I think four-day work weeks are great, except that I usually still have to figure out how to cram five days worth of work into them. Oh well, TGIF anyway. I usually avoid blogging about my job. I like my job, but writing about it in my off hours just doesn't sound fun. But there are oh-so-many blogworthy moments related to crazy clients with over-the-top requests (and over use of really bad clip art).
My church has been doing a sermon series on faith in the workplace for the past few weeks. There have been some great messages about working with difficult people, embracing our "calling," etc. But the whole basis for the series has been around a single phrase: I get to go to work. Not I have to go to work—or some variation of that, which may or may not include the words "sucks" and "BOO!" But, it's our privilege to go to work—to help meet people's needs, to provide for our families and to grow as a person.
I get to go to work. Such a simple idea—yet so difficult for me to keep in mind during the day-to-day stress and frustrations of my job. Consider the fact that two days ago, a bird pooped on me in the parking lot at work. (Really, I can't make this stuff up.) My first thought was to curse the wretched place of employment where I both figuratively and literally get crapped on. While I don't think we have to outright thank God for the crap in our jobs, I know I could be better about staying positive.
Currently, my employer is preparing for a nurses strike so I'm learning a lot about unions, negotiations and federal mediators lately. It makes me think of this:
Somehow, I don’t think this strike will be quite as fun. No Christian Bale on the picket line either. But even so, at least I get to go to work.