We have lost all sense of normalcy.
Which I guess is better than losing all sense of decency, but I’ve always thought that was a little overrated. And too, it was my loss of feigned decency that opened the door to my eventual working with hungry, dirty, pungent, and precious clients in the Storehouse.
However, I digress.
“Mike, there’s a raccoon in the warehouse.”
Now, really, can people control what is going to happen in their day? Some of us plan and others don’t, but aren’t we all just responding, moment by moment to what comes at us?
I once heard some philosophical guru say, “We don’t live life. It lives us.”
And, although he was pretty lost about everything else, he might have been spot on with that one.
News of our furry visitor was one of the first things I heard on Tuesday, the day we stock the pantry. On Wednesday, he, or she, left the warehouse with the help of Conway’s Animal Control department.
The only damage to goods through that entire ordeal was a partially eaten package of chicken-flavored Ramen. It was on the bottom shelf and the raccoon had pulled it to the floor, torn it open, and then walked away after having only had a bite. Apparently, even a raccoon knows the nutritional benefit of Ramen is suspect.
I’m on day 437 of a read-the-Bible-through-in-a-year program.
I’ve recently finished First Kings, the end of which tells the story of Elijah on Mount Carmel. For those of you not up on that tale, I’ll recap it here. Elijah had prayed that it wouldn’t rain. And it didn’t. For three years. Then he challenges the false prophets of the false god, baal, to a show down on Mount Carmel. 450 of them show up and beg baal to light a fire on the wood they’ve piled up. They even dance and cut themselves.
When nothing happens, Elijah taunts them and then takes his turn. He commands servants to bring water, a most precious commodity in a three year draught, and pour it on the wood. Then they dig a trench around the pile and the water fills that up. Then Elijah prays. BAM! Fire from heaven. It burns up the wood, it vaporizes the water. It demonstrates real power, real authority, genuine sovereignty.
And I wondered, again, why Elijah poured water all over the altar. But this time I realized it was about making what was to follow even more impossible in the human perspective.
At the Ministry Center we constantly wade through what seems possible and impossible. And in the Storehouse too.
Jesus had something to say about the impossible. All three synoptic gospels tell the story of the discussion about wealthy people and heaven. In at least one case, he’s been talking to a wealthy fellow and suggested that he give away all he had. Then there’s the whole “camel passing through the eye of a needle” thing. Jesus senses their dismay with the entire concept and finally says, “With man this is impossible, but nothing is impossible with God.”
And of course, my fleshy heart reads that as anything I want to do that I think would please God is possible. There is not enough paper for me to journal all the experiences when I’ve gotten out ahead of Jesus, doing something that He never asked me to do, something that is absolutely not my part.
But we believe the Storehouse is a gift from God. It’s His. And we get to join Him in His work there.
And we wonder what’s possible. And impossible.
I was standing in the cold food room when a volunteer from our computer desk stepped into the doorway; frantic, wild-eyed, waving me toward her. “Mike you’ve got to come! A client has passed out.” Then she took off down the hallway. I was close behind her.
The scene inside the client waiting room was also frantic. Panic-stricken. Our client was out of her chair; one of the wide walkers that also has a seat. But she was only partly out. Her knees were on the floor, her body being held upright by other clients.
I stepped back into the hall through which I could see all the way down to the cold food room, where I spotted Marguerite. I yelled her name several times. She’s an RN. Not long after that, someone yelled for Cleve, also a volunteer in the cold food room. He’s an RN as well, but spent the bulk of his career as a nurse anesthetist.
Someone said, “She’s completely out, Mike. You have to call 911.”
It was a series of goofy circumstances that led me to bring donuts and cooked chicken to the Storehouse this morning about 6:40 am. When I got to the building, I could see a half dozen cars in the lot, and several people in the line. They looked settled in; some of them must have arrived around 6:30.
Three hours before we open the door.
Not all of them brought chairs. Are the rest going to stand for three hours, I wondered. And what about bathroom. Aren’t they going to need a bathroom?
And I wondered what it is that brings these people here, so early, to stand in line for three hours.
I am the Storehouse Director and get the privilege of writing about the people that Jesus loves.
Contact Mike Rush at email@example.com for all things "Volunteer".
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