Willing

Things that gross me out:

Vomit.

Why is it that someone else vomits, it makes you want to vomit…then there’s two people’s vomit to clean up…but what if the person who comes along to help clean you up vomits as well?!

Diarrhoea.

I love Kaream. I loved caring for him as a baby, and didn’t mind changing his nappies. Even when he was going through what I describe as ‘The United Colours of Benetton’ phase. But when it’s runny and gross? And you can smell it from several rooms away? Too much.

Dirty bathrooms.

If you know me, you know I don’t pee-pee in public toilets. I don’t believe in the myths that you can catch HIV/AIDS from sitting on the same toilet seat as someone else. Not that I have ever sat on a public toilet seat (I have thighs of steel that allow me to hover above them).

But I do believe you can catch something pretty gross from them.

I remember being at university in 1^st year, on the top floor of our apartment block and most of the girls were either away or out for the evening. I heard the corridor door open and shut and someone run into their room. Then I heard it. The puking. I tried to ignore it, but I couldn’t. I had prayed for Father God to give me opportunities to show love and care, and share his truth with those who didn’t know much about him on campus. I knew I had to step out and help.

Following the wretching sound, I came to Ruth’s room, where it appeared she was praying to the porcelain god in her ensuite. I spent some time holding back her hair, rubbing her back and trying not to puke on her before tucking her into her Barbie bed sheets.

As she slept, I prayed over her…

…which I later found out she was awake for and had mistaken for me reading her last rites.

I loved my time living at Chris & Rainey’s house during my second year of Pais. There was so much fun and laughter in that house, and Chris was a real father to me. I was a surrogate big sister to their toddler twins, who slept in the room next door to me. Missing my younger brothers & cousins, I loved nothing more than playing with them.

One night I heard a cry, headed down the hall and then smelt something that almost floored me. Gabby had a dying animal inside of her coming out. Well, it smelt like that. I picked her up, gave her a little cuddle and used a dozen wet wipes as I changed her nappy/diaper.

I hardcore scrubbed my hands before returning to bed.

On a recent road trip, the inevitable happened: I needed to go to the bathroom.  

Rushing into the loo, I was greeted by someone else’s “mess”. There is that split second where you have to make a decision: leave and go into another stall, or just pee anyways.

With gritted teeth, I decided to clean it up.

No matter your class, you can still have an air of superiority about you.

A list of things you “just don’t do”,

things that are “below” you,

things that “someone else can do”.

Nevermind that the Son of Man came to serve, not to be served.

Nevermind that He declared that a servant is not ranked above his master, as he carefully washed the stinky, dirt-infested feet of his disciples.

We will gladly take a Kodak snap for the scrapbook with a dirty orphaned African child, but we can’t pick up a piece of trash in our street, or help that person cross the street, or gracefully respect those serving us.

Keen for a girls night out during the two weeks we spent doing training in San Antonio, myself and Adrienne gathered a group of raucous ladies for a night at the Londonder Pub. Sam, our waitress, was kept well amused by our loud antics and confusion over who was eating what as plates were passed hectically around the table. At the end, as we sorted the bills, she said:

“I don’t know what it is about your culture, but you guys were so polite tonight.”

[Rather than launch into a reading from the New Testament and tell her about Jesus, I spoiled the wonderful mood by declaring “That’s because they know I would spank them if they misbehaved.” Classy.]

Just before Christmas, two ladies started attending church after being invited by someone at the gym. Steve met them first and came over to me saying “The woman says she knows me from somewhere but I don’t know where. Come and meet her,” he pushed, knowing that if one of us was more likely to remember an individual, it was me, the social butterfly.

“I know where I know you from!” she exclaimed. “The hospital!”

We looked at each other thoroughly bemused, knowing that we hadn’t been to the hospital since my case of pleurisy almost two years previously.

“Yeah, you were ill and he was looking after you. I remember you because he was taking such good care of you.”

A twenty-three-month-old occurrence of service was so etched into a woman’s head that she felt like she already knew us when she entered our church.

Our Father is love.

Not merely loving,

But defined as love.

We most emulate Him, when we love those around us.

The littlest action, the smallest deed, the love we have for one another

Truly

Makes a difference.

So go ahead, serve someone.

If you don’t, I’ll spank you.