Living My Faith vs. Just Doing My F’n Job

I went out for coffee with Rob last week. I’ve known him for probably twenty years. We were in a Bible study together for quite a while. I had my grandson, Asher, with me at the coffee shop. Asher is three years old, and my wife and I are his fulltime caregivers, so the lad is always with my wife and/or at my side. As usual when I am someplace with Asher, I have to focus on what the little boy is doing, as opposed to concentrating on other matters. Conversing with Rob was kind of haphazard. I often needed him to repeat whatever he had just said, because Asher was actively destroying a cookie or smearing chocolate on the tabletop. At one point, Rob smiled at me and said, “Frank, you’re living your faith. That’s good to see.”

I was taken aback by that comment. I don’t often think of myself as living my faith. What ran through my mind was, “I’m just doing my fucking job.”

That’s the way I see it. As Asher’s caregiver and legal guardian, I am not doing anything heroic. I’m just doing what needs to be done. To me, this is so blindingly obvious. The kid has no father in his life. His mother is very sick. The boy needs somebody to raise him, and that person is me. That person is also my wife, Karin. We are all he has.

It causes me pain to know that I live in a culture where doing what I am doing is somehow considered exceptional. As far as I can see, the purpose of life, at least my life, is to help people who need help. What else is there? Money? Power? Fame? Love God and love you neighbor. Everything else is meaningless.

Sometimes, I would much rather be doing something besides watching over Asher. Caring for him qualifies as work. Much of my time is spent doing things that are mundane. However, there is often great joy and satisfaction in being with Asher, even when he is crying or yelling or generally being unmanageable. I never expected to be his mentor and protector. He came into my life, and I accepted responsibility for his wellbeing. I made a conscious decision to be with him, and I have no regrets.

I just laid him own for a nap. I held Asher in my arms until his eyes closed and his breathing became calm and regular. I felt his body relax and I knew his mind had drifted far away. I got up and tucked him under the comforter.

What more could I want?

Frank (Francis) Pauc is a graduate of West Point, Class of 1980. He completed the Military Intelligence Basic Course at Fort Huachuca and then went to Flight School at Fort Rucker. Frank was stationed with the 3rd Armor Division in West Germany at Fliegerhorst Airfield from December 1981 to January 1985. He flew Hueys and Black Hawks and was next assigned to the 7th Infantry Division at Fort Ord, CA. He got the hell out of the Army in August 1986.

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