help you feel like you’re not alone in the middle of your disaster. Somebody besides you knows what happened, and how horrible it was, and how much you lost that you can’t get back, and how bad your back hurts and your leg hurts and all the things you’re not sure you can ever do again.
I don’t always have those good days, but when I’m thinking clearly I tell myself, I didn’t make it happen, but I can sure help a person through it.
And that’s a good thing, right?
I can’t control the weather, or drivers, or icy patches on sidewalks that make people slip and fall. And I promise that when I see hope in straight-line winds or a five-car pile up or frozen tater tots falling from the sky, it’s always tempered with the prayer that no one gets hurt and everybody’s premium is paid up.
The bad stuff comes. Accidents happen. Rain falls. Winds blow.
While I get all tied up in knots about how that might profit me, I also remember that since I can say nothing about where and when it will happen, I can work hard to see that my work makes a difference in somebody else’s adversity.
In the midst of the conflict that arises from how I earn a living, the words of Micah help me sort it. For a claims adjuster who wants to sleep at night, they’re really pretty good words.
He has showed you, O man, what is good.
And what does the LORD require of you?
To act justly and to love mercy
and to walk humbly with your God. (Micah 6:8)
::
Somewhere along the line, we all face that inner conflict of some sort in our work, whether on the job or in our families. Maybe you’re cooler than me, and you don’t wish for bad stuff to happen. But what do you do to reconcile your work and your heart when they don’t get along?
Loving Monday: Unqualified
I wonder what difference it would make if I quit striving to glorify God in my daily work.
What if I stopped using the Bible as the foundation of my business plan or the basis of how I carry out my duties to my employer?
What if I didn’t seek to minister in the midst of my business relationships?
Or stopped looking for avenues for Gospel proclamation while I work?
What if I gave up trying to integrate my faith and work altogether?
What if . . .
. . . What if I just seek first His Kingdom?
Period.
:: (more…)
Loving Monday: Why Family Matters
When mortality comes knocking, it seems always to spur just a little more woolgathering.
On an ordinary day, we might give a passing glance to our mist-like days, numbered few here on earth. But when ends come, even when they’re beginnings, the contemplation grows more into enveloping clouds.
Such have been my days this past week, most of which were spent in the warmth of a century-old farmhouse of a friend as family laid to rest father (and husband and brother and uncle and cousin and friend and neighbor and mentor and colleague and . . . ).
So it comes as no surprise to me that when John W. Beckett tackled the subjects of family, prayer, vision and values in his chapters of Loving Monday this week, the pages of my book flipped back to the chapter on family.
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Loving Monday: What Are We Doing Here?
“Do you ever look back on the day and wonder what we’re doing here?”
Debbie closed the case file we’d been brainstorming and set it on her lap. She leaned back in the side chair and took a deep breath, and then just looked at me in that way of hers. The one with the light smile, knowing eyes. The one that always told me that she knew my struggle.
It was hers too, though it was a fight she fought much better than I.
“You know what we’re doing,” she said.
“I don’t,” I replied. “Not really. Debbie, if I made two lists — one of all the things that make my heart beat and one of all the things I do here every day — and pinned them up side by side on my cubicle wall, it would be a perfect list of opposites.”
:: (more…)
Loving Monday: Just Another Piece of Pie
The crumpled chart probably still sits somewhere amongst my old school papers, sandwiched between an analysis of theories of nuclear deterrence and a report on Mesoamerican prehistory.
It’s how I was taught to order my life.
A five-piece pie, promising to bring balance and structure and make me a super saint.
Social.
Physical.
Intellectual.
Recreational.
Spiritual.
That’s all there was to life, and if I could just keep the pieces the right size, I’d coast along nicely.
It worked.
I got up at dawn, ran the dorm steps to the weight room, cleaned up, headed to the student center to meet friends for morning prayer, hit the cafeteria for breakfast, and ran to class. One hour physical, one hour spiritual, half hour social, two hours intellectual . . . And so would go most of my days. I even had the color coded daily schedule to prove out my balance at the end of the day.
I liked the order, the slots, the compartments.
And who doesn’t like pie?
:: (more…)
Loving Monday: I’ll Ask the Questions Here
“This is not a teaching moment. Don’t you dare use it as one.”
I forced a grin back into its straight place before I looked up. I knew who stood in front of my desk. She announced her arrival in my office 100 yards before she got there with quick stomps, rustling papers and the seesaw sounds of her indecision between gasps and sighs.
I always knew. Of all the folks I had the privilege to manage, she was my favorite.
As she threw herself backwards into the chair, the file ejected from her hands onto my desk. I grabbed the papers as they slid by.
“What are you working on?” I asked, peeking out from behind my manila shield.
“I’m buried,” she said.
Gasp.
“I just need to know if there’s coverage. Yes or no? That’s all, just the answer.”
Sigh.
“Don’t help me find it. Don’t ask any questions. Just tell me.”
A half-swallowed laugh stuck in my throat and interrupted her next gasp. I straightened in my chair and stared her down.
“Well, what do you think?” I asked.
:: (more…)
Loving Monday: The Optional Downgrade
When I shopped for a new business computer a few weeks ago, aside of the basics of RAM, hard drive and processor speed I had one other primary requirement. Without it, no matter the alluring price and mouth-watering features, I would reject it.
It must have an optional downgrade.
My business applications aren’t grown up enough to run on Windows 7 yet. I require old reliable, Windows XP.
As I worked with retailers over the phone in search of my downgraded machine, I could hear their eyes roll into their head when I said, “Okay, one more thing.”
The consistent response: “Sure, whatever you need. Just don’t ask me for XP.”
I asked anyway.
Eventually I found one. My shiny new Dell (still available with the downgrade, if anyone is looking) is on its way.
I will confess the “move backward to move forward” process left my straight line, orderly mind just over on the mushy side.
:: (more…)
Clicking the Green Arrow
As a university student, I made a practice of closing my eyes and imagining the enormous contribution I would one day make to saving the world. Once, when I still knew how to handle a paintbrush, watercolors and I even made the dream take shape on paper.
The image is a little faded now, the thick textured paper gone and the memory of it no better than fuzzy.
But I do remember this: that picture did not leave room for thing I do now.
It did not consider that one day I might be clicking the green arrow.
:: (more…)
The Story of His Faithfulness
It’s a peculiar feeling, today.
I’ve deleted all my email, loaded my car, shipped my files and changed my voice mail to notify customers “I am no longer an active employee.”
I have nothing to do.
It’s 1:51 in the afternoon, only 13 percent power remains on my laptop battery, I have no unread items in my Google Reader and the meeting with HR is not until 2:30.
Again, I have nothing to do.
The thing about knowing for the better part of a year that today was coming is that the emotion has already been spent. The contemplation has already been done. I just need my paperwork and a place to turn in my key.
For, I have nothing to do.
:: (more…)
Peace with a Massive Wingspan
I’m experiencing a little déjà vu these days.
Just over five years ago I was in the hunt for a job. The claims operation I was a part of was closing, leaving many folks like myself without work. Knowing my tenure with that company was winding down, I had an ambitious three-part goal: secure another job, reach my vesting date, and work until the end. This would have allowed me to collect my sixteen weeks of severance pay, take along my portable retirement benefits and walk straight into a new job.
I decided that two out of three wasn’t bad.
:: (more…)
Intercessory Circus
Now and then in the course of my work day I enlist the aid of an interpreter. I have a caller on the line who is not a native English speaker, and we need the assistance of an intermediary in order to communicate.
Despite my Spanish fluency, I do call for an interpreter when I’m working with a Spanish speaker and a formal statement is required. It protects me from later concerns that I misunderstood or misspoke due to the language and also protects me from being strangled by an English speaking transcriptionist who cannot understand a word of it.
The process goes like this:
I speak to the client in English.
The interpreter interprets what I said into Spanish.
The client responds in Spanish.
The interpreter interprets what he said into English.
Repeat.
Well, that’s how it’s supposed to work. The process can get a little wild, especially when the Spanish speaker also has some level of English proficiency. It got a little crazy that way yesterday.
:: (more…)
The Making of a Detour
About the only way to know it’s summer in South Dakota this year is the road construction.
Not so long ago on my two-mile commute to work, I noticed signs like this spaced along the roadway.
Detour signs lying horizontally on the grass could only mean one thing.
There would be road work.
Delays. Altered routes. More traffic at my back yard.
:: (more…)
A Loaf of Barley Could Do My Job
The enemy is huge. They’ve camped in the valley, showing off their strength. Their camels alone are too numerous to count. One could as easily count grains of sand on the seashore.
I suspect it wasn’t any simpler to count the troops. At least not the Midianite and Amalekite warriors.
Gideon’s men? An ambitious preschooler could manage that.
There were only 300.
He had to send the rest of ‘em back to their tents.
But now I’m not sure who made out better: those sent home or those left to fight. Because it looks like 299 of the 300 remaining are about to become the punchline in a “how many Hebrew soldiers does it take” joke.
::
Reduction in Force
Still too many men.
When Gideon had 32,000 men, God told him it was too many. Gideon knew it wasn’t nearly enough.
Yet, he’d learned to listen to God. He tested Him and tried Him, and now he believed Him.
He remembered how the angel had said to go in the strength you have.
So he took his 10,000 remaining men and got ready to fight with what he had.
And then he heard those dreadful words.
There are still too many men.
Ten thousand is too many?
Is it really the best time for a reduction in force?
:: (more…)
One Way and One Way Only
Thomas said to Him, “Lord, we don’t know where You are going, so how can we know the way?”
Jesus answered, “I am the way, the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. If you really knew Me, you would know my Father as well. From now on, you do know Him and have seen Him.” (John 14:5-7)
I lost my temper today.
I guess maybe that isn’t so unusual. But I did it at work. On the phone.
A little role reversal. Usually it’s me listening to someone else rant on the other end of the line.
The volcano erupted while on the phone with an unnamed government agency. The hapless customer service rep who was assisting me took the brunt of months of irritation after countless, fruitless, calls to this agency.
Here’s my problem. I need the cooperation of this bureaucratic monstrosity in order to resolve a couple of injury claims for some very kind and decent fellows. Each time I call to elicit the needed assistance, a customer service representative gives me a series of steps to follow. I contact the injured parties, they do precisely what I ask them to do (which, incidentally, is exactly what this agency has instructed me to do), and I call again to move forward.
::
Each time, I learn of a different process. Not the process we followed. Not the process they told me to follow. An entirely different process.
Each time, I am assured that I was regrettably misinformed, but that this is, in fact, the correct procedure. The truly correct procedure.
Each time, I am persuaded that I am talking to a competent employee. The only competent employee.
Each time, I am sadly wrong.
::
When I dared question the process, one of these employees, my tour guide through the hurricane in real-time, told me that this taxpayer-funded red tape superstore has “one way, and one way only,” to do things.
One way, and one way only.
Really. (You might read that with one eyebrow slightly raised.)
Would that it were true. But it was not, I explained. Because every time I call, “one way, and one way only” looks more like “forty-seven ways, and ninety-three ways only.”
“One way, and one way only” my eye.
::
After my tantrum, which served only to embarrass me slightly and give my colleagues a few moments of entertainment in an otherwise uneventful day, I had a more reasoned discussion with the representative. Even so, I was disappointed. This call yielded no better results than any previous call.
But the words “one way, and one way only” stayed with me. I so wished it were true.
I recalled Another who had said such an audacious thing. Only in His case, it was completely true. “I am the way, the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through Me.”
Jesus said, “There is one way, and one way only. And by the way, I’m it.”
::
Every time I read the Word, it’s the same. Nobody comes along and changes the required forms. Nobody offers up an alternate road that leads to nowhere.
When Thomas was confused about how to get to where Jesus would be, Jesus didn’t give him an address on the Web where he could find a handy illustrated flow chart with steps 1 through 12B. Unless you really need the chart that goes through step 13C. (Seriously. If you are over age 65, or work in either the insurance or health care industry, you know my pain.) He didn’t add step to hoop or invoke little known regulations and protocols.
He just said there was one way. One way, one way only, and that Thomas was looking right at it. “Want to know how to get to the Father? Want to go where I’m going? It’s Me. I’m it. I’m the only way there.”
When He said “one way and one way only,” He meant it.
For today, and for all eternity.
::
It’s not confusing. It’s not designed to generate frustration. It’s not a big tangled and sticky wad of red tape.
It’s one way, plain and simple, and it’s never going to change.
::
Lights Out
Suddenly, GOD, your light floods my path,
GOD drives out the darkness.
I smash the bands of marauders,
I vault the high fences.
What a God! His road
stretches straight and smooth.
Every GOD-direction is road-tested.
Everyone who runs toward him
Makes it. (2 Samuel 22:29-31, The Message)
I work in a local landmark.
Here on the South Dakota prairie you can see for miles and miles and miles without standing on your tip toes. In an almost startling way, a seven story building rises against the horizon in the middle of nowhere. A virtual skyscraper in a humble farming town of 3,500.
A traveler approaching from any direction sees the tower, stretching out to the sky, a beacon by day and night.
And the lights never go out.
Well, almost never.
::
I start work before daylight. A week ago when I pulled into the lot, it seemed darker than usual. Instead of the dreamy midnight blue that surrounds me most mornings, it was thick black. It took a moment before I realized there wasn’t a flicker of light anywhere.
(Memo to my company: The week following the announcement of significant job cuts is not a good time to lose power to your building.)
The lights had gone out.
Baby, it was dark.
::
A few of us wandering outside in the dark and cold finally ventured inside to find out what was happening. The doors were unlocked and there were already a few brave souls inside the building.
(Memo to self: Consider the half-baked wisdom of entering a vacant, dark building not knowing how long the security system has been inactive.)
A couple of folks were trying to figure out why the power was out and the generator was not working. A few others were trying to figure out how long it would be and whether it was worth the trip back home. And some, to my amusement (and admiration) were in their cubicles, diligently trying to match incoming mail with open files.
In the dark.
By the light of a cell phone.
::
Before I turned around to go home I did walk down the long row of blackened matchbox workstations and around the corner to my own. I hung just a bit toward the far wall, a safe distance from what now just seemed to be cold, square caves with spiky shadows and hunched shapes in every stack of paperwork. It seemed a wise precaution, just in case some unknown person or being lunged out unexpectedly.
I knew no such thing would happen, but who wants to be caught unprepared?
Oddly, I had no difficulty marching straight to my desk, though there was no clearly lit path. I couldn’t see my way. And there was really nothing to hold to grope my way there.
I just walked it.
Straight in.
::
I thought about that today as a friend and I visited over lunch. We talked about the uncertainty of the future. Our circumstances are different, but we both face some crazy uncertainty in the days, months, even years to come.
Don’t we all?
We talked about the assurance that God has a plan. And that God is good.
But just what does He mean by good? Will it be the same as what I mean by good? We’ve seen Him work His plan before, and though we could both see such clear examples of His unexpected workings in our lives, so far beyond our wildest imaginations, we wouldn’t trade what He’s done for anything in the world. Though we may have questioned Him at times, we’ve could agree that we’d come to see that what He’d done was good. Good by anyone’s definition.
But it took trusting Him to lead in some dark places.
::
I found my way effortlessly to my workstation in the pitch black because I’ve walked that way so many times before. I know how many cubicles stack up down the row. I know where the doorways stand. I even know where the cabinets jut out so I didn’t smack right into them.
Because every day, I walk that same way.
Only I walk that way in the light.
::
Walking that way daily, in the light, prepared me to walk that way one day in the dark.
Who God is didn’t change a few weeks ago because somebody flipped off the lights in my otherwise bright and secure future. God didn’t stop being good because I can’t see my hand in front of my face at the moment.
Things sure look different when the lights go out. But spending time with Him, at His feet, knowing Him deeply while it’s still light gives me what I need to trust Him to show me the way.
Even when the way is dark.
::
The Time Out
When his time of service was completed, he returned home. (Luke 1:23)
Back to a Christmas verse. Whatever the reason, this verse stayed in my mind throughout the Advent season and now. I pondered Zechariah, serving in the temple on his rotation with the other priests. While there, he learned his wife would bear him a son, though barren these many years. He doubted the angel’s words.
God moved in him and around him.
And struck him dumb.
The angel gave him a time out.
::
And then, what? He completed his work and he went home.
Where, though not by choice, he no doubt spent some long time in the quiet. In the solitude. In the place where he could only speak clearly and freely with the Father. For though his mouth could not utter a word, surely his heart could.
And so he completed his work and he went home.
He had his time out.
::
This week, I intended to follow the path of Zechariah. Since well before Advent, I waited for my time out. I worked, diligently, to complete my work. And I yearned to return home for a long needed time of solitude and rest.
Forces within and without conspired to thwart the plan.
Power outages.
Job cuts.
Storms.
Holidays.
Phone calls.
Emails.
Obligations.
Mail.
Illnesses.
Mistakes.
Distractions.
Locked buildings.
Lost keys.
Fires.
All my diligent efforts to complete my work felt like slogging through mud, never reaching the end. How could I justify a vacation with so much work left to do?
My shoulders slumped in defeat as my time out slipped through my fingers.
::
Today, my work is not complete. Even so, I reclaimed my time out. At 8:00 this morning, having completed what I could, I set my email to “Out of Office.” I turned off the computer at my desk, tidied the piles of unworked mail, and bid farewell to my coworkers who were just coming in to start the week.
I had not fully completed my time of service, but I did return home. I declared the start of my time out.
A week of solitude and reflection. A week to read and study. A week to drink my morning latte from my stay-at-home mug instead of the traveler.
A week to enjoy the Father’s company.
A week of Sabbath rest.
And yes, perhaps, somewhere in this week, a moment to clean the bathroom.
::
I could not fully follow the path of Zechariah, for his work was done and mine is so very not. But the more important, more compelling part of his journey, I gladly follow starting this morning.
The time out.
::
The Going Price for Nastiness
Someone in the crowd said to him, “Teacher, tell my brother to divide the inheritance with me.”
Jesus replied, “Man, who appointed me a judge or an arbiter between you?” Then he said to them, “Watch out! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed; a man’s life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions.” (Luke 12:13-21)
We’re experiencing winter’s full frontal attack on the Midwest. And it’s not just winter weather by itself. It’s the impact winter weather has on driving. And how winter-impaired drivers tend to have more accidents. And more accidents means more claims for damaged automobiles.
As a claim handler, I have a window into a side of folks that honestly, maybe most people would prefer no one saw. I’m pretty sure that a lot of people I talk to during the day would never talk to anyone else in their lives like they talk to me. It’s as though they slip into this purple claim funk where they don’t believe they are talking to real people and so they can say and do anything they like and it just won’t matter. (Let me add this disclaimer here before we go any further. This isn’t everyone. I do have the opportunity to deal with some of the nicest, most decent people around, who are able to maintain that decency throughout what is always at best a difficult circumstance.)
::
I had one such experience this week with an individual who was at odds with me over the value of her claim. We were about $1500 apart, which apparently is the going price for nastiness these days.
I find this a good question to ask myself, what this price happens to be. Where is the line that stands between when something isn’t worth bothering over and when I sense an entitlement worth defending even if I must become unkind and obnoxious and hurtful to another? Is that price $10? $1000? Perhaps that’s too petty. I’d let those go.
But what about over $10,000? Would I find $10,000 to be sufficient compensation to give up plain old decency for a few minutes? What’s the amount that justifies really bad behavior?
I digress. By the time we were done, this young woman had run out of bosses to complain to about me. And she’d run out of people to be nasty to. She was stuck back with me, after finding that none of us really flinched much at nastiness. We’re too familiar with it.
Nevertheless, she reminded me of a basic truth that I see illustrated in claims nearly every day. For some reason, people behave in the most unusual ways when their stuff gets wrecked. I find people, especially lately, demonstrating this little rule I like to call, “It’s the Little Things That’ll Kill You.”
One of the crazy things I see is how differently people respond to significant injuries as opposed to minor damage to their cars. Kind of like how a scratched bumper seems to lead to much more drama than a disfiguring facial laceration. A dented fender seems to produce more agony than a crushing fracture to a person’s limb.
Somehow, I think, the person who has sustained a significant injury has perhaps had an opportunity to think about close calls and near misses and what really matters. The person who has sustained a little damage to his property is experiencing some inconvenience that seems to suddenly get the best of him. Rather than recognizing what’s really important, he loses his head over banged up stuff. I have no statistics to prove it out, but it seems to me that the degree of difficulty in dealing with a person who has sustained a loss is inversely proportional to the severity of the damages. That is, the more minor the claim, the more anger, frustration and hostility it seems to generate.
::
Jesus helped us understand in Luke 12 how this can happen. It’s when we forget that our lives do not consist in the abundance of our possessions. When we become focused on what we have, what we don’t have, what we want, what someone else has, we miss out on what really matters. We lose track of where our treasure is, or should be. We permit ourselves to place a higher value on stuff than we do on relationships, and goodness, and kindness and decency.
Later in this same chapter, Jesus said to the people that “where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” Our heart will follow our treasure. And out of our heart pours our words and actions.
::
If my treasure is in Christ, my actions and words will be consistent with that. I’ll behave in a way that reflects Him. I’ll be seeing fruit like love, joy, and peace produced in my life.
But if my treasure is in my stuff, and making sure I have everything I want taken care of, then I’ll see that the going price for nastiness hits bargain basement prices.
::
Things I Learned from the Layoffs
Don’t put your life in the hands of experts who know nothing of life, of salvation life. Mere humans don’t have what it takes; when they die, their projects die with them. Instead, get help from the God of Jacob, put your hope in God and know real blessing! God made sky and soil, sea and all the fish in it. He always does what he says — he defends the wronged, he feeds the hungry. God frees prisoners — he gives sight to the blind, he lifts up the fallen. (Psalm 146:3-9a, MSG)
This picture was not actually in front of my office this week, but for some of my coworkers, this is what it may well have felt like.
My employer, for the first time in its long and storied history, cut some positions this week. Laid people off. (Actually, the first thing I learned about the layoffs is that we don’t call them that. We eliminated positions. All a matter of semantics if you ask me, and if you were one who was eliminated, it still had to feel like you were voted off the island. I find layoffs to be a less clumsy term. And since I’m not in management, I’m going to take the liberty of using the word I prefer.)
Some pretty crazy things happen when a whole bunch of people lose their jobs all at one time. It’s hard. No big fancy words for that. (Some may have thought of plenty, but I won’t use them here.)
It’s just hard.
Folks who get laid off are pretty shocked and devastated. They worry about paying their bills, feeding their kids, keeping their homes, affording insurance, keeping their pension. They wonder what they did wrong. They wonder how they couldn’t see it coming. They wonder what they do next.
Folks who don’t get laid off are pretty shocked and devastated. They feel horrible for their friends and coworkers. They worry about what’s going to happen to them. They feel relieved that they survived the carnage. But then they feel selfish about that, guilty even, for having their job to go back to. But then, they don’t know how long they can trust that now.
Nothing like pulling the rug out from under folks to make the whole world feel like a pretty shaky place.
So over the past couple of weeks, waiting for the shoe to drop and then sitting and looking at it all busted apart on the floor, I’ve had a couple of overriding thoughts. The “things I learned from the layoffs.” Everybody has learned important stuff from the layoffs. I don’t know that this is necessarily any smarter than what everybody else has learned. But this is definitely one of those times for me where the Word — God’s love letter to us — and life really collide hard. They smack together with a huge crash and really make you sit up and take notice.
Before I say much more, I need to say this: I’m not going to comment on the company’s decision. Right decision, wrong decision. Good execution, bad execution. Doesn’t matter at this point for my purpose here. It’s done. And anything you read here is not intended to reflect bitterness or anger on my part, nor is it intended as a commentary on anyone’s reaction in particular. This is no more than a couple of pertinent observations about how we face life in the wake of very unexpected, very devastating circumstances, and really, that applies to all kinds of things that have nothing to do with jobs and cuts.
So here we go.
Things I Learned From the Layoffs:
Lesson No. 1: Don’t Give Your Life to the Company
Now, when I say that, I don’t mean specifically to my company. I mean to any company. Businesses are businesses. They exist to earn profits. Unfortunately, very few businesses are in the business of taking care of employees. They take care of employees to the extent that it enables them to have the employees they need to be profitable. I don’t say that to slam companies and corporations. I say it simply because it’s true. Companies who focus solely on the needs and wishes of their employees cease to exist after a while, in which case they no longer have employees to be concerned with.
And I think it’s fair to say that the converse is true most of the time. Not all, but most of the time. If an opportunity presented itself that offered something better — whether in pay, benefits, job description, satisfaction — the vast majority of people would leave their current employer.
What I’m trying to say, and perhaps poorly, is this: No company deserves your life. They deserve your best effort for a solid day’s work. That’s the relationship that we have. I agree to do my job to the best of my ability day in and day out. The company agrees to pay me the salary and benefits they offered and I accepted. Once in a while we’re known to kick in a little extra effort. And once in a while, employers are known to give out a little extra. But as Jesus instructed His disciples, “the workman is worthy of his meat.” (Matthew 10:10 KJV) More simply, the worker is worth his wages.
But to give my life to something that isn’t worthy of it sells us all short. My life belongs to my family. And most importantly, because I recognize my utter need for Him and His lordship over me, my life belongs to Jesus. While I’m grateful for my current job and past jobs I’ve had with a variety of organizations, some of which I’ve even really loved, I can’t see any one of them stacking up next to my family and my God. My life belongs to them and they are infinitely worthy of all of it.
A business, by its very nature self absorbed and committed first and foremost to itself, is not worthy of my life.
Lesson No. 2: Don’t Get Your Life From the Company
Way too often we look to our boss or our job or our company to provide us with things that they simply cannot. As I’ve said already, our relationship is limited. The company doesn’t owe me life any more than I owe mine to it. I owe the company my work effort. The company owes me my compensation. That’s it. No company can provide me with security, and when I look there for it, I will be woefully disappointed, as many of us have been in these past several days. My job, my boss, my company simply cannot bestow security or certainty or stability. It’s not their job and it’s not within the realm of their capability.
Jobs cannot bestow life. They just can’t.
Here’s the thing. And this is the only thing I’m going to say today that really matters. There is only one sure thing. There is only one source of life. There is only one person in all the world that can give us everything we really need. Life, love, security. No, I have not been reading any new self-help books and so I’m not going to tell you that you’re the only one who can do that for yourself. I will not say “we are the ones we’ve been waiting for.” Trusting in ourselves for life and security makes about as much sense as trusting in an insurance company for those things. We just don’t have it.
There’s one source of life, only one, like it or not, and it’s my Father God. Listen to the words of Psalm 146 above: “Don’t put your life in the hands of experts who know nothing of life, of salvation life. Mere humans don’t have what it takes.” Companies are run by . . . mere humans. But only God can provide the sure foundation when the rug gets pulled and when the walls start shaking. He’s the only one that not only knows what He’s doing but actually has the resources to come through. People and organizations, mere humans, sometimes make honest mistakes and sometimes honestly take advantage. Either way, they are destined to let us down. Mere humans don’t have what it takes.
But the Psalmist says we can put our hope in God. “He always does what he says.”
And what does He say He does?
He defends the wronged.
He feeds the hungry.
He frees prisoners.
He gives sight to the blind.
He lifts up the fallen.
That’s a lot. But He can do it. He does do it. He will do it. He’s a sure thing.
Good lessons from the layoffs for me. God is worthy of my life. God is the only one who can give me life.
He’s worthy of my trust in every possible sense.
The last verse of Psalm 146 says it all for me. If I will just let it be so.
“God’s in charge — always. Zion’s God is God for good!”
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