On my first day in my last job, I was fortunate enough to be working with a couple of people I already knew very well. So when I had trouble logging on to the network, one of the IT guys cheerfully told me, “We’ve set your password to your favourite Bible reference”. Not only did this instantly fix the problem, but it reassured me that I was in a friendly environment.
On my first day in my current job, once again I was unable to log on. I was advised to call IT, at which point I was informed I had been placed in a queue. The first available adviser was with me shortly, and although the problem was eventually fixed, it all felt rather impersonal.
As time passes, I notice more big company / small company differences, with a mixture of emotions. I like being the one person responsible for my area of work in my department. I worry about what will happen when I’m away or off sick. I struggle to know who to ask for help when I can’t embed my customised maps properly.
A big company affords the opportunity to move up more easily without moving out. Contracts, payroll and pensions are handled every day. When someone asks where you work, they can genuinely nod approvingly when you mention the name.
A little company gives employees the chance to mix a bit more, to share ideas and issues, and get to know what is going on. The finance guy probably has a desk seconds away from the IT guy, and they are both experts on pretty much everything.
But what I am coming to realise is that it is not so much about where we work as how we work. Every company has its pros and cons, and every workplace provides opportunities to learn and to meet new people. We can be grateful for the blessings and persevere in the struggles, doing our best to shine like stars wherever we are.
Forgive me for a slightly more morbid musing than usual – maybe it’s because I recently finished reading The Fault in Our Stars. But I have a theory, which I have just nicknamed ‘bus theory’, which inspires the way I see the world and the way I make decisions.
The theory goes, quite simply, that you can’t bank on anything definitely happening to you, or not. You can make reasonably informed guesses and you can weigh up odds and memorise statistics, but ultimately, you can’t know for sure, because you’re not in control. You might get hit by a bus tomorrow (hence the name of the theory). The world might come to an end – and no one knows when that will be, not even Jesus (see Matthew 24:36).
There are some pretty big implications of bus theory to the way I live.
Bus theory asks that when I make decisions, I base them not on assumptions that my life will pan out in Cinderella fashion.
Bus theory prevents me from making conventional choices just because they are statistically safer.
Bus theory leaves me free to marry Prince Charming even if the likelihood is he will die before me. (Bus theory actually means I can marry Shrek or the Hunchback of Notre Dame, because I can’t guarantee that tomorrow I won’t be in the same boat.)
Bus theory makes me feel better about not always managing to eat my five-a-day.
But bus theory also means being ready to face what comes. Worrying less about what might happen to me tomorrow, because I have no authority over that. Worrying less about the future altogether, because I know that my ultimate destiny is to be with Jesus forever.
