I'm about to close the door behind me when I take one last look into the room. It holds a million memories. Memories of days spent with people I loved, doing a job I truly loved.
Tears fill my eyes, then I remember that God has new plans for me. I close the door. My time here is finished.
When I first applied for the job as church secretary, I didn't talk to the minister. The head of the hiring committee checked my credentials. I could type, use the adding machine and had my mornings free. The only added stipulation was that I was to keep the congregation of 400 and the minister happy. Thirty years later, I still consider them my personal friends.
My first office was located a good distance from the minister's study. Really not a bad idea as once the Gestetner machine got humming you could hear little else.
The initial challenge was the electric typewriter, which had a very long carriage. Computer-minded people who just click on portrait or landscape may find this difficult to understand but it was the only way to do the Sunday bulletins in those days. I finally mastered the typewriter. Next was the Gestetner machine. This unique contraption stood about one foot high and held a special form that when typed on and attached to the machine would make as many copies as you wanted or until the paper ran out, whichever came first. Getting the thin, transparent sheet on the machine without a wrinkle and without adorning yourself with Gestetner ink was a challenge, but eventually I learned how.
A tiny kitchen was located right behind the minister's study. One morning he was doing some counselling with a female parishioner. As I tidied the few dishes in the sink, a large plate slipped, crashing to the floor. Later I apologized to the minister. With a twinkle in his eye he observed, "When you're counselling an upset woman it never hurts for them to know there is someone else in the building."
One year it was decided to update the church roll. I knew just the person to help. Our most senior church lady spent two hours reviewing the names with me. How sorry I was that there wasn't a tape recorder running at the time. She had me mesmerized with her stories and memories of people well before my time.
Getting help wasn't always easy and one summer day we were desperate. Everyone we phoned was on holidays.
Like an answer to a prayer, the phone rang. A group of young people from the East were in town looking for a worthy cause. They'd give us a hand if we'd just give them lunch. Where they came from or where they went, I never did find out. God works in mysterious ways.
We had a conference one week with many out-of-towners. I made sure coffee was on and the bathrooms tidy. The secretary's office was right across from the washrooms. A man walked in one morning and said he was sorry to bother me but he needed some paper. My cheeks blazing, I reached under the counter and handed him a roll of toilet paper. His cheeks blazing he handed it back. "What I really want is some writing paper," he explained.
The church renovations were done and then suddenly both the ministers decided to move on. I too felt my time here was finished.
A few years ago I visited the senior lady who had done the church roll years before. She was in a nursing home and said she couldn't remember me . then, peering at me intently, she added "But, there is the aura of church about you."
It was the nicest compliment I ever received.
