SermonStudio

My back was killing me. I must have been standing there for hours. I checked the clock on the wall. Fifty-three minutes had passed. I glanced at my watch lying on the shelf. Fifty-three minutes. This was going very slowly.

I was washing pots and pans at a family retreat center. Delicious meals were paraded before us at every meal, yet the "deal" was that all cabin members take a turn at doing kitchen clean-up once during their week-long stay. Today was our turn and I had said to "put me wherever needed." Guess what I got? A finger pointed me toward an enormous pile of pots and pans. A steel wool scrubber was thrust in my hand. And a young teen put a rag by the faucet. I wondered why she said it was for my face.

I filled the three sinks to the proper line and put in the instructed amount of professional cleaners from the containers. I bent over to get a sponge and spotted a stack of smaller pans under the sink. Great. This was going to be fun.

One of the regular kitchen staff members was nearby, and I thought starting a conversation would help enliven the process. But she shrugged and said something in Romanian. Okay, fine. I hummed; I imagined being outside; I scrubbed. The water was very hot. I wiped my sweating forehead with the rag.

The pots were gleaming and drying on the rack when the cook pointed another finger at me. Maybe this was my dismissal! But her finger pointed at a stack behind me. I groaned; I hummed; I imagined myself being outside; I scrubbed. I wiped my brow again.

Another pile down, drying on the shelf. I was on my way to dry my hands when another heaping pile of cookie sheets was thrust in my hands. Okay, so my hands didn't need to be dried. I put some muscle into my work and soon the sheets were gleaming. I carefully stacked them on the rack. I straightened up slowly, aching.

It was then that I felt that I had been at it for hours. But it was less than an hour. I wiped my face. The kitchen was hot on this clear July day. Did I dare ask the cook if that was all? Would they think I was a wimp for even asking? I glanced at her. She smiled and said, "Thanks! The lake looks nice out."

I waved a pitiful good-bye and stumbled out into the fresh air of the hallway. I wiped my forehead on my shirt. I couldn't wait to jump in the lake! Wow, I didn't ever want to do that again!

But as I sat on a beach chair, watching my children and husband swim, I couldn't help but think about the past hour. I thought I had worked hard, and it was only about an hour. What about the folks who do that day after day -- eight or more hours a day? Hunching over just enough to be at a strange angle hurts the back. Scrubbing in very hot water in a hot kitchen wasn't the most comfortable environment to be in, yet people do it every day. I thought about it as I swam to the buoys.

That evening, when a new parade of wonderful delicacies passed by us, I thought of the kitchen staff. It would be a long time before I carelessly asked for an extra dish. I enjoyed my meal tremendously. The conversation, environment, and food were divine. But before we went back to the lake for a boat ride, I walked up to the cook and thanked her for the wonderful meals that we had that week.

I won't underestimate a dishwasher or kitchen staff member for a very long time!