The Janitor’s Handbook – Chapter 6 – brikorn.com

Chapter Six – Morale Projects

Initiative is the soul of excellence. You can mop a floor perfectly, polish a doorknob until it gleams like gold, and still never lift the spirit of a place if you don’t take initiative. Initiative means you see a need before anyone points it out, and you step into it willingly—not for praise, not for pay, but because you care. It’s a quiet kind of leadership. It’s the difference between someone who clocks in and someone who takes ownership.

Sometimes you have to take risks. Not foolish risks that threaten your job or your integrity, but little leaps of faith—creative gestures that tell people, “This building is alive. Somebody here cares.” The truth is, if the worst thing that can happen is that someone tells you to undo what you’ve done, then it’s worth doing. Because most of the time, they won’t tell you to undo it—they’ll thank you for having done it.

Taking initiative is how beauty begins. It’s the way a janitor becomes an artist. You begin to look at walls and corners and see possibility. You begin to sense morale as something tangible, something that can be cleaned, repaired, and raised up just like a window or a floor. And so, over the years, I’ve made it my quiet habit to create what I call morale projects throughout the building—small acts of goodness meant to brighten the hearts of those who work here.

The Inspiration Board

It started with a plain dry-erase board I mounted on the wall near the restroom in the common area. I wrote across the top: “Inspire us. Leave a joyful note.” Below it, I left a few colored markers—red, blue, and green. Then I waited.

Within a day, someone wrote: “Today is a good day to smile.” Another wrote: “Jesus loves you more than you know.” Over time, the board became like a public diary of encouragement. Notes appeared in all kinds of handwriting—some thoughtful, some playful. Occasionally a sour message would appear, but I’d simply wipe it away with my hand, and the white surface would shine again, ready for more kindness.

It reminded me of what the Bible says: “Be not overcome of evil, but overcome evil with good” (Romans 12:21 KJV). That’s what morale work really is—erasing the bitterness of life and leaving space for something better. The board taught me that morale is like a dry-erase surface. It needs maintenance, forgiveness, and a fresh start now and then.

The Wisdom Cards

Another idea came to me one night while cleaning. I began printing small cards with beautiful images on one side—scenes of nature, sunlight, calm waters—and on the other, I printed short sayings about wisdom, peace, and gratitude. Then I placed them discreetly in one of the upstairs bathrooms.

It was an experiment. I didn’t know if anyone would notice, but people did. The idea was simple: they come for relief, but they leave with revelation. There’s something tender about giving someone a moment of reflection in a place they least expect it. A bathroom is where people pause—away from phones, away from meetings. It’s a quiet minute where a gentle word can reach them.

That’s how the cards work. They remind people that goodness can be found anywhere, even in the humblest corners of life. They remind me, too, that inspiration isn’t bound by place—it can live wherever someone dares to plant it.

The Children’s Dentist Prayer Book

Down the hall, the children’s dentist invited me to place a prayer book in their waiting area—a bright little notebook with a colorful cover and plenty of blank pages inside. Patients and parents could write their prayers, their thanks, or even stories of small miracles.

When I read the entries, I pray over each one personally and mark it to show it has been prayed for. Some are simple—“Please help my mom feel better.” Some are profound—“Thank You for saving my son.”

There’s something deeply moving about these small written prayers. It’s as if each page becomes a window into a soul. I think of what Scripture says: “The effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much” (James 5:16 KJV). Even a janitor can help carry the burdens of others before God. Sometimes morale work is not about brightness or cheer—it’s about unseen compassion.

The Risk Project: Reserved Parking Signs

Now here’s where risk comes in. When the building filled up—every office occupied—the tenants began asking for reserved parking spaces. It wasn’t in my job description to solve that problem, but I saw a need. So, I made personalized parking signs for each tenant, laminated them, and posted them myself—without waiting for permission.

I figured the worst that could happen was someone telling me to take them down. But that never happened. The signs are still there to this day.

That’s what I mean by initiative. Sometimes you just do what obviously needs to be done. You take the small risk, because order is better than confusion, and people appreciate care. “Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might” (Ecclesiastes 9:10 KJV).

The Garage Display Case

Another day, a few tenants mentioned they wished there was a place to post flyers and notices. I went out, bought a display case with my own money, and mounted it in the parking garage right next to the elevator. Now, while people wait for the elevator, they can look through the glass and see community notices, positive sayings, or what I call “Weekly Meditations.”

I keep the key and update it regularly. Sometimes tenants give me their flyers to post; other times, I fill it with encouraging thoughts, poems, or reminders to breathe and be thankful. It’s not fancy—but it’s something. It’s a moment of beauty before they step back into their day.

The Principle of Initiative

Each of these projects came from the same conviction: you cannot wait for permission to care. True morale work is self-funded, self-inspired, and self-started. Sometimes that means buying your own supplies. Sometimes it means risking that someone might not understand. But the tenants—the people you serve—are your true audience.

The property manager and company matter, of course, but the tenants are the life of the building. They are your ministry. If they need parking signs, a place to post messages, a prayer book, or even a simple word of encouragement, give it to them. Because what you offer in love will never be wasted.

When you take initiative, you’re not just keeping the building clean—you’re keeping its heart alive. You’re turning hallways into hallways of hope. You’re proving that a janitor can be a shepherd of morale.

As I walk these halls late at night, I sometimes pause at the Inspiration Board, reading the notes left behind. I think of all the unseen people who wrote them—people with worries, deadlines, families, faith. And I realize that in some small way, this building has learned to breathe a little deeper.

And maybe that’s what morale really is: the building itself learning how to breathe.

“Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven.” —Matthew 5:16 (KJV)