Work

Stuffy, buttoned up, bad posture,

New hair styles, rare eye contact

Reclining in modern office chairs, but far from relaxed

We are hungry, we are weak,

We are monotone and bleak

We wear the right shirts,

And we say the right words,

Day after day

But not in the right voice,

And with only half of the right heart.

We dish out advice that someone should give us

I make a living loving people,

Supposedly helping them to repair their lives

The work is God’s, the work is good

But I would be lying if I said there aren’t times

Where my own preoccupations and questions aren’t at the center of my mind

Leaving the clients in second place

Am I really God’s instrument?

We gather round and complain

Roll our eyes and turn to our cellphones, to text or call others as an escape

We sigh and grow older

Billable hour after billable hour,

Weeks and months and quarters of appointments and units of productivity gone by

Is life wasted, or is this the only way to live?

Are we in the same rat race as corporate America, disguised as the fresh and new alternative?

We hold babies, and nag the ones on whom we depend

Make jokes out of our fears,

Send out inspiration and avoid checking our emails

Advocating self-care and neglecting ourselves.

I have been putting off scheduling a physical and seeing a dentist for over a year.

We teach about God’s faithfulness but don’t call back the folks who  test ours.

Have we lost the hope, the spark, the Life in the work?

Where are the fruits of the spirit?

Are we all jaded?

Overbooked with people, yet lonely

Busy, yet bored and useless

Barely grasping the hope

And allowing it to slip out of our hands as we rush off?

 Or is it just me?

We eat big blown up fruit with little nutrients

And give big blown up greetings with little substance

How can we stop being busy and start being?

And start hoping instead of teaching hope?

How can we love with our hearts and every fiber of our being

Instead of just officially?