The compassion of being served…

She had thick glasses, weathered skin of an 80-year old, and a smile like a Disney grandmother (the warm-hearted kind, not the evil ones). I couldn’t understand much of what she was saying, but I understood the compassion she was trying to show.

I’d casually walked over to the egg section (not in the refrigerator – for my American friends). There were an assortment of eggs, large and medium, sold in cartons of 10 (because – why sell by the dozen when you can sell by the 10?). I’d selected two random cartons of “Large” eggs, and placed them in my basket. She was one of those people throughout my day whom I was content to pass by without looking directly at them. Until I felt her eyes look searchingly toward my own, and begin speaking Hungarian faster than my limited learning could comprehend. Her tone was warm though, and it was obvious she was seeking something. She was gesturing toward the eggs still on the shelf, and it seemed like she was asking me a question.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t understand. I speak a little Hungarian. I am learning, but slowly.” – I spoke in Hungarian, shrugging. She smiled.

She gently reached out and took my basket. I had no idea what to expect, but she continued to speak warmly as if I understood everything she was saying. She placed my basket on the ground, and picked up my egg cartons, one at a time. She opened each one, and inspected the eggs and the date on the carton. She picked small feathers off a few of the eggs, as she talked. When she’d thoroughly inspected all 20 eggs, she placed them back into my basket. She patted my arm, saying what I can only assume was “There, thanks for letting me inspect your eggs.” I thanked her in return.

As we parted ways, I couldn’t shake the experience. I think there’s a reason it stuck with me. I didn’t have a huge need for my eggs to be inspected. I’d opened each carton already, and knew the eggs weren’t broken. The feathers could’ve been removed later on. But she had a desire to show compassion, and I wasn’t in such a hurry that I couldn’t afford to receive it.

There’s not much the disciples offered Jesus that he couldn’t accomplish on his own. Even today, there’s not much I can offer God beyond what might amount to “picking feathers off His eggs”. But he looks at the desire in my eyes, hears my heart, and offers me moments to serve Him – because He Loves me. Because by the power of the Holy Spirit, the unseen behind every tiny insignificant act can be used to warm hearts and transform lives.

You and I may be tempted to think a moment of serving another is insignificant…but I’m telling you, if God can warm my heart through a moment like this – there are unlimited possibilities in each of our days this week…find them. 🙂

4 thoughts on “The compassion of being served…

  1. This is so good Wick. Our pastor here in Florida has been talking a lot about serving, it is one of our pursuits at the church.
    You have a heart that can see into someone else’s heart. Keep on sharing, I love it.
    Praying for you and your family.

    Like

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