the value of worthless

My first job on a construction site in college wasn’t what I imagined it would be. Rather than strapping on a tool-belt and getting to work framing walls like I expected I was handed a push-broom and shown where to dump the wood chips, the rubbish and the trash left behind by the carpenters, painters and crews as they moved through a house.

At first I felt worthless, seeing myself as a glorified janitor. I mentioned that to one of the foremen one day at lunch. He thought for a minute and then leaned over and picked up a wood chip.

“How valuable do you think this is?” he asked. I shrugged.

“Pretty worthless,” I said. “I throw those away all the time.”

He nodded, finished the last of his baloney sandwich and beckoned me over to a window.

“See those shims? They’re chips of wood with a purpose.” He pulled his hammer out of its holster and lifted the window up. A double-hung window, the weights to keep it in place hadn’t been adjusted yet and it quickly slammed shut when he let it go. He lifted the window up again and this time put the wood chip in the rail between window and frame and lightly tapped it into place. The window stayed open.

He turned to look at me.

“There’s no such thing as worthless. There’s just stuff that hasn’t found the place where it’s needed. And that goes for people too,” he said. “Sometimes it’s not so obvious but keep looking.”

I nodded. He pulled the chip out of the rail and handed it to me.

“Just a reminder,” he said.

Over the next week or so I kept that chip in my pocket. I used it to level a wobbly table, to wedge a door open while I moved a piece of furniture into my apartment and then finally gave it to one of the finish carpenters to shim a piece of cove molding with. I hated to see it go, but I learned the lesson. None of us, no matter how insignificant we may feel or think we are, are worthless.

Then the work ethic my father had hammered into me kicked in. I decided to be the best janitor ever – and soon the job site was clean, picked up, trash free, lumber piled in one place, tools organized, extension cords coiled. Over time I realized what a difference my efforts made. Crews were able to pile supplies, access tools, move faster and safer and finish tasks without having to dig through the debris of the day.

Eventually they noticed the difference too. That’s when they began showing me to do things and talking to me at lunch. I learned how to tape a room for painting, how to hang drywall, and how to cope molding. I had found where I was needed and fulfilled a purpose. And that made all the difference.

We all have a place, a purpose and a value. Some times it just takes a while to find it.

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