Sure, I told them. I’d be happy
to serve as Board secretary. How hard can it be?
Last week I sat through my first
official meeting as secretary for the Rogers City Community Theatre Board of
Directors. We were tucked away in the chilly back room of a local restaurant,
the smell of pizza making my nose twitch while I typed.
My laptop, the aging and
increasingly irritable but still lovely Natasha, was low on power, so I sat
removed from the rest of the board where my cord could reach a wall outlet. As
the group talked through our agenda items I willed my cold fingers to keep up
with their words, determined to do my job well and record all the important
decisions that were being made.
Despite my grumpy computer and
wall tether, as the meeting moved into high gear I was in the groove and
feeling good about my mad secretarial skills, typing lickety-click as the
others talked.
My friend Karl, who knows about
such things, was filling us in on a point of order that we’d missed, something
important that we had to get worded correctly to protect our non-profit status.
“I make a motion,” he said. I paused, my fingers hovering over the keyboard.
Motions are supposed to be
short. I mean, they are, aren’t they? Things like, “I move that we authorize Larry
to order the gray roof tiles,” or “I move that we adjourn and have pizza.”
This was not that kind of
motion. It went on, and on, and on. All of it was really important, and had to
get into the minutes just right. I urged my fingers to fly faster, trying
desperately to keep up. Finally I gave up and stared at Karl with wide eyes.
When he finally stopped, I
looked at my computer screen. It was a jumble of misspelled words and accusing
red lines, Natasha making clear her disappointment with me. I turned my eyes
back to Karl, who was looking at me expectantly. “Sorry,” I said, “could you
repeat that?”
I waded my way through the rest of
the meeting as best I could. But inside I was offering up a silent prayer:
please, please, I beg of you…don’t let anybody make a motion.
Motions can be a headache. The
long ones can bring a cold-fingered secretary to a shuddering standstill. Motions-making
can feel more highfalutin and formal than a meeting really needs to be.
But think about this. What would
happen in a meeting where nobody made a motion?
Here’s what would
happen…nothing. People would talk, but nothing would happen. Because for
something to happen, you need to have motion.
In Robert’s Rules of Order
language, a motion is nothing more than a proposal to do something. It’s a kick
in the pants that turns talking about something into doing something. A motion
is…motion. It’s the decision that enough is enough, let’s quit yakking and get
to it already.
Ever feel like making a motion
in real life? I move that people quit being mean to each other. I make a motion
that we all stop thinking we need to own more than we have. I propose that we
all climb out of our holes of self-absorption and open our eyes to the people
around us.
Think back to when you were a
little kid, and you sat in the bathtub and put your hands in front of you,
palms facing forward. You gave a mighty shove.
What happened? Motion. The water
moved forward under your hands, ricocheting off the walls, making the whole tub
roll and rock around you and setting the little toy boat a-bounce.
That’s the kind of motion I want
to make. I want to give a shove and watch all the messes around me become neat
and the bad stuff become good stuff.
Trouble is, I’m not a child in a
bathtub. I’m an insubstantial grownup sitting on the shore of a big lake (wait
for summer to try this one out, kids) with my hands in front of me, pushing at
the water. No boats bob from the might of my hands. The water barely
acknowledges my presence as it sweeps around me and then slides back where it
came from. My puny motion is pointless against the big forces of life; how can
this one person with her weak arms and tiny voice do any good in the world? What’s
the point of even trying?
But perhaps…perhaps I don’t need
to move the entire lake. Maybe I don’t need to change the entire world for my
actions to be worthwhile. Small motions can be good, too.
Jesus made ripples everywhere he
went. What did He do? What motions of His could we imitate as we move about our
lives?
Oh, sure, He lived perfectly,
died horribly, and sprang back to life to save mankind. We can’t do that. Can’t
save the souls of those around us. Then again, we don’t need to. Jesus already
took care of that.
But that wasn’t all He did. How
did Jesus make waves as He went about His daily tasks?
One person at a time, baby. One
person at a time.
That was the way Jesus lived.
Pass a weird guy up in a tree? Show him you notice him. Encounter an outcast
being condemned by people from the right side of the tracks? Treat her like she
matters and make them drop their stones.
The sick, the unacceptable, the
frightened, the ashamed…Jesus saw them. And He made a motion. He made things
happen by being Love to one person at a time.
There, troubled heart…there’s
your answer. Don’t give up because you can’t do it all. Just open your eyes. See
what’s around you. And make a little motion.
And if we all did that, everyone
doing their own little bit…no, we wouldn’t change the world. But I bet we could
set a boat a-bouncin’.
First published in The Alpena News, February 3, 2018
