Day Nine-- Patience, Again

Yesterday morning was breakfast day again. It’s getting a little easier to get up at 4:30 in the morning, but some things about this gig are not getting easier. It’s not the service part. I enjoy getting to know the guests who come for breakfast. I’m starting to look forward to seeing some of them and getting to know a little more about them. While I don’t always have time for a lot of socializing, I usually have at least a few minutes to pop out of the kitchen and say hello. Every time I do, I learn something new. For instance, yesterday I learned that Larry, my new friend as of last week, works as a custodian at the coast guard academy, where my husband also works. Every week I hear a little more of someone’s story, and I love that. Even the people that refuse to smile back at me don’t bother me. I mean, come on, it’s early, they haven’t had any coffee yet, and they are in line for a meager free breakfast in a church basement that's exactly the same this week as it was last week. I wouldn’t necessarily be smiling if I was in that position. But I just try to show kindness in every small way that I can with every little opportunity that I get. 

What’s challenging about this gig, and please understand that I don’t mean this as an insult, is that the people I volunteer with express their faith in a way that is so very foreign to me. You see, I volunteer with a crew that is almost entirely made up of folks from the church that owns the building that my congregation worships in. They are very evangelical, and quite conservative. The conversation in the kitchen can at times veer in some very… interesting directions. At these times, I bite my tongue, and I keep my mouth shut, because I am the one who doesn’t really belong there. But some mornings, it’s hard. And it becomes especially hard when the kitchen volunteers engage in evangelism with breakfast patrons that don’t necessarily want to hear it. Don’t get me wrong—there are people who do want to hear it, and there are people for whom this particular church’s brand of theology is comforting. But it isn’t always. And sometimes, it can feel unwelcome and even aggressive. But it just isn’t my place to correct them. I am not their pastor. I am not even a member of their church. I’m just a random person who shows up in their kitchen every week to help with their work. I am a guest in their house. So I must practice patience. So far, no one has ever asked me what I think, or asked for my opinion. If they ever do, maybe then I’ll try and think of a kind way to express my disagreement. But for now. I’ll just patiently keep spooning out the grits with a smile and a warm greeting. I will patiently hold on to my own theological convictions without having to force them on other people, knowing that it’s okay that not everyone thinks the way I do. After all, we are all there together, feeding, serving, and caring. That’s really what counts, in the end.