A Bombshell, A Broom and A Spoonful
I have to laugh at myself. I am so much still the girl I was when I was fifteen. (There’s just that age and weight thing.) Other than that, I still have the same tendencies to shrink back in a crowd, to listen more than I talk, and to hold my tongue when just once I’d love to let it fly. I have gotten somewhat better about letting myself get walked on, but every once in a while something brings me back to myself and I see I really haven’t changed much at all.
I had just spent a grueling thirteen hours, on my day off mind you, digging through hundreds of pieces of paper to find “the smoking gun” on a case. I finally found a key piece of devastating evidence that would make THE difference, so I immediately e-mailed my findings to the boss. No response. Hours went by. I’m waiting. The silence is deafening. Nothing but crickets. I remember thinking, “I thought this case was a big hairy deal to you.” Finally I sent another e-mail. “Did you get the stuff on the “Smith” case?” His eventual response… “Yes.”
Yes? That’s it?? Fifteen single-spaced pages of investigation and all you can say is yes? No “thank you for busting your chops”? No “Hey, what would I do without you?” No “here’s a nice big bonus”? Just “yes”. I handed you the case on a silver platter and all I get is “yes”.
I don’t know why I was surprised. It hadn’t been long since I’d heard him practicing his appeal to the jury to upend the defense with some information “he” discovered while reading a file. Yeah, right. Seriously, dude? We both knew he hadn’t read the file. So ready to grab the credit. So anxious to be the hero, deservedly or not. But then that’s why they pay him the big bucks, right? Why would I expect anything different? I am by nature a background person. It just reminded me of being fifteen again.
It hadn’t crossed my mind in years, that day at youth camp. It was a true old time campground….dusty roads, old wooden cabins and creepy daddy long legs in the shower. The “sanctuary” for this church camp was little more than a screened-in gathering room that collected dust and debris every time the wind blew through the cracks. One day while most of the girls had gone swimming, I and my fear of the water stayed behind and busied ourselves doing other things.
For some reason, I walked into the “sanctuary” and saw a broom leaning against the wall. I picked it up and started sweeping out the room, picking up the candy wrappers and leaves that had blown in under the door. After I finished, I wiped the dust out of the folding chairs and was starting to leave when another camper came in. She asked what I was doing, and I told her “cleaning up”. She grabbed the broom and hadn’t held it more than thirty seconds when one of the counselors came in and said, “Wow, what happened here?” She commented on how nice it looked and then asked, “Whose idea was it to clean up in here?”, and before I could even arrange my mouth to say a single solitary word, the other girl whose name escapes me now (probably because I’ve blocked it out), said, “Mine!!” I stood there like a mute. I felt like I’d been slapped. So stunned I couldn’t speak, not a single word! Well, of course, on the last day of camp she’s given a big fat trophy as the camper who “went above and beyond” and I went home empty-handed…..except for that big bucket of simmering low self esteem I carried with me.
Oh, well. I had never been much of a glory hound. I guess I remembered too well the Bible story mom read me as a child. Ananais and Sapphira, so desperate for acclaim, said they gave the entire proceeds of the sale of some property to the church, but lied and gave only a portion. Not smart. Like God doesn’t know the difference? The money was theirs to do with as they chose. They weren’t required to give it at all, but the desire for notoriety outweighed their better judgment and God held them accountable. I wasn’t there, but they tell me It wasn’t pretty.
Yes, that’s an extreme example, but there’s a little bit of Ananais and Sapphira in all of us, isn’t there? Don’t we all deep down crave a little bit of credit? Why else does a painter sign a work of art or a songwriter obtain a copyright and make sure his/her name is spelled correctly in the CD liner notes? (C-R-O-W, please, no E) Why do we post self-congratulations photos on social media and take out full page ads in trade magazines? Why do we display bowling trophies, first place chili cook off ribbons and the Grand Prize for the Grundy County hog competition? Why display certificates of achievement for everything from a third grade spelling bee to a license to perm your grandma’s hair or groom an Airedale?
We want a testament to our lives here, that’s why. We want to leave something behind. We need to feel like our lives have counted for something. We want to know when the last words are said over us and the mourners disperse to go eat funeral chicken and potato salad that we made a difference to somebody somewhere….that we will be remembered.
Fortunately, God is an awesome record keeper. There has not been one kind word spoken, one loving thought that crossed your mind or one compassionate deed that has escaped His notice. He can separate the truth from a lie and keeps track of every slight and indignity you suffer. He records every single act that may go unnoticed by others and you can be sure He will reward in His good time.
The Book of Numbers is a tedious book to wade through, but I found something astounding in it one day. It lists the offerings brought by the people of Israel to Moses for the tabernacle…everything from wagons, oxen, sheep, goats, colorful fabric, silver bowls and chargers…right down to a spoonful of incense. A spoonful? Such a tiny amount, yet God took notice of the person who brought it. He can sort out who did what and why.
So, take heart all who feel cheated, ignored, passed over, left out and invisible….God sees. He knows you right down to your collar button and beyond.
Numbers is a great book after all, and as Gold City used to sing, “I Think I’ll Read it Again.”
Janice
