Photo – Judy from Flickr
My heart was bursting with equal measures of fear and generosity as I dusted off my ironing board and got to work on the pile of tea towels and tablecloths I’d stolen from the kitchen of our parish hall. The snatch-and-grab occurred during the debate about what we should do with the pile of soiled linens—all that remained of the clean-up from the Friday Family Fun Night at our church.
Apparently the absence of a single ACW matriarch to tell us what to do—and our fear of a reprimand from the same for making bad choices—had left us in a power vacuum that made even the smallest decision excruciatingly painful. “What do they usually do with them?” I asked—the ubiquitous ‘they’ who while not even physically present had managed to keep us on our toes for this rare, unsupervised evening in the kitchen.
“Cathy usually takes them home” someone replied, and so I offered to pick up the ball and do the same in her absence. “Maybe you shouldn’t do that” cautioned a fellow dishwasher. He had the look of a man who knew from personal experience how complicated being helpful can be—particularly in the context of the church. Perhaps he’d heard about the infamous ‘spoon incident’ at one of our neighbouring churches, I’m not sure. All I know is that a great discernment about dirty laundry began. Before then it would have been inconceivable to me that a group of otherwise capable soccer moms and hockey dads would have cause to debate such an ordinary situation.
We examined the tablecloths carefully and observed that they bore evidence of precise ironing with nary a train track in sight. I assured everyone that if they would trust me to take responsibility for the linens I would press and starch them with great care. “And the tea towels too!” I was warned, “Yes, and the tea towels too” I promised. We all agreed that in the absence of a definite protocol on the matter, the highest possible standard would need to be kept, just to be safe. Apparently someone’s mother-in-law routinely ironed her tea towels and so the bar on this bit of help was set tremendously high.
And so that is how it happened one fine Saturday morning—with several loads of my own laundry in heaps and piles on the floor, and three beautiful unworn blouses in my closet that might eventually see the light of day if I can muster the energy to iron them someday—that I found myself ironing tea towels.
“What’s that mommy?” inquired my son, “This, my son….is an ironing board” I explained. The word “surreal” exists in order to describe occasions like unto it. And while the word “complicated” may not normally be used to describe occasions of “generosity” sometimes we have to face the fact that—in the real world, and certainly in churchland—the two often go hand in hand.
The following Sunday, I ran into the great Cathy, of the ACW Cathy’s. She expressed her appreciation for my having washed the linens (score one for the soccer moms) but she also assured me ‘they’ don’t normally iron tea towels. Oh well, I thought, at least that’s one little complication I won’t have to worry about the next time I feel emboldened to lend a helping hand.
Do you have a generously complicated story you’d like to share? Is your church a generously complicated place? What have you done to make lending a helping hand easier, and has it had a positive impact on the culture of volunteerism in your church? The Generosity Chronicles wants to hear from you, email me at mhauser@national.anglican.ca.
