This morning I’m joining 6 adults and 32 high schoolers on a road trip to West Virginia, where we’re going to be working on homes in a desperately poor part of the Appalachians. I can’t wait to meet the people I’m going to meet and see a new part of the world. And honestly, I feel a little humbled about my role.
It’s only ten days ago that I volunteered for this trip; the group needed another adult and hey, I’m not employed or anything…if I didn’t go, I’d probably be filling out job applications and working on my never-ending novel.
Am I
prepared
to be
the servant I
need to be?Am I prepared to be the servant I need to be? In church we talk about servanthood all the time. But what does serving really mean, when you strip off the cliches? What kind of servant am I, with my loud, bouncy, Tigger-like drama self?
I’m praying to talk less and listen to others – the things they say and the things they’re not saying. I want to serve without being proud of the little things I do. I hope I can see beyond what’s in front of me to the little promptings God gives me: “Go talk to that person.” “He needs help.” “Pay attention to the one in the corner.” “Take the most uncomfortable chair, and let someone else have the best.” “Show your character now, when it’s hardest.”
I know God didn’t pick me last minute to go do construction work because of the strength of this overweight, arthritis-ridden, prednisone-killing body. I hope to be worthy of the reason he did pick me.
Oh, and I hope I don’t drive a 14-passenger van full of teenagers off an Appalachian mountain.
