Just For U(P)S

I am struggling with my job these days. Not exactly the way I'd wanted to begin a new year, or a new week for that matter.

I have been with UPS over thirty years. I have, through my employer, been given opportunities I would never have had at most other companies. I walked into the Human Resources Department with little to offer but healthy muscles and a willingness to work hard. I walked out with a part-time union job with full benefits, and an employer I was proud to call my own. The first time I walked under the wing of a 747 or sat in what would typically be the luggage hold, or drove a monstrous deck loader, was at UPS. The first time I booted up a computer, or planned the load distribution for an MD-11, or orchestrated the movement of over fifty tractor trailer loads and drivers, delivering thousands of packages to homes, hospitals and hardware stores, was at UPS. It was exciting! I was part of a team "delivering service" to millions of people all over the world everyday. I was no surgeon or scientist, but everyone was impacted by the work I did. I was doing something for everyone. And the skills I gained were one of the benefits of working for a top-notch company that took pride in its equipment and the people it employed. The folks I met were the cream of the crop in the industry. The day I was approached to be part of it's management team, I was driven to a condo where spit-shined suits in Aviator glasses sat across from me telling me I was on the cutting edge of something wonderful. There I was, in my work boots, grease ground into the calf of my jeans, not knowing who any of these guys were -- yes, they were all men, the Boys Club -- but knowing they were definitely "big." But UPS had a "first-name" policy: the CEO to the local porter were known by their first names -- we were all partners, none more indispensable than the next, and certainly none disposable. It was a multi-million dollar, international company with a Mom and Pop mentality towards its image, and, Oh! How I loved it!

Things began to change. First, a name change: no more United Parcel Service. Then, new programs were rolled out -- cost-cutting measures packaged as "different options." A company savings plan was, allegedly, dissolved. Those who heeded the deadline and cashed in learned, later, the program existed for many years after, for some. Healthcare benefits that once gave employees carte blanche at medical facilities around the world were reduced to payroll deductions, co-pays and networks. Meetings were exchanged in favor of group chats and email. "Homey" little touches like Christmas turkeys, paper towels in the bathroom, and a heartfelt "Thank you" from your partners were done away with. Retirement celebrations and safety incentives were no longer funded. Trucks were no longer washed or maintained on schedule; light fixtures remained broken for-- well, ever, it seems; and "two means of egress in case of fire" was disregarded in order to keep vandalism under control. "More with less" has become the mantra, and there are no more partners, only plebs.

Perhaps I've watched too many movies where the CEO appears before employees, thanks them for their service, and then gives them the "tighten our belts" speech. I can respect that. I was once a partner, a partner who would do anything for Big Brown. I would have gone to my grave eating cat food to save the company I loved, if I thought it needed saving. But it doesn't -- not from financial ruin. Day after day I see former bonuses wasted on management decisions a fourth-grader would question. I see former raises wasted on people that aren't worth the paper their degrees are printed on.

But UPS does need saving from itself. Day after day I see former camaraderie vanquished by classlessness and the cutthroat self-promotion that always rears its head under corrupt absolute power. I see former attitudes of pulling others up with you and sharing the wealth being long forgotten, and survival of the sleaziest becoming the norm. I see what was once pride in a benevolent employer dissolving into grief, abandonment, and even disloyalty.

Maybe that's why I felt the need to write this: to help me process my grief; to, maybe, contribute something to save UPS from itself; or maybe, because I haven't completely lost hope.

Birthday Cake for Jesus

Okay, it's time for a little transparency. This Christmas I baked my first birthday cake for Jesus. I felt just as silly baking it and singing around it as I thought I would. In fact, the entire experience was not the Christmas celebration I had anticipated.

I've never been on board with the idea. My literal mind could never seem to accept it. Jesus is eternal, therefore, no "birthday." You don't serve birthday cake at a baby's birth; Christmas might be best celebrated with blue bubblegum cigars or diaper trees. And shouldn't the one having the birthday be able to enjoy cake? Jesus doesn't eat the cake -- overweight, overindulged Americans do! But, I had decided I would do it as a way of re-enforcing the point of Christmas: God come to earth as a babe to save mankind. Then, one of our littles asked if we could bake a birthday cake for Jesus. "Great, she's into it. Anything for the kiddos, right?"

Christmas Eve we returned from church, sat down to a deliciously noisy family dinner. While dishes were cleared, we called the rest of our family overseas and collected some of the excitement of their Christmas Day. Then, it was time for cake. I got out the dishes, feeling as though, sooner or later I'd have to reel some of the older folks at the table back in with a gentle scolding, "Oh, stop! It's for the littles. I let you have your fun." Not a creature was stirring. Not one sarcastic comment left anyone's lips.

Candles. Just how many candles do you put on Jesus' birthday cake? He's eternal! Even if you're counting mortal years, there'd be no fitting that many candles on this cake. I settled on one and lit it. The lights were dimmed, the cake was placed in the midst of our family, and everyone sang. Everyone sang! Well, thank You, Jesus. That went well. I plucked the single candle from the cake and started slicing.

The following evening, as the house settled into quiet, Scott and I began to revel in the wonder and memories of the previous twenty-four hours. "I really liked the birthday cake thing. That was cool," he said. Really? "Yeah, I though it would be kind of weird, but it was cool. And I think all the kids were into it." I was dumbfounded. Sure, I hadn't heard any objections, but liked it?

A couple days passed, and the time came for Christmas ham to be made into soup and birthday cake to be parceled out and frozen. I unwrapped the colorful treat and noticed something -- a single hole through the icing, where the birthday candle had stood. Jesus came to die. His wrists and ankles pierced as He allowed Himself to be nailed to a tree, the punishment of the cursed. His heart pierced by a Roman sword. I fought back the tears. This "Christmas" celebration turned my heart to the cross. The place where it all began for me. My slate was washed clean. My heart was made new. Redemption was purchased -- for my life, for everything this world dumps on me, and for everything at which I fail or fall short. The place where I was healed and hope was restored. Where the Seed was given up to die that His life in me might flourish and bear fruit for all to see. The place where my victory masqueraded as Heaven's defeat, where the way things appeared to human eyes did not come close to what was being done for me. The place where a "silly" chocolate cake could bring glory to a King.

Happy birthday, Dear Jesus! Happy birthday to you!

Hope Deferred

What would it take for you to have hope?

We all have moments of uncertainty. The moment we are having has lasted more than a year so far, with no end in sight. It could emerge as the 'do-over," the second chance we have, on occasion fantasized about, or it could end in crushing disappointment and an unimaginably painful severance. "How will this all work out? Should we ___? Best not to plan too far ahead. Don't spend that money just yet. Don't make that promise until we are sure." This place in which we've been stalled tests our faith and our relationship. It changes the way we live and pray and plan. The things that frustrate and give Scott pause are not always the same things that frustrate and inhibit me; some days I am comfortable and cruising right along, while he is struggling, and vice versa. We are challenged with praying through our own fear and skepticism as well as understanding and interceding for each other's. There is not a facet of our lives that has not been tested or put on hold. The overall scheduling and paperwork can be daunting, and following our Monday through Friday routine is physically and mentally exhausting. Our fairly sizable home can seem cramped and cluttered pretty frequently. And, while it may not be the "how" it is definitely the "what" I always wanted! But, even this far into our journey, we still have no indication how all this will turn out. I have never encountered the unresolved and unknowable at such an intensity and for so great a period of time as I have in this season. And I am sure we are not alone.

Years ago I read a devotional written by a woman who had a miscarriage in her second trimester. Her child had died, and with him, the expectation and wonder of her very first pregnancy. Some time later, she believed she was pregnant again. They waited to do a pregnancy test. They waited to tell others. They waited to make any purchases. They waited to enjoy it. "Don't get your hopes up. Proceed slowly just in case." The depth of her reservedness reflected the depth of her grief. Her second pregnancy was overshadowed by uncertainty when it should have been crowned with joy. Months and months of holding her breath, were finally brought to an end by the first breath of a new life. But the joy and thankfulness of a second chance were lost until that very last moment.

Isaiah 43:18 says, "Remember not the former things, nor consider the things of old." Not that we shouldn't remember all that God has done for us, the times He has rescued us, or all He has rescued us from, but we should never dwell on those things, stay in the places He has called us out of. God is God of the new, of progression and redemption. God is always working to improve things and create beauty from ashes. The "do-overs" He grants us are opportunities for hope, not cause for trepidation. A second chance is not a time for us to tread lightly or fearfully. New experiences that may resemble former setbacks or suffering are experiences we need to confidently, expectantly embrace in Jesus' name as His redemptive work.

Proverbs 13:12 says, "Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a desire fulfilled is a tree of life." Seems to be something any child can understand, huh? If the thing we hope for is delayed, we are sad, but when we get what we want we are joyful. But it's much more than that. "Hope deferred makes the heart sick..." If we choose worry over hope, if we would rather walk in fear instead of hope our heart will become sick, weak. A sick, weakened heart will eventually fail. "...but a desire fulfilled is a tree of life." There is only one true Hope (1 Timothy 1:1), only one Inheritance of which we are guaranteed (1 Peter 1:3-6), and a single Desire of our heart that will never leave us disappointed or unfulfilled (2 Corinthians 4:17-18). Our Lord Jesus Christ is our immediate, eternal hope in which we can rest every moment of every day. He brings life and healing to the world. He redeems and makes new. Even when the "glorious unfolding" is long in coming. Even when it is one holding pattern after another. Even when the cold grey skies of Winter never seem to break to allow even a glimpse of the sun.

No matter how this chapter will end, we will have an ah-mazing testimony when we are finally able to speak (just one more frustrating "hold" this time has placed on our life). Until then, we will walk in the present and eternal hope of Jesus Christ, our heart's desire.