Make Yourself Useful
Have you noticed how some people lead useful, productive lives? And then there are others who are the human equivalent of a pillow sham? People in the first group are healing the sick, educating children and building houses. People from the second group are wondering, What bugs shall we make them eat in our next episode of Fear Factor?
I think we all want to lead a useful life. At least until it’s time to wash the dishes, and then we want someone else to be useful. This is why 20 per cent of the people end up doing 80 per cent of the work—an arrangement that works out pretty well for the 80 per cent.
But the downside for the 80 per cent is that eventually they have to pause and take stock of their lives. I was doing that the other day and realised that my contributions to society pretty much ended in fourth grade, when I participated in a play promoting dental hygiene.
“Honey,” I said to my wife, “I feel as though my life is useless. I’m basically a flesh paperweight.”
“Ah, Sweetheart,” she replied, “that’s not true. You’ve done lots of things.”
“Like what?”
“Well . . . ah . . . It doesn’t matter. I love you anyway. If you lift your feet, I’ll vacuum under your chair.”
I think men are particularly driven to feel useful. They yearn to be effective on a grand scale, such as heading the office committee that reassigns parking spaces.
Perhaps this yearning explains why Stephen Covey sold millions of copies of his book The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People. Of course, only about a dozen men actually read the whole book. The rest were halfway into chapter three when they became distracted by the football season.
I myself grew disillusioned with the book when I found that none of the seven habits were ones I already possessed. Apparently Mr Covey wanted me to learn new habits, which seems to be expecting quite a lot from me just because I bought his book.
I think the most productive people in the world belong to our parents’ generation (official motto: “We don’t want to be a burden”). Whenever my in-laws come to visit, our house hums with activity. Casseroles are cooked. Bushes are trimmed. The driveway is edged.
Day after day they labour until the time comes for them to leave. As they pull out of the driveway, they look back with the tear-stained smiles of freed slaves, while my wife and I run along behind crying, “Please don’t go. We’ve forgotten how to clean up after ourselves. Please; we’ll buy you your own television.”
People like this can’t help being productive. You visit them in the hospital, and they whisper, “If you bring me some Windex, I can wipe down this heart monitor.”
I’m trying to be useful, but it doesn’t come naturally. Like the time I was helping a friend move. It seemed like a positive thing to do—until I banged her antique dresser into a rock wall. “Let’s look on the bright side,” I said. “The distressed wood look is very popular now.”
Jesus knew the secret of a really useful life: “I am the vine,” He said; “you are the branches. Those who remain in me, and I in them, will produce much fruit. For apart from me you can do nothing” (John 15:5, NLT).
He seems to be saying that if you think you’re living a useful life without Him, it’s a sham.
Reprinted, with permission, from Women of Spirit.
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