A talk with the Captain.

I work in a Church office.  A Catholic Church office.  Most of the time I find it very exciting and some times I realize how very fragile a person is.  The worst part of my job is I can't really publish what goes on there which is really unfair because the most interesting things happen.  This is one of those stories that I can tell, largely because it didn't take place at work.

So the Captain is working on one of his religious awards for Webelos (at least I think it's Webelos) and one of the requirements is talking to someone who works at or volunteers at a Church a lot.  He voiced this aloud and I had an "aha" moment.  Guess who fits the bill?  *preens*

His brother, the General, already spoke with the Altar Server director which is great, but that meant that I got to talk to the Captain and be important.  So he sat me down (okay I was standing) and after a minute I asked him what were the questions.  He read it to me... all of it... and basically what it said was "talk to them and ask what it's like to do what they do."  So he asked me what the best and worst part of my job were.  I chuckled.  The short answer, for a very active boy who is absolutely adorable, but still only ten is the following.  

"The best part of my job is that I get to be the hands and feet of Christ here on earth.  The worst part of my job is that means that I sometimes get my hands slammed in doors and my toes stepped on."  

The Captain smiled and nodded somberly in that creepily understanding way.  He used to do that when he was two-years-old and a baby faced heart throb.  He helped me pick out my boots (I have pictures) and he used to run and grab my hand when we went ice skating, even though he didn't need the support but because he knew I did.  His gift has always been joy.

I thought about telling him more about my job, about the funerals and the Baptisms, the weddings and the the HDO, and a sense of panic overcame me as I thought of the coming week. 

And then the Captain smiled.  And all my bad days seemed to disappear.

I swear, if I could bottle that boy's smile, no one would ever have a bad day again.