First, you should know that in Calvert County, you must choose your post office carefully. Choose Owings - and your package may end up in "Siberia" instead of "Salisbury." Pick Huntingtown - and you'll likely be in line for a while because everyone there likes to chat with their much-loved and long-serving post masters, who are far too polite to rush anyone. Choose Prince Frederick - and, well, just don't because they're under-staffed and over-worked and it's really NEVER a good choice.
Why didn't I go to Friendship? This is a good question. And one that I should have considered, but when you're a Calvert County girl (as I am), crossing the line into Anne Arundel county just never occurs to me.
With all of these thoughts, I found myself at the post office in Dunkirk. Now, you have to realize that last Saturday was the first post-dual-blizzard weekend day. Half the spots in the parking lot were buried in mountains of snow, and everyone in Calvert County was out running errands. I also should note that it was about 11:35am -- and the post office closes at noon.
I scored a fantastic parking spot right by the front door, which was especially good because I had nearly 30 boxes to haul in. I piled 5 or 6 of them into my arms, and made my way inside. A kindly gentleman held the door, and asked: Wow, what are those? How many do you have?
As we stood in the doorway, his questions continued and I felt a degree of impatience creeping in -- after all, I was holding so many boxes that I could barely see over them and I could feel the stares of the throngs of people who were (understandably) annoyed that we were blocking the doorway.
Then it hit me... like a ton of God-hurled bricks: Hey, this man is asking about the ministry. Respond with care. Be patient. This is an opportunity. So, I did. I stood there in the post office and shared, in this sort-of small and seemingly inconsequential way, why I was shipping a stack of boxes. I explained who VIP is and what we do. VIP is my favorite conversation topic, and I could feel my face light up as I talked about how God uses this choir to work in the world -- whether we're singing for a retirement community or making Valentines for our alums. The guy was delighted, and I'll admit, it was a joy to have this conversation about the choir I love and the God I work for.
Too bad all that joy got wiped out as I made my way into the post office and saw the gargantuan line. It looked like the post office a few minutes before closing on December 21, except this time, there was not one ounce of holiday cheer and only ONE guy behind the counter - Postmaster John Horton. I put my boxes down and returned to the car for another load. Four trips later (and much to the horror of my fellow post office patrons), I was standing in the post office with all of my boxes neatly stacked. I waited as the line in front of me inched along. People bought stamps and shipped packages and got money orders. But most were there to pick up their mail after not receiving it for several days. I listened as Postmaster John patiently explained to each one that the postmen/women were out on their runs and had been delivering mail for several days, and that he didn't have their missing mail at the post office. This did not go over well.
The minutes passed and I was gleefully counting down the people ahead of me, and thinking - I'm almost outta here! And then I looked behind me. The line had easily doubled... glad I wasn't back there! And then I realized. I'm in front of these people who didn't see me come in. My boxes are stacked neatly by the counter (not with me in line). These folks have NO IDEA that I have all these boxes to ship. They are going to hate me.
Eh - that's ok. Plenty of people hate me. I can live with that. And then it hit me (more God-hurled bricks): I'm not here for me.
I was standing in that post office to do the work of Voices In Praise. I looked at those boxes, packed with love and warmth and incredible care and it occured to me: what kind of ministry is this if we do such good by sending this boxes, but at the same time, we tick off everyone in this room? What message does that send?
I took a long, slow-motion look at the people in this post office. They were tired, they were weary, and they were already irritated. I got to the counter and Postmaster John said, "Ok, let's get those things shipped." And I looked at him, took a deep breath, and said - Thanks, but I'll wait. Take them ahead of me.
You could almost here the post office line breath a collective sigh of relief and shock. (I could barely believe that I said it.) Some folks even thanked me as they left. The minutes ticked by and noon came but John didn't have the heart to lock the door as people continued to stream in. "You sure you want to do this?" John asked as I waited nearby. Yes, I was sure.
I had every right to stand in my place in line and ship all of my boxes. After all, this is America - get in line, wait your turn, and let there be no cuts. But that's not how God works. I think there is a difference between being right and doing the right thing. In fact, it might even be the definition of grace.
This was a teeny, tiny little opportunity to share God's grace and I didn't want to blow it - my choir trusted me with this job and I had to do it right. Not right in the "Did you get those boxes shipped way?" But right in the "Did you conduct yourself in a manner that would honor the spirit and intent of Voices In Praise as this choir seeks to glorify God?"
You had no idea that such questions could come from a simple errand to the post office, did you?