Starting with today, April 15, 2020, holed up in my home on a little farm in south-central Kansas, I will attempt to put into typed words who I am–and why. First, why do I have time today to write? Why am I not working somewhere outside my home? Oh yeah, you remember, the COVID-19 stay home order that kept people all over the world from operating the way they were accustomed to, in an effort to keep people from becoming infected with the deadly virus? Twenty years ago this would have been mayhem, but fortunately many people began several weeks ago working from home through the internet; many businesses have been able to conduct commerce with a combination of electronic and physical pick up of products. Now, let’s see. How can I hold down my current job of serving others by cleaning their homes on a regular basis, but do that electronically over the internet? I’ll join them on skype or google hangout or even on the phone: “Okay, get out your vacuum and plug it in. Good. Now that little black switch, turn it on and don’t be surprised by the loud noise it makes. Now push and pull it across the floor. Good…” You get the picture. It just isn’t feasible.
Cleaning homes. Not a very glamorous job, but necessary for people who cannot physically handle the work, like the elderly, as well as for those whose busy lives make them want or need help. Shoot, I’m busy enough cleaning houses that I want someone to come clean mine!
To be physically able to efficiently and quickly clean someone’s home, in my late 50s and now at 60, I have to recognize that I was genetically predisposed to be strong and hardy. Having been self-employed for five years now in this way, I have gained muscle strength and muscle memory, intuition, insight, and skill at what most of us do only occasionally and sometimes avoid. I’m doing physical labor because I’ve always enjoyed good health, and I like staying busy, and I can’t make as much per hour at anything else I’ve tried.
A side note here, Busy as a Bee: I always thought it strange that people in the Bible “were” their names. Jacob in the Old Testament was a trickster, as his name connotes. In the story of Ruth, Naomi–whose names means pleasant–recognized that she wasn’t and asked people to call her Bitter instead–Mara. I was in my forties when I realized that I am my name. Deborah (though I’m a Debra) is Hebrew for Honey Bee, which explains why I like to be busy. It may also explain that when threatened, I am capable of stinging!
To be willing to consistently serve others in this capacity takes spiritual muscle that I need to exercise every day. I can’t honestly say that I have ever really enjoyed cleaning house, like one enjoys writing books or constructing buildings or teaching school or selling insurance. I learned from my mother that it was mandatory. I don’t recall actually being instructed how to scrub the bathtub, for example; I was just given the tools and the mandate, then suffered her corrections until I had learned to do it “right.” I was sent sometimes to help my Grammy clean house, and I remember it much more fondly, as with most chores done there. Oh she was exacting, mind you, showing me how to correctly dust a five-panel door, but she made things more fun, as grandparents often discover is possible, too late to teach their own children. It’s the way of the generations.
So doing a job I don’t really like causes me to have to put on my big-girl pants and get to it. An even greater spiritually difficulty is having the humility to spend my energy and time on a rather unglamorous occupation. I have two college degrees, but neither secretarial work nor teaching school have brought in enough income to support living here at T’will Du Farm. When I started working part-time doing cleaning, painting, and the like, I never dreamed it would become enough to pay the lion’s share of my expenses. It has helped me that I don’t take myself very seriously to begin with, and I truly see this as a way to humbly serve others and make their lives better. Years ago I decided to consistently be kind to and recognize people who were serving me rather than looking past them, ask and use their name, sincerely thank them for their help and service. That habit served to remind me that I’m made in the image of God, just like every other human being, with no greater status or entitlement than anyone else. Although it’s not always easy to help others in such a commonplace way, the profit to my soul is a last-shall-become-first blessing I never anticipated.
