Dear Kitty,

*disclaimer: this post mentions a fictional character, although the person may be very familiar to you. She is very familiar to me too.

She stands at the oven with it’s interior light on so that she can closely monitor the level of browning on the top of her cobbler. It has to be perfect; not too light and not too dark. She seizes it out at just the right moment and looks at it with pride. This is going to really blow them away at the Church potluck. She has outdone herself this time and she can’t wait for everyone to dig in. There will be praises of her gift sung by the robed choir and she’ll throw on a humble face as she claims “it was nothing.”

She lugs her bags to the counter and holds her ticket with pride. She’s waited for months for this trip and rechecks her carry on for her camera; she’s going to want to document this. As soon as she steps her foot down into the Third World soil; her heart swells as she thinks of the good she will do; of the legacy she will leave behind. She helps dig into the dirt with her shovel, she sweats as she swings her hammer alongside the others and her body aches from the hard work. There will likely be a picture post next week on the Church website that will show all that work, so she smiles in case a camera is there.

She whips out the checkbook as she sits in the middle of the third pew from the front as she does every Sunday. A speaker had come from the Homeless Organization and delivered a heck of a sermon that had 92% of the Church in tears and willing to “dig deep” to help. You could hear the scribbling of 50 pens writing out a donation for those needing a dinner for four on what they would normally spend for a cup of coffee and a blueberry scone. She didn’t bother folding the check as she placed it in the plate as it was passed by. She smiled as she thought of how the deacons would pluck it out to tally it and say “Wow…what a giver she is. She will be blessed.”

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She rolls her eyes again as she pulls out the burnt casserole she had thrown together at the last minute. She was going to miss her TV show again, because homework had taken so long and her patience was worn. The kids grumbled a little about the blackened edges and she threw down her spoon in disgust. One of them gave her a little smile and said “Thanks for dinner.” Still exasperated, she growled back “I don’t know why I bother.”

She stands in the laundry room and stomps her foot at the loads of laundry that have piled up. Sweating and frustrated with trying to match the 50th sock up, she swears a little under her breath and screams at the laundry baskets “I don’t know why I bother.”

She is listening to the story from her child about that kid in class that smells a little funny. Her child is asking if she can pack an extra sandwich because the smelly kid is always hungry. She responds “You should probably wash your hands and not hug that kid. There is no way I’m making another sandwich for your lunch box…do you think we are made out of money?”

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Does she sound familiar?

Service is not something that is done with our hands. Service is not something that we proudly display beside the fried chicken, show off in pictures or write a check for. Service is the act of a servant’s heart.

It is something that can’t be captured in a moment of action, but in a moment of expression. You can fly around the world, bake cobblers and single-handily assure that family of four has food for a month, but if you can’t serve the ones within your walls that God has trusted to you….what are you really doing?

Colossians 3:23-24 Whatever you do, work heartily, as for the Lord and not for men, knowing that from the Lord you will receive the inheritance as your reward. You are serving the Lord Christ.

Categories: August 2013 Diary Entry

Tags: grumbling about service, missions start at home, servant's heart