I'de been working at the beach for... two weeks? And I was already getting tired of it. It didn't help that I didn't even know how to do half the things I was supposed to. This morning was, to say the least, unpleasant. Our hostess and superintendent had the day off, so it was just me and two other servers fighting off the stifling heat and grumpy pancake eaters. By the end of breakfast, the drowsy, crabby mood had rubbed off on me too. I waddled off to my room to watch some uninspiring movies, doze a little, wake up confused, then head back down for dinner.
Dinner was similar, until a little girl spilled a cup of milk all over the table, floor and her food. It was obvious, but I'd missed it. I wasn't here for myself. I mean, I was making money and everything, but even that was to serve others. And in the long run, God. These people were here to take a break from their everyday life and soak up some of the Spirit. What if my bad attitude was showing? I loved these people. Sweet old scottish story-teller, Bill. Spiffed grandma Barbara. Judah... Jeremiah... whatever that kid's name was. These were now my people, and it was my responsibility to take care of them.
As I sopped up that milk, a little smile cracking on my face. The little girl was upset about it, but soon she fell asleep on her three-sizes-too-big wooden chair. Eventually dinner ended, and I volunteered to sweep the floor (one of the most dreaded jobs, 'cause you gotta' get between each of the chairs and table legs...). It gave me time to process what I'd experienced during dinner. I felt superb. What I was doing now had purpose. It wasn't all for the people, or myself. Doing it for God made it worth while. Every drop of sweat and grain of sand embedded in the knee was important.
Man, if everyone felt this way about working, we'd get so much done! XD
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