On June 24, 2019, my biggest stressor was a key fob. It was my first day at Forest Hills Baptist Church. When I arrived that morning, Jeff Bowden, my supervisor, met me in the parking lot. As he escorted me into the building, you can probably imagine the feelings I had: excitement (a new adventure was beginning), wonder (what’s it going be like), and vulnerability (am I ready for this). We made our way to Jeff’s office for our first meeting, I followed along questioning if I would ever figure out all the different hallways. In fact, I kept my phone with me at all times those first few months so I could call the office just in case I got lost and couldn’t find my way back.
Jeff reviewed all the typical first day on the job information. Things were going well, until he gave me the key fob. Perplexed, I looked at him and the key fob waiting for more details, specifically how and where to use it. He didn’t even notice my confusion and simply said, “This is your key fob.” To Jeff, this probably seemed like a no brainer, but not to me. I stared at it hoping there would be a clue as to where to use it. Bolstering my courage, I asked what it was for. Jeff said the outside doors and left it at that.
I know what you’re probably thinking. What’s the big deal? It’s a key fob, not the flux capacitor from Back to the Future. And yet, it seemed like Jeff Bowden turned into Doc Brown spouting something very complicated to me. Embarrassed, I said okay rather than asking the obvious questions. Where and how do I use this key fob?
The rest of the morning my stress level slowly increased because I knew that lunch was coming. Leaving the building meant that my lack of key fob knowledge would soon be exposed. I kept quiet and left the office with the source of my stress dangling from my right pointer finger. (Okay, that was for dramatic effect. It was in my purse.) Wondering how I would get back into the building since I didn’t know what to do with the key fob, I left feeling defeated, a little stupid, and totally helpless.
As I was driving back to the office, I begged God to let someone be at the door who could show me where to use the key fob. He was gracious, and one of the assistants just happened to be coming out of the building when I needed to get back in. I promptly asked her to do a quick key fob orientation. I never revealed how vulnerable or silly I felt in that moment.
Today, I laugh when I think about the key fob story. It was just one of many stressors that would come during my first year at Forest Hills. In fact, the norm quickly became overcoming one stressful situation after another. In some ways, the key fob was God preparing me for all that was to come. Here are just a few lessons I’ve learned.
I saw being vulnerable as a weakness because it felt that way in the moment. Now, I realize it was an opportunity to ask for help. Assuming I should know what to do with the key fob negated the practical truth. I needed someone to show me the fob reader on the outside doors. (For the record, I didn’t even see the reader until the assistant showed it to me. It was dark brown and blended with the doorframe. Since then, I’ve also tried to use it on the announcement box where you push the button to request entrance into the building. Now you know the real story and I feel better confessing my cluelessness to the whole world.)
I also learned that asking for help reduces stress rather than adding to it. Again, I made a false assumption. Needing help doesn’t highlight ignorance. It simply reminds us that we can’t do life alone. We tend to think of need as a deficit when we were created to rely on others. In Genesis 2, we see Adam needing a helper because he was never designed to live life alone. He needed someone who would bring something unique to the relationship. Often, we read the creation story of Adam and Eve as primarily referring to marriage, but the bigger story is that all humans need help. We can’t do it alone. Sometimes, a simple key fob can stop you in your tracks. Asking for help alleviates shame and humiliation that come when we feel that we’re somehow lacking.
Perhaps the biggest lesson from the key fob was the reminder that God genuinely cares about the big and small things I face daily. Stressing over a key fob is hilarious today, but it wasn’t on June 24, 2019. Since then, I have walked through much more difficult things. As I celebrate my one-year anniversary, I look back in amazement. In a year, I learned how to use the key fob, how to navigate a new ministry while helping a church recover from a devastating loss over their senior pastor, how to use my voice to shepherd and encourage both our church and my coworkers, how to live in a world with a global pandemic, how to navigate working from home with a drastic reduction of human contact, how to become social on social media, how to lay down my pride and get in front of a video camera when I would rather have been behind it, how to pray and trust God every time I left my house not knowing what I would be exposed to, and how to connect with a new church family without being physically present.
The lesson of the key fob prepared me in some ways for all of this. After all, if God could ordain and orchestrate one assistant to walk out the door right when I needed to get into a building, then I’m pretty sure he cares about the much deeper issues and struggles that I have to face. As I begin my second year at Forest Hills Baptist Church, I have no idea what the future holds. I just know the one who has it all under control. Now every time I use that key fob, I think I hear Jesus chuckle before he whispers to my heart, “It’s okay. I’ve got this.”
Pamela Hall
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