My soapy hands dip into the giant sink, reaching for the bloated raspberries now gathered in the drain. Not my raspberries. They’re intermingling with rice and globs of who-knows-what in our school kitchen, remnants of someone’s lunch leftovers, perhaps accidentally dropped in this sink with no disposal. The movements are so familiar, this cleaning of a mess that I didn’t make but I’m responsible for. Some things require a grit and determination to not be ridiculous. Just grab it, chuck it, and keep wiping down surfaces.

I grew up on stories of my dad and his siblings cleaning Covenant College while being students. I always think of my Aunt Ruthie, 70’s skirt folded a little higher than it should be at a Christian college, mixing bleach with ammonia and having to jump out a window to escape the fumes. Don’t tell me if that story isn’t accurate—it’s my favorite and I like every detail of it. I was a second-generation Lawton cleaning at Covenant College. Part of my work-study responsibilities included cleaning the campus diner (The Blink), as well as the bathroom next to it. My parents raised us kids to do chores, so its not like I was unfamiliar with getting up close and personal to the nastiness of humanity, but this was my first real experience of cleaning up other people’s grossness and it’s where I learned that you just have to separate your mind from your body and get it done. Another trick is learning to breath through your mouth. I’m an exceptional mouth-breather when it comes to anything that might possibly stink. This includes—but is not limited to—cutting toenails, applying a bandaid, dealing with dirty hair, and picking up dog poop. Mouth-breathing, a genius move taught to me by my nurse parents. 

At Covenant College I remember being annoyed by my fellow students who couldn’t figure out how to clean up the Blink microwave after splashing food all over the inside. (A self-righteous indignation if ever there was one as I don’t remember ever cleaning out the microwave in my house growing up.) I was in charge of making sure other students did their own work-study hours, which perhaps set me up as a manager as a tender age. It was good training for what was to come next. I got married to my love and moved to Covenant Seminary, still working on campus, but also attending college down the street at MoBap. At seminary the real work began. I quickly stepped into my role as Guest Services Director and marveled at how red my pale face became and  how frizzy my brown hair grew as I joined my Japanese and Filipino seminary wife-students-friends in cleaning all the guest rooms on campus. We accomplished some hard work during our turnover hours, and cleaned up after many many guests. My least favorite cleaning jobs involved the Doctorate of Ministry students who came to campus for about a week at a time. The “Dmins” were just that in my opinion and I lumped them in as a bunch of men who were used to their wives cleaning up after them, not considering the guest services crew who had to do the final clean up. It was hard work, but it was a genuine testing ground for learning, being humbled, and figuring out service roles that were indeed absolutely essential to kingdom work. I also memorized the Christian talk radio schedule and found a lot of spiritual encouragement while washing loads of laundry and folding those vexing fitted sheets. 

I learned that when you’re in charge all messes are your messes.

I still think of my dad in this realm, especially after he finished his PhD work and willingly took at job at the brand new Chick-fil-A in town. Eventually he wore a name tag that said “Mayor” because the restaurant dining room became his pride and joy. He still speaks of his service there in glowing terms. The babies, the tired mamas, the little ones wetting their pants running from the play area to the restroom, the older gentleman, all the young homeschool kids he worked with, his boss… he cared about them all. He cared about their experiences, their joy, their lunches in this space.

That’s the example of work that I’ve followed, and it’s one I encourage others to follow. If THIS space is YOUR space then it’s your job to make it as great as possible. Is there a tissue on the floor? Pick it up and go wash your hands. Is the trashcan overflowing or does it need to go out because there’s food in it? Your job. Is the toilet or sink broken? Fix it or find someone who can. Pencils out of place? A chair still needs to be stacked? A picture frame on the wall is crooked? Set it straight.

Years and years of church work, including four years as a deaconess, has led me to this conclusion: take ownership of your space. And now I apply the same philosophy to my work as a teacher. There are bloated lunch raspberries in that deep sink, and it’s my job to fish them out. This is the work of adulthood. It’s an ongoing lesson in service and pride really, and I expect I’ll be learning those lessons up until the day I die.