The Exchange of a Medium
"Whenever we pray for money, God sends us work." My neighbor said this to me years ago and we both laughed. Teresa Sullivan must have prayed that prayer a lot as she had 10 children, homeschooled them all, and her husband was in no wise a rich man. I admired their industry. The oldest child was 17 when I moved away from that neighborhood and he'd been CEO of his own business for almost 4 years. Christopher wasn't incorporated, he was licensed some way, "doing business as." He ran a lawn care/snow removal service. At first it was just him, but as his brothers, Jesse and Aaron, got old enough they became his employees. Their cheerful demeanor, professional attitude, hardwork, and excellence of service won him contracts with almost every home within easy walking distance. That would be close to a hundred lawns to mow and driveways to clear.
Christopher's parents encouraged him in his endeavor and refused to second guess his decision making. I was amused by his stance with his sister. Katherine was a couple years younger and wanted to join the business, but he wouldn't allow her to mow lawns. When she pushed for a place, he created a whole new sideline for her and the next younger sister, Colleen. They were allowed to clean houses and do childcare. (I know it seems sexist, but in Christopher's defense, he had good reason to question whether his little sisters could handle the heavy equipment.) To accommodate them, he printed little brochures from the computer and distributed door to door to introduce the new service. Rates were reasonable and those kids were never idle.
I used to ask them, "What are you working for today?" Because I was fascinated by their answers. Christopher held weekly board meetings and each employee got to bring his or her concerns to the table. They were each paid a wage, but any profits (and there were always profits) were designated to a specific purpose.
"We've decided to send a donation to such and so program feeding children in Somalia. Colleen needs new glasses. Katherine wants to attend a seminar in Nashville. Jesse has an opportunity to study and join a Red Cross emergency response team. We heard last week about a women's shelter in St Paul that needs baby clothes and formula. The Hennepin County food shelf had a lot of calls last week and they need to be restocked."
In the three and a half years that I lived across the street from them, the only "luxury" I can ever remember them naming as their goal was when they sent their parents to a nice hotel to celebrate their 20th anniversary. Their home contained sufficient but minimal furnishings. There was no game sytem, one tv that I never saw tuned to anything except PBS, and very few toys of any kind considering the number of kids under that roof. (In addition to the five I've named, there were five "little ones.")
Christopher was responsible for filing all the paperwork for taxes and whatever governmental requirements are placed on licensed operations. He had capital expenses. The family garage held an impressive array of professional grade equipment. When we moved away, we had a brand new snowblower from Sears, never used. I'm not going to tell you how the negotiations went but that 17 year old got an incredible deal from me. We had exactly 6 weeks notice in which to sell our home and relocate. Happily we had already had people express an interest in the house, so we had a buyer lined up quickly, unhappily we'd been hit by a severe storm that damaged the roof and stripped paint from the siding. Just like everyone else in the Minneapolis/St. Paul area. I had to get that damage repaired before I could sell, so my priority was finding a contractor who would leapfrog us over the long line of other people waiting for repairs. Christopher knew that I didn't want the hassle of advertising the snow blower for sale, (in fact, if it hadn't been for the fun of negotiating, I would probably have given the thing to him for avoid having to deal with it at all.) The second we reached an agreement and shook hands, he took out his checkbook and wrote out the check on the spot.
The morning we left, the moving van arrived five hours early. On top of that, the driver told me that he had to leave within four hours regardless of whether we got all the stuff loaded. On top of that, I had been packing my house myself to save money on the move, but the last four days I'd had flu. So I knew that I was going to have to get up very early and work hard to meet the original deadline, I had been counting on every second of those five hours. When I lost that time, everything fell apart. I literally sat down on the sidewalk and started crying. Christopher or Jesse - I can't remember now which it was - had started down the street with a lawn mower. (yes, it was 7 am and they were already at work) I wiped my face and played down the mess in the way of adults who are embarrassed to be caught by a child in a moment of weakness. (Probably, now that I remember that emotion, it would have been the younger brother.)
I walked back into my house and within moments the phone rang. Teresa Sullivan, mother to the crew, asked, "How much help do you need?" They whisked Tucker off to their house. Michael had already gone to a sitter, but Tucker was still nursing and I had to keep him closer. My house came alive with Sullivans. They sorted, they folded, they carried, they packed . . . and my things were all loaded on that truck with seconds to spare before the driver pulled out. That day they wouldn't allow me to pay them. I'd become the recipient of their joint decision to invest their labor. I think it was Katherine who explained, "Money isn't the point. We have to use money because the food bank doesn't need it's lawn mowed, and those kids in Somalia don't need snow shovelled. Money is just a way to exchange the kind of labor we can do for the kind of labor we can't do because of our lack of skill, or location. We don't need money because there's nothing to exchange, you can use the labor we can do."
Money isn't the point.
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