"My Pleasure"

I was helping someone several days ago, squeezing the task into my afternoon schedule, pushing aside other items on my agenda to find room to do it.  "She didn't seem very appreciative," I thought outloud in the car.  The joy of my effort began deflating like a flat tire.  And  I started going to that dark place where selfish feelings abound, grumbling, "I'm doing this for you."   But before I had descended into that cellar of mental gloom, I remembered rather vividly a young man named Sam, bowing ever so slightly at the waist.

Last Friday, my husband and I went out to dinner, a rare event for those who know us well.  We went to our favorite restaurant, a small establishment where the menu changes daily by the whims and creativity of the chef.  A dark-haired young man greeted us at the table.  "My name is Sam," he said. "I will be serving you this evening."  Not:  "I'll be taking your order."  Not:  "What do you want?"  But: "I will be serving you."  That comment alone set the tone for the evening.

The flavors and the unusual combination of ingredients of our entrees became part of our conversation.  Fried okra on a salad?  I never would have even thought of doing that.  But it was so good, in fact, that I would have licked my plate clean, had it been appropriate.  We sat and talked for almost two hours, unhurried,  lingering finally over a shared piece of brown sugar pound cake and mugs of steaming coffee.

But something else stood out for us in our time there, tangibly expressed in the very last gesture of our waiter.  Sam had cleared away our dishes.  As Bill signed the check and we thanked him for an outstanding meal, our server Sam gave a little bow, smiled, and said, "My pleasure."

He had not waited for us to ask him to refill our water or to even bring an extra spoon.  He anticipated our needs and enjoyed his serving.  It was a blessing to us.

I thought of his little bow as went about my own task.  And quite suddenly, I intentionally altered my mindset, seeing this job with different eyes, not as a chore but as an opportunity to love someone.  The task was the same, but my intentions now rose above the miry bog.  "My pleasure," I said outloud.  And something very significant changed in me.

May my life beat with a serving heart.
May my soul quicken to needs unspoken.
May I be that energized by the opportunity to serve.

As I told someone about Sam, she remarked, "Oh, but he was being paid to do that," as if to discredit his work.  But there is always something deeper when "a job" becomes the means of extending grace.  It brings blessing to all involved, including the one who serves.

At all times, even invisible unnoticed actions are powerful enough to turn around someone's day and mighty enough to transform a life.

We can never know how God can use us,
even in what we consider daily, mundane,
            and not appreciated.
      Service is largely inconvenient,
                      rarely recognized at all,
            but powerful as raw grace.

When our girls were little, I used to tell them that a good deed didn't count if it was done with a bad attitude.

Yesterday, as I was preparing the house for our small group Bible study -- cleaning toilets and erasing fingerprints off the refrigerator door like a crime scene -- I realized that my efforts would be mostly invisible and unnoticed by those who came.   I was not doing it for applause, nor to win the Good Housekeeping seal of approval, but to create a comfortable, welcoming place for the Word of God to be studied.  It did not change what I was doing, but why.

"Thanks for having us," one couple said as they were leaving.

"My pleasure," I responded.  And indeed, it was.


May it be our pleasure to serve others.
And may we find pleasure in serving.

Serve the LORD with gladness.

                       Psalm 100.2