 |
Now that I have a full year under my Murphy belt, I’m learning to explore my no-longer-shiny-new community. When newcomers first arrive, we are shaking off the terror, loss or dullness of our former lives in the “Faraway Place.” I walked through my first year here in some shock, and with good dose of timidity.
However, since I’ve graduated to a Murphy toddler, I’m ready for some adventure. Enter the Rotary Club of Murphy.
I know, Marsha, Marsha, Marsha. But Rotary has become my one true love here. It’s faithful, kind and challenging, three things missing from my life in the Faraway Place. But one of my favorite things about Rotary is members’ dedication to service.
A couple of lifetimes ago, I served as a missionary for a fairly radical Christian organization. If you’re thinking I held a ladle every Saturday at the soup kitchen, allow me to disengage you from that gentle image.
My church dedicated itself to service to the inner-city poor. I worked in Atlanta, Hong Kong and eventually settled in London. The idea was to serve the poor through acts of kindness. My microphone was my always-open front door, and my prayers were spent cleaning the sick – as they call it in England – out of my houseguests’ ears and clothes.
There were hospital visits, jailhouse visits and thousands of hours spent in the projects in America or the housing estates (same thing) in London. My sermons manifested as picking lice out of children’s hair – including, inevitably, my own – or a toilet brush in a desperate mother’s house.
If you know anything about using a toilet brush in an especially needy toilet, you know you have to keep your mouth shut – something I learned the hard way. But it was a worthy lesson, and a reminder of the mission to “preach the gospel always and, when necessary, use words.”
I mainly kept quiet and worked with fanaticism. Pragmatic preaching.
I took in rough sleepers, sex workers and heroin addicts, inviting them to be a part of my family. They slept in my beds, ate meals at my table and, something I vigorously encouraged, took showers in my bathroom.
One longer-term guest would often fall asleep at dinner; her head landing in the bowl of watery lentil soup, and even that wouldn’t wake her up. Heroin pushed her mind, her body and, eventually, her life into a sleepy stupor.
The work was constant, chaotic and exhausting. My service was gritty, filthy and rarely rewarding. I lasted seven years before I lost the plot, and with it, my faith.
So when I strategically chose Murphy to be my brand new start, I was basically soulless. But I think I have a servant’s heart. And I was also hungry.
My first few meetings with Rotary jump-started my frozen heart. I had to get past the rote patriotism and sometimes loquacious opening prayer. But in every meeting they discussed innovative ways to serve our community.
One committee, whose job was to pick up roadside trash, always laughed and had a funny story to share. What’s this? Joy in service? Interesting.
Those who didn’t or couldn’t physically labor, filled pots with money they call “Happy Dollars.” The group is highly organized and attached to the Rotary International organization, which makes it feel sophisticated and even a little bit sexy.
I joined the Rotary Reads gang who read books and execute a prepared lesson to schools kids around Cherokee County once a month. I got lucky when I was assigned to assist club past-president Tim Radford at The Learning Center charter school in Murphy. His self-effacing humor and genuine warmth filled the class, calmed the children and somehow made everyone in the room feel cared for – including me.
I was really more ancillary than vital to the whole operation, but what a pleasure. Those little kids with their sticky hands and eager participation began to thaw my heart even further. They’d raise their arms up to answer Tim’s questions with such force, I feared they’d pull their backs out.
“Pick me,” they begged with their eyes. “Notice me.”
Back in my missionary days, I felt very alone in a giant world that, because I lived at the street level, seemed mostly cruel. But here was this tiny Murphy Rotary Club, fostering community, service and friendship. And they were having fun.
They picked me. They noticed me. So now I get to serve again, but this time with a collective purpose. Plus, so far anyway, nobody has dropped a head into a lunch plate, which is less exciting, yes, but also very relieving.
Abigail Hickman is a staff correspondent for the Cherokee Scout. Her column runs every other week. You can email her at abigailhickman44@gmail.com.