Matt Evans' Work Stories: One Job, Many Titles (including "the worst")

Welcome to the first post in the second annual series of guest posts on the subject of our everyday work lives. For the remaining weeks of Ordinary Time, I’ve invited some friends to share a one-day snapshot into their work life that will help us see what they know to be true right now about who they are made to be.

Today’s guest is a friend from our days in Austin whom I once mentioned on this blog with this stellar description: “Since coming to Austin, we have come to love many, many people, but none more than the inimitable, bow-tie-wearing, country horse veterinarian, pipe-crafting Matt Evans. He oversees the [Christ Church] garden and blog. He's pretty awesome himself.” I can’t think of a better introduction now and am so thankful to Matt for kicking off this second annual blog series.

p.s. I hope you’ll take a few minutes after reading Matt’s post about the day in his life as an Equine veterinarian, oil painter of pictures, business owner, husband, and father to check out @evanspaintingandstuff on Instagram. For an extra shot of fun, watch Matt’s stand-up comedy debut at this year’s Funniest Person in Austin contest.

First of all, I’d like to say I’ve always liked the idea of Ordinary Time. I think it started when I was in junior high and learned that the Episcopal Church I went to was part of a diocese that had a dude that was called “Canon to the Ordinary”. I didn’t have any idea what he did for a living, but any job who’s title was “Canon” had to be a pretty kick-butt job, and I certainly considered myself at best to be ordinary, so turns out, he wasn’t just a Canon, he was my Canon. Actually, he was just an assistant Bishop and probably divided his time pretty equally between bureaucratic logistics and hoping to get a promotion out of canon-dom, but it captured my imagination all the same.

Now I’m all grown up and have read a few things and I know that Ordinary is a liturgical term that defines this large period of our year and lives that are not Advent or Easter or Pentecost, but Ordinary. And here we are, smack in the middle of Ordinary time again like we mostly are, and Tamara asked me to write a bit about what I fill my Ordinary time with, my Vocation if you will (you will.) Vocation seems to be a popular buzz word among the liturgical thinking community just now. Our church has hired a Director of Vocation recently and while I’m not any more sure of what he does than the Canon, I haven’t seen him at my office helping me extract a horse tooth as of yet, so I’m guessing Vocation is a term that, like Ordinary, is used to encompass that part of the Christian life that is, well, most of it.

So, here is a day in the life of Matt. I am a husband, a father, a small business owner, an equine veterinarian (that explains the whole horse tooth bit, better, I’m guessing), an amateur painter and a uber-amateur stand-up comedian. You’ll see a little of all that here. Hopefully what you will also see is what I know but often miss – I am the worst person (get in the sinner line behind me, Paulie!) who the best things have happened to and my daily life is filled with innumerable opportunities to serve, to love, make a difference to God’s creation and his people. You know, Ordinary Vocation.

My day usually starts with a jog. When it’s hot here, which is almost always, I run without a shirt, so I spared you a photograph of that. You’re welcome. I listen to podcast and audiobooks while I jog, which might make me occasionally laugh out loud or cry (the ending of The Tale of Two Cities comes to mind as inducing a tearful jog) and I like the idea that a shirtless, middle-aged man, wearing a headlamp, who is laughing and or crying, might at any moment come hurtling out of the darkness and startle a passerby. I live out in the country so that never happens, but, it could, and that makes me happy.

I do see Patrick, the paper man, every day. He flashes his lights at me so I know it’s him and I yell “morning, Patrick!” and he greets me as he drives by. I mention this here because that little endorphin release we get when we great a familiar person – Patrick for me, the people on your commute, the coffee person, whoever your people are – is the way God made our bodies react so that we would want to be in community, (I think – I am not a psychologist or a theologian or in any way qualified to comment on the human condition. This is the last time I will make this disclaimer, but keep it in mind as we go). By the way, Patrick and I met formally when he accidentally almost hit me with a paper one morning and I yelled a surprised and angry explicative, prompting Patrick to stop, apologize and introduce himself. Told you I am the worst.

Here’s my family all preparing breakfast and their lunches in our galley kitchen all at the same time. It’s like a scene from Kitchen Confidential if Anthony Bourdain ran a staff of children. It’s rough and noisy and I try to already have my coffee made and be out of there before it starts. I am so filled with gratitude for my wife and girls, I never thought I would be so blessed. Also, I am annoyed by their wants, needs, noise and general confusion every morning. “Put away your dishes!” “What do you mean you need help with your homework project now!” “Be quiet, I can’t hear as I re-watch last week’s football game for the third time!” are things I say routinely, yelling to be heard above the din. I know I should be the husband that Christ is to His Church, I should be the father that God is to us. But more frequently than I like, I am thinking about my day and selfish needs and literally miss the forest of this vocation for the kitchen full of noisy, messy short people. That’s an ironing board in the background. I have no idea how to use it. The one year of my life I needed to iron, I developed the patented Matt Evans pop hard and hang straight from the dryer no iron technique. I know, I am the worst.

Here’s my morning meeting with my practice partner, Damon (his eyes aren’t always closed like that. It’s a terrible picture. But look at that hair – so jealous), and office Manager, Jess. We meet weekly or more often to decide difficult stuff about our staff, clients, fiscal matters – hard stuff - and I love it. We joke and laugh and have a generally really good time. We still get our work in and I don’t think we would get any more done if we were dour. Also, I think, as we fill up the clinic with laughter in the morning, that’s got to be good for morale. I am filled with gratitude for these two, also. Especially Damon, a business partnership is basically a sexless marriage, and we make a great couple. Yes, those are my paintings in the office. Yes, I am the kind of guy who would decorate his own office with his own artwork. I’ve been telling you, I’m the worst.

This is morning rounds with the other veterinarians. We meet at 8:30 to discuss all the hospitalized patients and any challenging cases we are working on. The effort and thought we put into our patient care and practicing high-quality medicine is a great source of pride for us at Austin Equine. We also make time to laugh and catch up, which is vital to maintaining a team feel when we all work separately for a lot of the day. If the intern is presenting a case too slowly or I am just not making myself work at it, I’ve developed a bit of a reputation for zoning out. I blame undiagnosed ADHD, but it is probably what you are guessing – that I am the worst.

Here’s my first appointment of the day. A routine oral exam on a young quarter horse mare. The family who owns her are long-time great clients. They have three daughters who usually all come in with the horses together. Around five years ago, they brought a horse in with a minor puncture wound that I treated in a routine fashion and didn’t think about much more as I was sure it would be fine. About four days later I was pulling into the clinic in the morning and saw the family already in the drive and unloading the horse. By the time I was getting out of my car the oldest daughter had made it to me “it’s infected!” she exclaimed, followed shortly by the middle daughter “it’s infected!” and, right on her heels, the youngest “it’s infected!” They were like the Russian nesting dolls of bad news, delivered before I even had been at work for one minute. Unlike the day I met Patrick, I fought the urge to curse loudly and, even though I thought they were wrong, had a look at the horse. They were right, it was infected. Those Matryoshka Dolls had made an accurate diagnosis. And you know the rest – I’m the worst.

Here we are with the main case of the day for me. This mare needed extraction of an infected molar. I don’t know if that sounds easy to you, but it’s not. Oral surgery of the equid is not for the faint of heart or weak of back. Unfortunately, I am occasionally in possession of both of those, sometimes concurrently. It is one of the more difficult things I do and the stress level I have about the procedure remains high 16 years into my veterinary career. There are opportunities for complications and failure and, even when it goes smoothly, it is a lot physically and mentally difficult work. But that feeling you get when the tooth is out and your patient is eating well is worth all the stress and effort. You can also see in these pictures me working with one of our interns, one of two newly graduated veterinarians that we are training at the clinic this year. The opportunity to influence the practice career of a colleague – how they think about medical cases, interact with clients, treat their colleagues and support staff, run their future small businesses – is an amazing responsibility that I relish. But somedays, in the middle of a difficult case that has me doubting myself, I fail to live up to the vocation of teacher and mentor. I don’t know if that makes me the worst, but I certainly feel like it.

Here our other intern and I are suturing a laceration on a horse’s face. I got into veterinary medicine after reading all the James Herriot books. You haven’t read them? Stop reading this and go start All Creature Great and Small. Way better than this drivel. I never feel more like Mr. Herriot than when I am seeing an emergency out in the field. If only I had an English accent and there was a pub nearby, oh man, I would be him. Of course, I can’t remember those good James Herriot feelings when the pager goes off at 2 am and I have to put on actual pants and go back to work and I throw a one to eighteen-minute (the entire drive to the clinic) long hissy fit. My poor wife and dogs have to hear the worst of it. I wouldn’t do that if I wasn’t the worst.

I don’t go there every day, but let’s pretend it’s a Monday and I wrapped my day up with art class at the Burke Center for Youth. The Burke Center is a residential treatment center for foster boys ages 11-18 who, for any number of reasons, cannot be placed in a traditional foster home.

The Burke Center is right next door to our clinic and we work on their horses that are part of their Equine therapy program. I don’t know exactly how this transpired, but about three years ago I offered to teach drawing and painting to the boys there if they were interested. Now, I’m a pretty amateur artist and the boys deserve better, but nobody better has volunteered, so I’m still the art teacher at the Burke.

When I am drawing and painting, I move all the way over to the right side of my brain and I’m not thinking about work or what’s stressful or even funny or how I can be the worst. I’m just seeing lines and shapes and values and it as an amazing break from the rest of the world. I am fatigued when I’m done but somehow rested and filled up, too. That is the gift I want to give to the Burke boys.

So once weekly we draw in charcoal or paint in oil from life and they hear me say over and over “work large to small”, “squint to see values” and (my favorite art quote, from living painter Marc Dalessio) “if you are having fun, then you are not doing it right.”

Yep, even when I volunteer, still the worst.

Here’s some of the Austin Equine Staff wrapping up the day in our central pharmacy. We love our people at Austin Equine, the ability to employ and make a happy place to work and grow for all these people makes all the hard parts of this job worth it. I don’t sound like the worst, just then? You should see how proud I was of myself as I typed that. Yep, back to the worst.

I hope you have enjoyed a day in my life. I hope you saw a sinner (maybe not Chief, sorry I stepped on your toes and called you Paulie, Paul) who is struggling to live the vocation that God has blessed him with. So much opportunity to love and serve his people in the every day and every activity, no matter how ordinary. Now if only I could get people to start using my new nickname I’ve assigned myself. “Dr. Canon Evans” Catchy, right?

I’m sorry, I’m the worst.

Matt Evans is an Equine Veterinarian and part-owner of Austin Equine. A rare native Austinite, Matt remembers when Austin was neither weird nor cool, but just home. Matt met his wife Ellen in the 4th grade but they didn’t start dating until their junior year at Texas A&M. That should tell you more about Matt’s tenacity than his patience. Matt and Ellen have two girls, Katy Ann, 12, and Lucy, 9. They have been foster parents in the past, but are taking a break while Ellen focuses on her work with Foster Village. (Check them out - doing really important work!)
In his spare time Matt is an oil painter of pictures, mostly landscapes, and harbors an irrational belief that he could make it as a stand up comedian, if only all of the comedy shows didn’t happen in central Austin after his bed time.
You can follow Matt at @evanspaintingandstuff on Instagram for regular updates on his life as an Equine veterinarian, oil painter of pictures, and occasional stand up comedian. You can also see Matt attempt stand-up comedy at youtu.be/kG1Q47F3Zjw

Here’s a benediction and song for all of us, and especially those like Matt who work in the area of Business.

“Lord God, send your Spirit upon and empower these your servants who desire to live out their faith in their workplaces. Give them wisdom, Lord, to know what it means to be your disciple at work. Help them as they face difficult decisions and work to balance the priorities of business and your Kingdom. Empower them in their relationships at work, so that they might treat all of their colleagues, including those they supervise and those who supervise them, with respect and love. For those in leadership in their companies, may they know best to embody and live out your call to justice, for those they employ, for their customers, for their clients, and for the larger world. Help them be good stewards of all you have entrusted to them. Amen.”

All Creatures of Our God and King, Norton Hall Band