The Servant

       My mother used to joke to people that she had me so I could be her servant. It wasn't much of a joke. It never made me laugh. Because, unbeknownst to most, it wasn't actually a joke. No, she didn't actually give birth to me with the intent of having a servant. However, she certainly took advantage of the situation. From a rather young age, she had me cleaning and serving her alongside my sister as much as possible. In the midst of the mind games she would play between my sister and I, she would have complete control over us, and exercised it at her will. As I grew older, I grew more defiant, and lazy in her eyes. I stopped doing things as soon as she asked, I would do a poor job, or I would claim I forgot. Frankly, I was tired of fighting such a losing battle to her increasing hoarding tendencies. And, as I thought, and still do, "She is a grown woman. Why can't she pick up after herself?" Honestly, the mess and stench were enough to drive anyone to rebellion.
     But, in God's own perfect way, the joke was ultimately on her. I love to serve people. I love to be in the background helping everyone achieve their goals. At any other home, I am always the kid who refuses to sit down after dinner until the kitchen has been cleaned up. I am always the kid with eyes peeled, looking for some way to alleviate a chore from the adults.  It's why I love my job as a receptionist at the Church. I do not matter at all, and yet I feel as though I help the staff with all the little tasks that must be done so they in turn may serve the community. I am so inconsequential, but always there to help. In my head God has made it clear why serving others is so good. It is a much more fulfilling experience to me than direct mission work or anything like that. I would much rather be able to facilitate someone's coming to Christ than actually personally help that along. That idea in itself terrifies me. I'm a background and grunt work kind of person. I live to serve. I think, in my gratefulness at being free of my mother, I went back to what I knew, but this time I loved it. God took the punishment and yoke of my abuse and neglect and turned it into this heart that wants nothing but to serve Him. And I do. I find so much joy in trying to help others with their tasks and burdens.
     I will say that there are limitations to my service. I could never be a server of food. After living with a hoarder who didn't rinse out anything ever and then asked me to clean those with out a garbage disposal, I am done with dealing with other people's left over food. I can do it occasionally at my own home or Ethan's, but it still makes me a little sick. Washing dishes is definitely the area I am weakest at in the area of serving others.
    I think the world could really use more people who like to serve. Leaders especially. I am so grateful to God for a heart that finds joy in a most unassuming and easily unnoticed way. I love to find ways to help others. I think we could all use that mindset. The world would be a slightly more pleasant place. I really pray that my daughter has that sort of heart as she grows up. I know her parents have the tools and the love to do it, and I know what a sweet person she can be with them bringing her up. I am really grateful to God for that: the knowledge that it doesn't take an abusive childhood to make a good person. I worried, before I had her. God is so good at easing one's fears. I'm so grateful to Him. I am so excited to spend my life in His service.