Disservice

My town has an agency consisting of most of the Christian churches. They come together under one umbrella to handle all the social service needs of the community. It started back in the Depression, when the poor and needy would get off the train at one end of town. Several churches happened to be built near the tracks, and they soon realized they needed to band together to face the massive needs with a united front.

Decades later, we have an interesting mix of churches. Catholic, Orthodox, Lutheran and all flavors of Protestant. High church, home church and a couple in between. Occasionally our theological differences come to the surface, but it comes back to center quickly, and we remember that we're all Christians. We come at it from different angles, but the goal is simply to love others. No strings attached.

I love the idea of this agency. So, last year when they needed volunteers, I jumped at the chance. At first, I took on the job of meeting with the families that needed financial assistance, giving them funds to pay their utility bills and other miscellaneous needs.

When the food pantry coordinator decided to leave, I took over that responsibility as well. Everyday, I check the voicemail to see if any new requests have come in. I screen new applicants, and if they meet our requirements, I find the best way to get them the assistance they need.

Every Friday, I run the food pantry, distributing food to the families that come. Volunteers help pack up the food bags, and my older kids take turns pitching in. One of them stays home with the three year old while she takes a nap, and the other one puts in a shift at the pantry. Their job is pushing the cart of food bags out to each family's car and any other heavy lifting that I can't do. Poor Lonna. Yesterday was sub-zero temperatures again, and the parking lot was caked with a thick layer of snow. Not exactly conducive to shopping cart travel. She worked hard.


The food pantry is always an interesting experience, and if I let it be, a learning opportunity. In my work-outside-the-home days, I had various social work positions. My husband has been in social work his entire working career. It's all normal to us, and sometimes I forget what it really all means. It's not something I do for popularity or extra credit with God. I deeply believe that this is simply what I'm supposed to do. I am a follower of Christ. I have to act like it. Period.

My children volunteer, even when it's not so voluntary. From the time they were little, I brought them with me to visit the sick, clean the church, or reach out to whatever population my husband and I worked with at the time. I've never made it optional. I've never made it seem unique. I make them volunteer now so they'll grow up with service being completely normal. Someday they'll have to make the choice to do it on their own, and I want them to have memories of what service really looks like. Serving is death to self. We do it when it's inconvenient. Even when it isn't easy. We're followers of Christ. It's what we do.

Not everyone can volunteer the number of hours I do. There's a thousand reasons why others can't. None of them are my business or concern. But what exactly would be my excuse for not doing it? I have the time. I have the skills. I have the opportunity. I'm a follower of Christ. It's what I do.

These last two weeks I've been grumbling a little. There seemed to be a rush of people who were decidedly ungrateful. What I was giving them wasn't quite up to their standards, wants, or requests. They didn't get what they wanted for Christmas in our present distribution. The food wasn't quite what they wanted. I couldn't give them the money they wanted. They grumbled... I grumbled... I guess it all came to a head yesterday.

Every week, I put out a miscellaneous box of food that is slightly past the sell by date, dented, or just different and odd. The families can take whatever and however much they want. Almost no one had been taking any lately. "We're picky eaters," was the repeating excuse.

My inner "fairness" alarm was blaring. You know the "fairness" alarm. That screeching sound in your head that says it just isn't fair. You don't deserve to be treated this way. No one appreciates you. The world is out to get you. There I sit each week, agonizing over the shelves. Will there be enough donations? How can I give them the best selection of food possible? Can we afford to give them just a little bit more? I put in volunteer hours when it's inconvenient and uninteresting. When it's hard, I give. And you're telling me you're picky?!?!

I gave in to my inner battle and complained to my volunteers. I unloaded in a flood of whining with not a speck of grace or mercy. Lord have mercy on me, a sinner! About five minutes later, a family showed up who I didn't know was coming. There are no words to describe that woman other than bubbly. Never a frown. Even though her life is complicated, she makes it all look easy. I gave my standard speech explaining the miscellaneous box and went to get her paperwork. When I returned, she had a large pile of food selected.

"Wow! I'm surprised to see you take some food. No one else seems much interested in it lately," I said with my self-righteousness dripping off each word.

"Really? I'll take anything I can get. I'm never too proud," she replied with one of her standard, beaming smiles.

I literally hung my head in repentance. She was never too proud. But I am...

All the hours I spend volunteering are meaningless if I do them for my own benefit. If I expect them to thank me, or appreciate it to the extent I think they should, or give me anything at all, I might as well stay home. I'm not doing it for me. It has to be a free and open gift to God no matter what the response. It has to be genuine.

I'm grateful to God for straightening out my selfish detour. I'm so sorry that sometimes when I claim I'm serving him, there are strings attached. I want to give with His compassion. I want to serve with His humility. It's time to get back to work with the right attitude. I am a follower of Christ. It's what I do.