Lost History I

The writing workshop tonight was again rich, more divine than Aunt Dot's 7-layer chocolate cake. Yummmm.......

In the workshop, Fred usually tosses out a subject line or theme. He always qualifies it with something like, "If something else comes through the pen, toss my subject line suggestion."

The subject line tonight was "Lost History." I really don't know what the following has to do with 'lost history,' but I feel certain there is a tie-in somewhere.

Following is what I wrote tonight. I composed and posted it on my memoir blog which is not linked for any public search engines.

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Non-subject: "lost history"
Click here to read an introduction for memoir.
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My hand came down empty. Yet in that emptiness there hides something tangible.

I sat in the kitchen at Headquarters. It was an industrial kitchen with big double sink areas and long stainless steel counters, large ovens, walk-in refrigerators and freezers. A typical sterile, industrial kitchen look. There was a huge rectangular vat where Stan taught me how to make rue. Stan; he was a good guy, Stan was. The previous year, Stan and I had been assigned to hitchhike together from Emporia, KS, to Tinnie, NM, and back. We had been 4 minutes late of the designated arrival time at Tinnie and were told, "You're late. Go back." That is a story for another time.

My regular job assignment for the year was food services at HQ. In addition to my regular job I worked my volunteer Household Service responsibilities. One was to oversee display setups in the west lobby; I think that's what it was called. The other was to help oversee setup at the Cultural Center in New Bremen for the High Country Caravan production recordings. I only felt capable for food services, where I didn't have to brush so closely with top leadership. Yet I enjoyed the other volunteer services. Especially the Cultural Center, to watch Doctor work with the performers. "Smile!" he would encourage with such enthusiasm. "Move those hips! Be alive! Give to that audience!" His passion was contagious.

Yet I was always, always nervous serving in those responsibilities. Who was I to oversee set-up for such important matters at the most spiritually significant place on earth?

But today, I was just me....the little gal in food services who helped wash pots and pans and slave over the food. It was fun though, especially when Gilbert was there. We always laughed while we made the giant salads. Gilbert was a tall, thin black man who had been around The Ministry since the early days. He had married (or would soon marry) Mary Kathy. Mary Kathy and I had served together as WOW Ambassadors a few years ago.

I sat there alone on a tall stool that sat beside the entrance to the multi-purpose room, I think that is what it was called. It was a large room that served as the HQ dining room which we transformed into a meeting room for various large meetings. We were the best work force on earth. When we set up a room, it was done with perfection. "All things decent and in order." That helped keep the adversary out and helped people to be better able to receive the Word.

I was so fatigued; I was physically ill and had been so for a couple years. I had been traveling to Dayton to an allergist and a pulmonary specialist. It didn't seem to be helping. I kept pushing to get up every morning, to fulfill my duties. That day the fatigue and mental fog were heavy.

Rev. Martindale entered the kitchen, as he was known to do. He walked through and stopped momentarily to say hi to me, his tall physique and build and demeanor were confident, yet tender. Kind of exemplary of a man of steel and velvet. It felt good to be acknowledged by Craig. I had a deep spiritual love and respect for him. I'd felt like a disciple of Jesus at times, or Gamaliel, as I have dug the scriptures while Craig taught. When he taught, it was always so rich and real, like a chewy caramel center of God's heart.

I don't remember our exact exchange while I sat and he stood other than it was cordial, just like talking to anyone. He continued into the dining room area.

The day moved along. It was some hours later the thought hit me, "Carol! You didn't stand when Craig came through the kitchen."

Oh my god. We were always supposed to stand when the man of God entered our work areas or presence, especially in a public setting. Why did he not holler at me? Why wasn't I reamed out? That's not like Craig, to not reprove someone for an error such as that. Maybe God knows I can't handle the reamings. I don't know why Craig didn't holler at me.

"Dear God, I am so sorry. It must have been the mental fog and fatigue. Maybe Craig didn't even notice."

I had to write Craig an apology letter, if for nothing else to clear my conscience. I wrote him as soon as I had the time and pen and paper; I recall it was sometime before the next day.

All mail went through the internal distribution system. I think I recall correctly that correspondence was put into large manila-type envelopes with a string and loop. Lines were on the outside of the envelope to indicate where the envelope was supposed to be delivered. Once its contents were received the envelope was used again, the previous destination was marked through and a new destination was written on the next line. It was an efficient system. Everything at HQ was efficient; "redeeming the time" was a motto.

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Continued in Lost History II
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