On being an Officer’s Kid, though most often Brat…

I am an Officer’s Kid. I’m OK. I’m also more commonly known as an Officer’s Brat, or OB. Which reminds me of BO, but that’s a different subject. Anyway, what does that mean? Well, in its simplest form it means that my parents are Salvation Army Officers. But what does that actually mean in my life? Well, I have come to realize that I am a strange Officer’s Kid. The stereotypical OB is arrogant, spoiled, lazy, rebellious, falsely righteous, and counterproductive to their parents’ work. Despite the fact that I have probably been all these things during at least at one point in my life or another I seriously doubt that would be how most people who know me would describe me, yet I know too many OBs who give the title “brat” a new meaning. I don’t say all this to brag. I actually say all this just to point out that I’m not trying to say what an Officer’s Kid should be like, because the stereotype is already set and many would reject me from it, I’m just trying to say what it means in my life.

The biggest thing being an Officer’s Kid has done to change my life is to make me work. Until going to Houghton I never had a paid job in my life, and even at Houghton both my jobs are easy sitting jobs. But all my life I’ve worked with, not for, my parents. We moved recently and our new corps is kind of a mess. In some parts it’s just trashed (today I had a box I was about to add to the 120 I had already stacked when it fell apart because it was decomposing due to the fact that it had been sitting in a dirty wet corner so long…) and so we’ve been doing lots of cleaning and work. When I came home to Estonia for summer “vacation” I had some wild dreams about spending my time curled up with my laptop playing video games, and even having so much free time that I would rearrange my whole computer and external hard drive, and then because I would still be rolling in free time I would read books and sleep all day. My dreams never turn out to be true.

Of course pretty soon after returning to Estonia I had to start helping my family pack to move. None of it was MY stuff. I had already moved out and just had a couple of suitcases. But it had to be done, so I did it. Then we got to our new city, Narva, and we had to start unpacking, rearranging furniture, fixing broken furniture, etc., etc. Then we still hadn’t (and haven’t yet) finished that when we started on the corps. Cleaning room after room, emptying out so much stuff, hanging up and giving away clothes, carrying furniture up flights of stairs, doing whatever needed to be done. For a week and a half now every night I’ve gone to bed with my back hurting and woken up with it having gone from a flaring ache to more of dull ache which would flare up again by lunch time after a morning of work. It’s crazy. I’m tired. But why do I do it?

Some people have commented that this situation isn’t fair. Some of the stuff is family stuff, so maybe that’s a little more fair, but still. It’s not my stuff I was packing for Narva. It’s not my stuff I’m helping move and unpack now that we’re here. And this isn’t even where I live for more than a month or so and then I’m off to America. So some people would say that’s a little unfair. Now, the corps stuff is definitely just unfair. This isn’t my corps in any way, shape or form. I don’t know the people and I have no way of doing so because I don’t speak their language. I’m not a soldier of this corps and I never will be and I will never be here for long and there is no way any investment I make in this corps will ever pay off for me. I will never use these rooms I’m cleaning. In fact I’ll never get to see what they are used for once I’ve cleaned them. I’m not doing any work that will ever pay off for, or even have results seen by me. This is terribly unfair. This is supposed to by my summer vacation! I’m supposed to be spending all my time at the beach flirting and tanning, on my laptop gaming and surfing, or just lying around reading! So what the heck am I doing all this work for?

Well, when my parents first became officers and first started asking me to help them I considered it terrible slave labor and fought them to do as little work as possible. But as I’ve grown older I’ve started to have a slightly different perspective. I don’t do this work for me. I do this work for love. When I work I think of three loves that I work for, in order of importance to me. 1: I love God. If by doing all this terrible work and having my back hurt all the time I’m serving God I guess that’s worth it. I love God, and so I want to serve him, whether that be by sharing the gospel or by cleaning and moving boxes out of rooms that will be used for sharing the gospel or otherwise serving God than I’ll do it. 2: I love my parents. I really do. So if I can help them than I will. This only goes so far though. When somebody said my situation was unfair my mom said of course I was helping because I wouldn’t just sit at home and let my mother work so hard at the corps without help. I found this funny. I really would have no problem with sitting at home doing a second play through of Mass Effect while my mom slaved away doing her chosen work at her chosen profession where she has been called by God and gets paid. But loves 1 and 3 collaborate with my love for my parent’s to make me work. 3: I love The Salvation Army. I feel called to serve God. And at least at this point in my life I feel called to serve God through The Salvation Army. So I just love The Salvation Army. Salvationists are usually great people, and I really have a heart for the work the Army does. I just feel at home with the Army. Of course the Army has its flaws, and as an Officer’s Kid I know them better than I’d like to, but I still love it. So even though this technically isn’t my corps it’s still my Army. So, to serve God, my parents, and The Salvation Army I work.

Now I just realized one thing I should add. Earlier I typed “If by doing all this terrible work and having my back hurt all the time I’m serving God I guess I’m glad to do it.” I changed that to say it’s worth it because I realized that’s not true. I’m not always glad to do this work, not matter how much love I have. My back hurts, my arms ache, my whole body is physically tired, I’m not glad for any of that. But that’s why it’s called serving. If it needs to be done and if I love those who need it done then I’ll do it. I don’t have to enjoy it, but I’ll do it.

So anyway, this is probably the first blog post that I’ve been sort of asked to write. I wasn’t really asked to write it, I was just asked to get this message out, and I thought my blog would be the best way to do it. I think a lot of people could think about what they love and what they can do for that love. Well, I must be off now. I hope you’re glad I’m blogging again. I know I am.