What must it be like to wipe tables, fetch booster chairs, and dab at chocolate-sauce smears all day and every day? Work until your muscles ache and your fingers are pruny from the wet dishes? How slowly the workday must creep past as she tiredly turns chaos into order, over and over, and then picks up a dollar—or a couple of quarters—or a nothing. And there’s nothing to look forward to at the end of the day but bare survival, a few dollars, and the chance to do it all again.
Father, I know this is the random lottery of life on earth and that she didn’t win a big prize. But please give those of us–especially me–who are abundantly blessed—a generous heart to tip graciously and to thank effusively. Forgive my chintzy moments and my thoughtlessness. I always look forward to that weekly feast; please help me to live so that the waitress will look forward to seeing my arrival.
In Jesus’ name, Amen!
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David B. Smith writes from Southern California.© 2002 - 2023, AnswersForMe.org. All rights reserved. Click here for content usage information.