One word: Fellowship

I wanted to share this piece of writing I found:

“First I slosh a loud slop of chemicals into the porcelain basin. I move from the furthest away in order towards the back. I make a second round, spraying lemon scented foaming spray on the top surfaces, gingerly lifting the ring up with the toe of my shoes and spraying more underneath. On my third trip, I weild the scrub brush in one hand and a roll of paper towels in the other. First, one handed, I attack with the scrubber banishing all potential threats, then with my other hand I swipe away the remaining foam from above and below with an enormous swath of rapidly disintegrating paper towels before I flush away all signs of prior use. When I finish the last one, I stand back and smile at the shiny, lemon scented, sanitized surfaces.

Tonight they are clean. Tomorrow they will be used by people I love, people I lovingly tolerate, and people I don’t even know. Tonight, I pray. Here in this echoing, industrial smelling, place of momentary silence. I could move from here down the hall and into the sanctuary. I could kneel at the front of the sanctuary, under the plain unadorned cross on the wall. I could kneel in the quiet, dark hush of the deserted holy space, on carpet, in warmth, in beauty. I could, but I don’t. I pray here, here where God is just as present as He is there, if not then more.

I pray for the one with the bright smile and the sad eyes, the one with the loud laugh and tired wandering gaze, the one with tears in her eyes, and the one proudly bearing his new son. I pray for the old one who doesn’t speak my language, and for the young one whose mind whirls with things I’ve long forgotten: grades, dating, career choices, curfews, morality. I pray for the tired new mommies, the tottering older men, and all those inbetween, including the newly ordained “potty trained”.

When I am done praying, only then do I gather my supplies and leave, walking backwards and swishing the mop across the floor erasing all signs of myself. In shining up this place, I have shined my own spirit”

The cleaning ministry isn’t my gig, but this is so much bigger than just a piece of writing about cleaning a church.  I think it communicates a mind set that can be so difficult to really get a hold of.   The writer ceraintly seems to be living differently, they certainly seem to be doing more than “wearing the lousy t-shirt”… More over,  If one were to study some of the physical descriptions in this piece of writing, they might notice the church described sounds a lot like FC.  If a person didn’t know better, they might even suspect it was written by somebody at Fellowship, Holden…

Jeff, small group director