Pallet moving, an allegory of life

LAKE CHARLES, La.—Well-intentioned Christians find themselves in over their heads, sleeping on ships, performing feats of manual labor they never envisioned.

That’s the lede I would’ve written if I were to write a news story on the trip I took to Lake Charles, Louisiana, last week. Simon and Garfunkel, and U2 performed the soundtrack of our journey, as we passed through miles of brown and barren countryside, which had lain down for the winter.

I thought my phobia of worms would impede any and all efforts to rebuild homes and cities that had been ravaged by the hurricanes of several months past. TV pictures of bloated bodies and stories of decomposing food in fridges played in theater of my mind, causing my queasy stomach to squirm. Instead of rebuilding, we were relegated to working on the grounds of the missionary organization we had affiliated ourselves with. For me, that meant moving hundreds of splintery pallets into a greenhouse, as well as hundreds of potted plants that had been donated to the organization, and learning how to distinguish a Boston Fern from a Bougainvillea.

Moving pallets was a humbling experience. We were told to put those nailed-together pieces of wood, sometimes an inch at a time, at certain places. The two ladies who were choreographing the effort obviously had a plan but we just couldn’t see it. We had a beautifully organized greenhouse after two days of work but that wasn’t an outcome we could foresee when we wheeled wheelbarrows and repotted plants. All we knew was our muscles were aching, our skin was peeling off, and what?? I have to move this pallet three inches to the right again?

This experience, unfortunately, is a great allegory for my life.

My life has been a series of happy and not so happy accidents. Take the four years of engineering I endured as an undergrad. I knew after a semester that I was a nut amongst bolts but hey, Singaporean universities don’t really like people changing their majors. One semester dragged into many and I convinced myself so thoroughly that I could do this that I forgot I hated engineering until I held the degree in my hands.

Another instance would be how I got my first job as a journalist, in spite of a bachelor’s in mechanical and production engineering, when a friend offered me a job after reading bits of my undergrad thesis, which was spread out across my living room floor. Who knew that a report on particulate emission from a diesel engine would launch my journalistic career?

You’d think that I’d have learned from these experiences and would be making more informed choices now. But that would make life less exciting, wouldn’t it? That wouldn’t do for someone like me, someone who loves scuba diving, baking, reading and clubbing (on the dance floor and not of people). So, what am I doing? You’ll think I’m crazy but I’m letting God decide where my husband SK and I wind up and what we do with our lives.

It’d be a waste, wouldn’t it, after I get my master’s in journalism, and he, a doctorate in environmental engineering, that we’d stay put in Iowa City and do whatever, which could mean nothing much by the world’s standards….but…by the way…did I mention that I gave up a career in engineering? Life doesn’t always make sense. I know mine doesn’t, at least not to me. But I know someone sees the bigger picture, even if I don’t. If God tells me that I need to move three inches to the left again, I guess that’s what I’ll do.