A Birthday Candy Jar

A long time ago, I worked at one of the greatest small businesses in Central Texas, Mickan Motor Company. I learned so much while working there it's impossible to label it all. Mechanical, yes: tire repair & service, rotate & balance (R&B), oil & filter changes (OFC), and basic mechanic work & diagnosis. I also learned service: caring for the person, not just the problem - even when the person was part of the problem. Lots of places teach service, though, including the famous chicken place that uses holstein cows for marketing. More than anything else, though, I learned how and when to listen, especially to old timers (the men, not the pocket knives, although we sold those as well - the knives, not the men) who just wanted someone to listen. I've written and talked about Ray, Ethel, and their son, Danny, and how Ray was more than a boss, but also a fatherly friend. 

One of the little things that made Mickan's shop special was the ever-present tubs of bubble gum and candy - especially the Tootsie Rolls and Pops. Kids and adults would reach in and grab a little sweet treat while paying for their tractor tires, the state inspection, a cold beer, or 20 gallons of fuel. No "3 for 25 cents" at Mickan's: these were small gifts that said, "Thanks for trusting us." More than once, Ray would pull out a small paper sack - the kind used to camouflage a tall boy beer from a casual glance - and tell a kid to grab a couple handfuls of candy ("He'p yerself!") for the road. I, myself, as an employee, a customer, and a visitor, would reach into the jar to find something to chew.

I learned a lot from the Mickan's and our customers that, in many ways, prepared me for ministry better than seminary classrooms with professors holding advanced degrees from highly respected institutions of learning and study. I learned about accepting responsibility for mistakes, giving and receiving grace and compassion, dealing with hot-tempered people, and listening to people tell their story. In many ways, it was a classroom for practical theology, and the professor was a (usually) kind man named Ray, whose working man's PhD was earned under hoods of cars, in grain fields, and his business ledgers. 

Like I said, I've written about these wonderful people and this place before. I told some stories about working for Ray, and also lamented his death a few years back. Recently, I wrote a book and dedicated it to his memory as a storyteller. I shared a draft of the book with some people at my church. 

Yesterday, for my birthday, I got a very special gift: a candy jar of my own, filled with Tootsie Roll Pops, and labeled MICKAN'S. I proudly set it on the corner of my desk at church. 

I learned from one of the best storytellers in Central Texas, so I'm ready to answer if someone asks, "What's with the candy jar?" I'll tell them to sit down, and be patient because this story might take a little while, but not to worry because I'll give them the short version, but they might as well reach in there and grab a lollypop.

I'll talk about Ray, and Walburg, and a magical place called Mickan's, where I learned how to tell stories and how to listen between the words to what is being said in the silence. And then, I'll probably talk about the weather for a minute: When's it gonna rain/warm up/cool down? Well, I don't rightly know, but we're one day closer.... Then, after a moment's pause. I'll lean back and ask, "Well, what can I do for you?" I'll listen between the words, ask questions, and offer words of encouragement, prayer and blessing. 

Then, after we part company, I'll reach into my candy jar, sit back, and try to figure out just how many licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie Roll Pop. 

Then again, the world may never know.