What’s your siren?
In the town where I live we have tornado sirens. When you hear them going off on a stormy night you quickly gather the kids, the dog, some flashlights and a battery powered radio (I suppose a cell phone will do but I was conditioned growing up to grab the radio) and head to the basement. There is always a bit of anxiety as we hear the wind blowing outside and think of the large trees that grow near the west side of our home. We pray for our neighbors and wait out the storm.
If you are visiting our town you may be alarmed on Friday at 11 a.m. when you hear the siren go off. Friday’s at 11 a.m. is when the siren’s are tested. Every week. For several minutes.
I think for most people in our community this goes completely unnoticed. It’s just part of the charm of our town like the horns of cargo trains that blow like clockwork at 12 a.m. and 6 a.m. (and anytime in between). Locals sleep right through them. House guests awake only to toss and turn. The train horns at inconvenient hours and the sitting in my car at railroad crossings during morning or afternoon commutes have become rituals of thanksgiving to me. It is easy to think of them as unwanted noise pollution or as inconvenient delays during our hurried schedules. However, I have come to use that time in my car to imagine where the train has come from, where it is going, and what it is carrying. I let my mind drift (or ask my kids, if they are with me) to imagine the people working in some town out west creating parts and the people working out east receiving those parts and assembling them into something that will be used in yet another person’s job. Maybe a forklift or a delivery truck. Or, perhaps, it is something that will be purchased for pleasure. A bicycle or a golf cart. I take a moment to thank God for an economy that demands that I sit in traffic with others to wait on a train that symbolizes men and women employing their skills to create things like our cars that we sit in on the way to our jobs where we can use our skills to help others. It has become a welcomed rhythm in my life.
In a similar way the siren has become very meaningful in my life. However, it is more personal and critical. As mentioned in a previous post (Of Custodian Keys and Barber Chairs: God’s Providence), I worked for several years as a custodian. Not the early pre-college and pre-work experience years. I worked as a custodian with four earned degrees and 10 years of work experience. It was during a recession. I was engaged in a national job search for a field that had frozen their hiring due to the economic downturn. As a result I was supporting my family with the best job that I could get at the time. A part-time custodial position. I got to the building before the professional staff arrived to assure that they were welcomed with freshly cleaned bathrooms and vacuumed carpets. It was an important few years for my development as a person. You might be able to imagine that there were deep questions stirring in me as I engaged in some of the dirtiest jobs while remaining seemingly invisible to those for whom I was mopping their urine off the floor. It just so happened that every Friday my shift ended at 11 a.m.. I would hear the sirens blow as they were being tested and I would finish what I was doing and head to the time clock and swipe my I.D. through the machine and head home. It was another week in the books. Another week of searching for jobs in my educational field. Another week of denial letters. Another week of learning to be content with what I had been provided. Another week of growing as a person as I contemplated the meaning and value of work. Another week of recognizing the dignity of work. Another week of God’s provision. Another week of seeing the best and worst of others as a fly on the wall.
I consider myself fortunate to have had my work week end with the sound of the siren. Now each time I hear it I have a quiet personal moment of gratitude. Not gratitude for having left that job behind. Rather, gratitude for all that it meant to me and all that I learned and relearned about the important things. It is also a moment of gratitude for my current professional opportunities regardless of whatever challenges or frustrations I might be working through at that moment.
What is your siren? Do you have a picture on your wall to remind you of your journey? Is there a song that transports you when you hear it? A scent of a particular food that awakens your memories? Do you stay connected with former colleagues? If you don’t have something I encourage you to create something. While mine came about providentially, my siren has been an important practice of gratitude.
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