When he came in fuming, I didn't even think about defending myself or being upset that he was unjustly angry with me. I was cleaning up the kitchen after dinner; he was a guest at the Ranch, checking on his horses before bed.
"Where's the horse wrangler? There's no water at the corrals!" he said, and I started to answer him but he escaped out the door before I had a chance to figure out exactly what the problem was and how to help him. I guess he saw that I was just the dinner cook and didn't have a ready answer, and he went to work on the problem himself, but he was soon back for more.
"There's no water, and my horses have ridden 20 miles today. They need to have water. I'm not going to be passive about this!"
I didn't know anything about the faucet for the troughs at the corral, or where someone was who could look into the problem. But I saw that there were actually two problems: one was a plumbing issue, the other was a matter of the heart. The man was so worked up I could hardly get a word in edgewise to ask clarifying questions or suggest what he might do or how I could help him. At last he said, "If you can't fix the problem, at least give me a couple of five gallon buckets so I can water my horses myself." Well, there was something I could do, so I found two buckets for him and he went on his way.
And he wasn't the only one on edge that night. All afternoon the prep cook had been finding one thing after another that the breakfast and lunch cook had left undone. Butter, mayonnaise, tomatoes, and hamburger buns not stocked; the grill left crusty and greasy. When the offending employee came in as we were cleaning up, the prep cook brought up these short comings. The conversation started out fine -- one coworker approaching another with issues relating to how their jobs overlapped. But suddenly, while I was around the corner in the back of the kitchen, it became personal -- "I didn't know you expected me to do your work for you," and "I can cut my own tomatoes! I just don't like finding empty containers five minutes before dinner." Defensive. They were talking about mayonnaise and hamburger buns, but the real topic was Self. Long after the discussion had ceased to be profitable, I intervened. "It's not a big deal. I think the expectation was that each of you would leave the things you both use stocked for the other one, but it's really not a big deal." They quieted, went on their way.
And instead of feeling like everyone was irritable and I was tired of people, I felt like this was what I was made for. Jesus says we are the light of the world, and where does the light shine but in the darkness? Circumstances of late have pushed me close into Jesus, and I saw the result last night: when I am bumped, Jesus is what overflows. I marveled as I walked home along the picket fence in the light of the rising moon at how fixing my eyes on Jesus completely changed the way I looked at the people around me. They became transparent, and I saw through to their hearts, to their hurts. Nothing looks the same when I have been gazing at Him.
The next morning at church, I was sitting in my pew praying and thinking about a Psalm I had read earlier and preparing for worship. The door opened and someone walked in. Suddenly there was a voice at my shoulder, a man greeting me. It was Mr. Horse Waterer from the night before. "Hey, good morning. We talked last night, remember? I'm actually not all that bad, see?" He was obviously a little uncomfortable to see me in church. I smiled, and said something like, "It's okay; it's fine," and he sat down with his two friends. During testimony time he shared that he had been studying Hebrews. "Hebrews 11:6 says that without faith it is impossible to come to God, but that He rewards those who believe that He is and who diligently seek Him. This young lady over here [gesturing towards me] saw last night that I got a bit irritable about something, but really what I want to do is to seek God." It was a public apology. I was so glad for him that he was able to come before God and also before witnesses and clear his heart. After the service he approached me again. "Good to see you this morning," I said. "We can worship God together, right?" he said. "Yes," I answered firmly, looking into his eyes. He continued: "God has been showing me lately that I can get a bit snippy in certain situations. It just happened recently at a fair we were at, too, and I asked Him to work on me because I don't want to be that way -- I don't like it. And now it has happened again. I guess He needs to keep working on me." "And He is faithful -- He will do it," I answered.
There was something very special about this glimpse into the heart of a stranger, this bird's eye view into his heart. (Or perhaps a God's eye view.) Anyone can walk into church on a Sunday morning wearing his Promise Keeper's shirt and talking about the faith, but it is a rare and beautiful thing to see the conviction of the Holy Spirit in action, to see humility and honesty and a hunger for God.
And so, I will continue to pray a little prayer I have uttered countless times in the past years: "Use me for Your glory." This summer, at times, I have felt like He used me up. But there is a cycle: when I get empty, I am forced closer in to Jesus to get filled up. The closer I am, the more He can use me, and the more I see people as He sees them, and the greater my love is for them, and the more vulnerable I am to being used and used up. And then the closer to Jesus I have to go.
