Learning Otherwise in Receiving

Last updated on: January 2, 2014 at 10:31 am by jakemorrill

Learning Otherwise in Receiving 2014-01-02T10:31:45-07:00 jakemorrill

LOGO Patheos Explore the world's faith through different perspectives on religion and spirituality! Patheos has the views of the prevalent religions and spiritualities of the world.

There was a time I thought I was in hell. It was Texas. I had dropped out of school and worked stocking bulk at a grocery store. As part of the job, before dawn once a month, they made us show up to get our morale boosted, which was seen as directly related to sales. Praise for good attitude. Hand-clapping. Prizes. It was noted when we hurt ourselves less on the job. Something like that—it was so long ago, it was always so early. On those days, we likely stole more than we did other days. But who’s to say it was stealing? Let’s just say you’d write off damaged goods. No matter how they got damaged.

Two mornings a week, they had me down for receiving. That meant being ready for the five o’clock truck. I don’t know what you call it, but picture a ladder–not with rungs, but with rollers. That’s what I set up, at the angle between where the truck would pull in and down where I would stand. Then silence. It was, after all, before five in the morning. Like a horse tied to a post, I might have drifted to sleep on my feet. Then, all at once, here was the truck, and now here was the driver, shot out of the cab. The white rabbit? In Alice in Wonderland? Always so worried he’s going to be late? Turn the worry to anger. Give the rabbit cocaine. Get him hounded by fathomless demons. That was this driver. The truck would hardly have jerked into place before there he was in the back, flinging frozen product down the rollers at me.

They say that, these days, when you get in a wreck, an air-bag will save you. But I’ve heard it’s like asking a heavyweight to lace on his gloves and deliver a punch. You don’t die, so there’s that. But you can’t escape bruises. And you’re staggered a bit. So, I can’t say the frozen product flung at me by the furious man in the truck could have, in any way, taken my life. But the body is tender, and what happened to me was not unlike how you get saved in a wreck. Then positioning yourself to let it happen again.

In those years, the physique that I boasted was like a balloon filled with duck-fat, and held up by string. Muscles were what people in magazines had. So, every time, as the truck screeched away, my back was in ruins. There was a faraway throbbing sensation. My forearms were pink, and my whole torso tender. I fantasized what a lottery ticket would do for my life.

On these mornings, Johnny Frozen was always around. He bounced, when he walked, on the balls of his feet. He took life on a lark. One of those people who doesn’t add up. He managed the freezer. Off the clock, martial arts and a Spartan existence. I wanted him to want more. Did he dream of travel? Of wealth? Of anything outside the walls of the walk-in? Couldn’t he see that we were in hell—the driver, me, and him, all ensnared? The misery he was missing! I could have just howled. But it never sunk in. In fact, he had something he thought I should know.

Judo is a word that can mean “gentle way.” (With “Ju” as the gentle and “do” as the way.) See that unconquerable force coming at you? You want to clench up. But don’t. Only see it. Accept it. Employ it, in fact. Channel it to new ends. And that, in a bungled nutshell, is judo. Which Johnny Frozen showed me how to use on the boxes. A person didn’t have to just plant himself there, at the end of the rollers, as the product shot down. Instead, you could eyeball what was oncoming, and step away just in time, allowing your arms to carry through with the force, using one sweeping motion to end the box up on the top of a stack. As if it weighed nothing. Before, I spent the shift cringing, trying to minimize harm. Now, of all things, you would have thought I was dancing.

I was staggered by so very much in those days. Life out ahead seemed the dim prospect of hunkering down. Of learning to take it. Writing off what got damaged. That it could be otherwise was a revelation that haunts me down to this day with a whisper of hope.

Uncategorized

Previous Post

January 2, 2014

Sometimes It Takes A Lie

Next Post

January 3, 2014 On Building Bridges

Browse Our Archives

Select a Category #9/11 Abortion Class community conflict Digital Life Diversity Divorce Environmental issues Evangelism Faith Development Foregiveness Garden glbt Gratitude Grief Healing health care Holidays Hospitality Interfaith LGBT Issues Military Service Mortality Orlando Parenting Peace Politics Power Prayer Racism Relationships Religion Scripture Senior citizens Sermons simplicity Social Justice Spirituality Sports Sustainability Uncategorized Unitarian Universalist Values Women's Issues World Community Worship

Select a Month August 2017 July 2017 June 2017 May 2017 April 2017 March 2017 February 2017 January 2017 December 2016 November 2016 October 2016 September 2016 August 2016 July 2016 June 2016 May 2016 April 2016 March 2016 February 2016 January 2016 December 2015 November 2015 October 2015 September 2015 August 2015 July 2015 June 2015 May 2015 April 2015 March 2015 February 2015 January 2015 December 2014 November 2014 October 2014 September 2014 August 2014 July 2014 June 2014 May 2014 April 2014 March 2014 February 2014 January 2014 December 2013 November 2013 October 2013 September 2013 August 2013 July 2013 June 2013 May 2013 April 2013 March 2013 February 2013 January 2013 December 2012 November 2012 October 2012 September 2012 August 2012 July 2012 June 2012 May 2012

TAKE THE

Religious Wisdom Quiz

Who was raised from the dead by Peter in Joppa?

Select your answer to see how you score.

Eutychus The widow's son Tabitha Lazarus