Tag: service

God’s Glory, My Ordinary (and Random VS Experiences)

Published on by Jackie1 Comment

9:57 pm, and my doorbell rings.

I was just settled into my egg chair after an evening with friends, laptop open, ready to write this post.

I look at the clock. The kitchen staff went home hours ago; my coworker and close friend wasn’t even working today, so who is here at this hour?

I decide to approach the door and peek outside.

The doorbell rang again.

I walk across the room briefly wondering why I live alone, but rationalizing that most burglars don’t ring the doorbell.

I decide it’s probably a resident, though that also doesn’t make sense this time of day, and peek through the blind.

A lady who I’ve never seen before has just begun frantically knocking.

Did she get lost and end up on this hill in the middle of nowhere?

I open the door with a bright smile as though I’m used to greeting people at this hour.

It’s then that I notice she’s wearing scrubs. Probably night staff.

Sure enough, she confirms my thought. “Hi, my name is … , I’m here for third shift…”

She trails off, seeing my kitchen table behind me, beyond that the living room with lamps and string lights creating a homey glow.

Yeah, this isn’t quite the personal care home she was expecting.

She’s here for night cleaning duty, so I could have gladly welcomed her into my house, but I know some people upstairs who might not have appreciated that… 😉

I redirected her to the front door where the staff will be waiting to welcome her to the 10:00 shift.

She apologized for disturbing me, and I assured her it’s ok. She was still horrified at her mistake so I added that I work here too, I’m just grateful that she’s willing to fill a shift for us, etc. And of course that launched the whole story because she was baffled that I live on site…

As I explained the nutshell version of why she found a staff member in a private residence in the basement of this care home, she forgot her embarrassment and replaced it with genuine surprise. I think we became friends, so that’s good.

I would have happily chatted with her longer, but considering the time, I decided I better not make her late for her shift.

And now, I’m back in my living room ready to get the thoughts into words that were actually spinning in my mind for this post.

This afternoon, I was tired after work. While spending time with God in Bible study and prayer, I was reflecting on this weariness I’ve been feeling.

Is the work that much harder? Not really.

I was on charge duty for the shift today, with a new caregiver to train on the other 2 wings, and we just had a surprise state inspection. So there were some extra details to keep track of, but really, nothing crazy happened.

I decided the main reason I’m tired is because I’ve allowed this life to become ordinary.

Nearly 8 months into my volunteer commitment, the memories of waiting for my work visa have faded just enough that I sometimes forget to be grateful I’m here.

The newness of getting to know these lonely, forgotten individuals has ebbed into an endless pattern of changing bedding, giving showers, brushing hair, serving meals, and doing laundry.

Yet whenever I pause to stand in awe of the simple sacredness of this work, I am renewed with energy to keep walking the halls with joy in my step.

Jesus said that a disciple who gives a cup of cold water shall not lose his reward.

How often in a day am I literally asked for a cup of water?

Or a snack. For help making the bed or putting socks on.

And Jesus sees this as important? How can I then forget to view this work as holy?

It’s true, it’s not attractive by the world’s standards.

The work I do isn’t measurable like schoolteaching was. We’re not building for the future here, there’s no progress intervals, and yet I know the work has purpose.

God called me here to care for those who are otherwise uncared for. Every one of them is made in His image just like I am.

And God has asked me, for this season, to be His hands and feet in loving them.

To tenderly wash each weathered face and watch it crease into a smile.

To gently brush gray hair until it’s soft, and then to neatly comb it.

(and yes, to carry barf bags to the dumpster and still feel my heart break with pity when I hear a sad voice ask, “Jackie, WHY do I have to be sick?”)

God loves to see them clean, happy, and loved.

Every little thing I do that creates that, is seen by God.

The never ending cycle of caregiving may seem wearying at times, but it matters.

And so this was the prayer I whispered as I thought about my everyday routine through God’s eyes:

“Enter into my everyday and touch it with Your glory.”

Because I know that God’s Presence transforms the ordinary.

I live in a physical world, but my soul is made for the spiritual world, and I need to keep that in perspective so I can live alive.

The excitement of a new VS role was bound to wear off, but the awesomeness of being the unworthy hands and feet of Jesus is a daily inspiration that will never run out.

How does God view your ordinary? And what part of your everyday can His touch of glory revive?

Just as this simple clover field was transformed in the sunlight at golden hour, our work is made beautiful when we see our everyday moments in the light of God’s glorious purposes.

“And let us not be weary in well-doing, for in due season we shall reap, if we faint not.” Galatians 6:9

Because of Love

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Someone asked me a question a few days ago that’s still circling in my mind.

Sharing a traditional American Thanksgiving meal, the table conversation drifted to the mission program I recently joined.

“So – why this mission? Why did you leave everything and move here to this specific mission?”

I honestly didn’t have an answer on the tip of my tongue. Nothing concise and intelligent sounding, anyway.

Why did I come, anyway?

Why, when it tore my heart to pieces to leave my little nephews and nieces behind?

Why, when going to church every Sunday morning reminded me for weeks that my home congregation is far away?

Why, when I had so many close friends around me, did I move here where I have to build new relationships?

I didn’t say any of that, I simply told the story of how God aligned people and events to guide my steps here.

The shortest answer to the question really is, “God clearly called me here. I knew its where I’m meant to be for this season of life.”

But it’s so much more.

Maybe it’s because a resident prayed every day for over a year that I would get my visa approval, so that I could volunteer here.

Maybe it’s because of a young lady who just moved in and needs someone to teach her how to pray. She wants to tell Jesus her thoughts but isn’t sure how. Maybe it’s the joy of demonstrating to her that she can talk to Him like a friend in the room – and seeing her eyes light up as she discovers a new way to communicate with God.

It might be because of the opportunity to walk with someone to their table in the dining room, so that they don’t have to go alone.

Or the laughter around the piano when Christmas carols go waaaay off key – but no one judges anyone for that, because every voice in our choir is making a joyful noise to the Lord.

Maybe I came here to listen to hearts who are missing parents who have passed away. I know my heart is full with emotion when I hear, “Thanks for taking time to talk today, Jackie. It made me feel better.”

I know I came here for the bedtime prayers. To see tears of happiness on weathered cheeks when they hear me thanking God for creating them to be who they are.

I came here to say I love you. To say it often, because they don’t hear it enough. Sometimes I hear a soft whisper, “I love you, too.”

Other times I learn new things about myself. For example, I am useless, fat, stupid – and a chatterbox. I don’t mind. I rather enjoy seeing what they’ll come up with to call me next 😉 and, we all need to vent somewhere. I’m one of the only faces some of these people see in a day – of course they’ll vent the frustrations of life on me. Maybe I came here to be their listening ear, too.

When I think about why I came here, and all the things that fill my heart to overflowing every day, I know why I’m here.

I came because of love.

Because Jesus loves me.

Because I love Him.

And His love is the kind that fills a heart until it overflows.

If we love Him, we will love others – wherever He calls us to love, we will go.

And that’s why I’m here.

That’s why I could leave my family, my church, my friends, my home.

That’s why my heart could hurt, without breaking.

Because it wasn’t rooted in any of the things I left. It’s rooted only in love – in Jesus – and so it can survive any transplanting.

I can go where He leads.

I can be stretched painfully through a transition season and still be filled with His love.

Why did I choose this particular mission?

Because these precious people – these lonely, forgotten souls – are so thirsty for love.

It’s the best place to pour my overflowing heart.

They Call Me Mom

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My people are all sleeping.

Blankets were tucked around wrinkly chins, gray hair was brushed into ponytails for the night, and shaky arms reached up to hug me before I turned out the light.

I held hands larger than my own and prayed bedtime prayers for a good night of pain free, restful sleep.

They’re not my children.

Most of them are old enough to be my grandparents, or at least my parents.

But they call me, “Mom.”

Sometimes they say it teasingly, but there’s an underlying note of seriousness. And other times, depending what they’ve just asked me to do for them, there’s a depth of emotion in their voice when they say, “thank you – Mom.”

A lot of the residents in the care home where I volunteer are children at heart.

They remained dependent on their parents into adulthood, and still need to be mothered. But their moms have either passed away, or are too elderly to care for them anymore, and so they are here to receive the care they need.

I wish I could have met the moms represented by the people I serve.

These women who must have been wonderfully dedicated mothers, for how affectionately they’re spoken of by their now-elderly children.

These women who knew just how to tuck the sheets, and which kind of bedtime snack, and how to soothe a hurting heart.

I’m trying to learn these things about each resident, because they deserve to feel at home. I come here to work; they live here. This is home to them, and we need to provide care with all the homey touches their moms had.

It’s daunting.

But I love them. And even though it’s challenging, and not always easy, I’m determined to love them well.

Whenever I’m faced with a task that’s not so appealing, I remind myself that this person was created by Jesus. I visualize Him kneeling beside this bed, or pushing this wheelchair, or cleaning up this floor.

And I ask, “How would Jesus love this person?”

I can never replace their mothers that they still miss so much.

I certainly can’t know and meet their needs in perfection like Jesus would.

But maybe, with the daily challenge to do each act of service the way Jesus would, I can provide care that lets them know without a doubt: they are precious, and they are loved.

I know one thing for sure: they fill my heart.

And, out of all the names I get called in a day (trust me, there’s a wide variety) I always smile when they call me “Mom.”