I Make a Motion

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