Broken Sewing Machines

 

The sewing machine stopped working today.

 

I wanted it to work. I wanted to finish that pillowcase. But
it just wasn’t going to happen.

 

So I finally took a moment, sat down across from Sandra, and
talked with her as she painted. We discussed snakes (she was painting water
snakes and lilies), our families, America,
the other communities around Palumpa, friends, and a lot of other things. In
the midst of all this talking, it hit me like a ton of bricks.

 

I’ve been learning about putting relationship over my right
to be right in conflict. But when it comes to people versus tasks, I’ll pick
the task. If the task is people, I pour into them. Otherwise, it’s get the work
done and forget about the people. I’ve had one teammate call me out on it at
least a couple of times in the last couple of weeks, so it probably should have
hit me sooner. It just didn’t.

 

This task thing isn’t about whether I’m a Mary or a Martha,
though. I’m much of a Mary than I ever will be a Martha – I love to sit and observe
more than anything else.

 

The thing about tasks, though, is that they let me hide. I
don’t have to share. I don’t have to open up my soul and let people see what’s
inside of me. I can stuff every bit of baggage I carry as deeply as possible,
and that’s completely okay because I’m accomplishing something. Doesn’t matter
what it is. I’m accomplishing something.

 

Which isn’t what the Race is about at all. It’s about
people. It’s about their stories,
more so than about mine. And how do I tell their stories when I’m so bent on
getting the task at hand accomplished?

 

I can’t.

 

And I realized this morning, as I said goodbye to Sandra and
left the Women’s Centre, that it wasn’t hard to say goodbye. It wasn’t hard
because I hadn’t invested in her. Not until this morning, which made me sad and
frustrated as I walked back to the house. I wasn’t even concerned about the
pillowcase (and I’m still not). My concern is simply this:

 

How do I change?