Without a Microphone, Am I Invisible?
I noticed something during the week of Vacation Bible School. For the first year in quite a few years, my role was completely behind-the-scenes. I didn't speak into a microphone even one time. I did not lead a song, I did not shush a crowd, I did not appear on stage.
And it was strange. Surprisingly, I missed it.
I am a good administrator, an excellent detail person. Yet, when I was in college, I discovered my talent for communication--especially with children. I worked as a Children's Ministries intern for Jim and Tammy Faye Bakker at Heritage U.S.A., in Charlotte, North Carolina. My boss was a goateed man with black hair that was firmly Aqua-netted into place. His wife was a short, squat woman with matching black hair. He was a ventriloquist and a puppeteer and he was kind of forced to accept me as an intern because I had inadvertently weaseled my way past Human Resources and into a job by introducing myself to Dick Dortch, who ended up being not only an old family friend, but also Jim Bakker's right hand man.
Boy, was the woman in Human Resources mad at me.
Anyway, instead of working on the grounds crew, I ended up working in the children's department and that's how I ended up on a stage in Heritage U.S.A. entertaining the passing crowds. Speaking into that microphone and performing the little skits we created and telling crazy knock-knock jokes energized me, thrilled me, gave me confidence that I didn't even know I lacked. It's wacky to find out that you happen to be good at captivating a crowd, especially when you are a solitary soul at heart who prefers to sit home than to mingle and make small talk.
When you speak into a microphone, people notice your work. They pat you on the back and write you thank-you notes and tell you what a great job you've done. When you spend hours at home with spreadsheets and registration forms and to-do lists and self-created forms, no one notices. It's like housework: people only notice if your floors have not been mopped. They see smudges on your mirrors, but don't notice the absence of smudges. If those forms had not been created, if the children had not been organized into acceptable crews, if people had not been recruited and trained and if the supplies had not been ordered, people would notice. But a smooth-running organization is like the skeleton--invisible, unless, of course, you are Mary-Kate Olsen (sorry, anorexia joke just popped in there).
Really, though, the invisible work makes an event run smoothly and so people notice the things they are supposed to notice--the public speaker, the music, the decorations, the happy faces of children. It's strange, though, if you are used to being noticed.
This year, we have a new youth pastor and I immediately assigned him my usual role. For the past two years, I've done the closing program, the twenty-five minute wrap-up at the end of the day. I wanted to pass along the burden, but also, I wanted to see how he handled the microphone and the challenge of speaking to 80 children. He did a fantastic job and I was really thrilled to hear him keep the attention of the children while teaching and entertaining them. And I am relieved to not have the job myself. But I did notice that I noticed the lack of attention.
And it's always a little weird when you see your own foibles, when you notice the 14-year-old inside who clamors for attention.
So, to answer my question--yes, without a microphone, I am invisible. Does that make my work less valuable? No. Do I mind? Not so much. Well, okay. Maybe a teeny, tiny bit. Will I reclaim the microphone next year? No. It's all right to be see-through. I always thought that transparency would be a cool superpower to have. Although, I'd really rather be able to fly. Or spin straw into gold. Is that a superpower?
And it was strange. Surprisingly, I missed it.
I am a good administrator, an excellent detail person. Yet, when I was in college, I discovered my talent for communication--especially with children. I worked as a Children's Ministries intern for Jim and Tammy Faye Bakker at Heritage U.S.A., in Charlotte, North Carolina. My boss was a goateed man with black hair that was firmly Aqua-netted into place. His wife was a short, squat woman with matching black hair. He was a ventriloquist and a puppeteer and he was kind of forced to accept me as an intern because I had inadvertently weaseled my way past Human Resources and into a job by introducing myself to Dick Dortch, who ended up being not only an old family friend, but also Jim Bakker's right hand man.
Boy, was the woman in Human Resources mad at me.
Anyway, instead of working on the grounds crew, I ended up working in the children's department and that's how I ended up on a stage in Heritage U.S.A. entertaining the passing crowds. Speaking into that microphone and performing the little skits we created and telling crazy knock-knock jokes energized me, thrilled me, gave me confidence that I didn't even know I lacked. It's wacky to find out that you happen to be good at captivating a crowd, especially when you are a solitary soul at heart who prefers to sit home than to mingle and make small talk.
When you speak into a microphone, people notice your work. They pat you on the back and write you thank-you notes and tell you what a great job you've done. When you spend hours at home with spreadsheets and registration forms and to-do lists and self-created forms, no one notices. It's like housework: people only notice if your floors have not been mopped. They see smudges on your mirrors, but don't notice the absence of smudges. If those forms had not been created, if the children had not been organized into acceptable crews, if people had not been recruited and trained and if the supplies had not been ordered, people would notice. But a smooth-running organization is like the skeleton--invisible, unless, of course, you are Mary-Kate Olsen (sorry, anorexia joke just popped in there).
Really, though, the invisible work makes an event run smoothly and so people notice the things they are supposed to notice--the public speaker, the music, the decorations, the happy faces of children. It's strange, though, if you are used to being noticed.
This year, we have a new youth pastor and I immediately assigned him my usual role. For the past two years, I've done the closing program, the twenty-five minute wrap-up at the end of the day. I wanted to pass along the burden, but also, I wanted to see how he handled the microphone and the challenge of speaking to 80 children. He did a fantastic job and I was really thrilled to hear him keep the attention of the children while teaching and entertaining them. And I am relieved to not have the job myself. But I did notice that I noticed the lack of attention.
And it's always a little weird when you see your own foibles, when you notice the 14-year-old inside who clamors for attention.
So, to answer my question--yes, without a microphone, I am invisible. Does that make my work less valuable? No. Do I mind? Not so much. Well, okay. Maybe a teeny, tiny bit. Will I reclaim the microphone next year? No. It's all right to be see-through. I always thought that transparency would be a cool superpower to have. Although, I'd really rather be able to fly. Or spin straw into gold. Is that a superpower?
posted by Melodee at Sunday, July 25, 2004
1 Comments:
It sounds like it all went very well. I'm sure your efforts were noticed...The best thing is that you know how good you are at all of it, and you gave someone else a chance to shine...
~Tina
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