Unlikely

I really didn’t want to be at work yesterday. It was unlikely that I wanted to be anywhere near work.

It isn’t that I hate work, but yesterday was the day before the Fourth of July. Many businesses were closed so that their employees might enjoy an extended weekend. My company had given many the day off, with the sole exception of those who job was considered indispensable to the mission of the business. As unlikely as it may seem, I was indispensable.

It isn’t that I hate work, but yesterday we had to work an early schedule. I had to get up at 6:00am and be at work at 7:00. Tired, hungry, out of sorts – working seven hours seemed to be a sentence on the other side of the electric chair. Cruel. Unusual. Punishment.

It isn’t that I hate work, but yesterday was just the cap on a string of events that had not gone the way I wanted. Yesterday I walked into work with my countenance fallen, my step with no spring. Discouraged. Disheartened. A bit disillusioned.

Have you been where I was? Can you relate to my feelings? It was unlikely that anything good was going to come of the day. My only hope was that somehow the moments would go by quickly.

Paul tells us that God can do unlikely things that we cannot even begin to dream up. On this day, He was going to use the most unlikely messengers to proclaim a most unlikely message.

My desk sits on the far side of the floor. As I opened the door, I could see a handful of Post-it notes plastered to the top of my cubicle, inching just a breath above the other desks on the floor. “What did I forget to do now that I had to be reminded by Post-it notes?”

I meandered through the maze of desks, one of two handfuls of people who had to be in by 7:00. While the floor would be filled and hopping with people by 9:00, at the moment it seemed quiet, lonely, haunting. Half-way to my destination, the corner of my cubicle was in view and it was plastered – in neat rows and columns – with Post-it notes. As curiosity now put energy in my steps, I bound the last twenty yards as spry as a receiver carrying the game-winning ball to the end zone.

Bright yellow Post-it notes peppered my entire cubicle. And stapler. And drinking cup. And monitors, computer and mouse. And file cabinet. And my chair and stool. And keyboard. And phone. And Dilbert calendar. And empty bag of potato chips. My entire work life was covered with what seemed to be millions and millions of three inch by three inch squares of yellow paper, all trumpeting the same, simple message. Unlikely, yet unforgettable, unmistakable.

It didn’t matter if they were right. It didn’t matter if anyone else thought so. In the middle of my work day, God sent an unlikely Barnabas.

Do you remember Barnabas in the book of Acts? At a point in the early church’s history, there was an incredible spirit of unity and generosity. We are introduced to a man named Joseph, who was called “Barnabas” by the apostles, a name meaning “son of encouragement.”

As a Levite, Joseph would have been very familiar with the discouraging rigors of keeping the Law. He no doubt was also burdened by his dependence upon the generosity of others for his livelihood. His heritage as a native from Cyprus would have put him in contact with many Greeks.  Even if the Greeks became Jews, they were still viewed as second-class citizens.  The island of Cyprus itself was home to a host of impoverished peoples.

It was unlikely for Joseph to be happy, let alone be someone known for encouraging others.

We remember Barnabas because at a low point in Paul’s Christian life, Barnabas took him under his wing, protecting and encouraging the man who would one day be Christianity’s premier spokesman. We remember Barnabas because he believed in John Mark, a youth who had abruptly left his mission to return home, and gave a deserter who would one day write one of the four Gospels a second chance.

We remember Barnabas as an encourager who understood God’s grace and God’s victory. We remember Barnabas as a messenger of hope. Indeed, one of Satan’s most powerful weapons is to deceive believers into thinking that either there is no hope for living a godly life, or that living a godly life does no good. We remember Barnabas as a man who encourages potential, tempers the driven, and mentors the fallen. We remember Barnabas as an unlikely leader with an unlikely gift.

It was an incredibly unlikely day at work yesterday. The hours still seemed to drag on and on, as a holiday is so apt to do. The customers were still a little edgy, occasionally a bit irritated. There still was no time to sneak in a bite to eat. The day still ended with many things that did not get finished.

But it turned out to be a really good day. How unlikely. Who would have thought?

My burdens were lightened; my heart was at rest; my mind was settled and peaceful. My condition had changed – all because a handful of unlikely people chose to make an unlikely difference.

Perhaps tomorrow is your day to be unlikely.