I call them the "People Behind the Counter." That guy at the register at CVS, the kids at the drive-thru windows of Macdonald's, the waitress as Snuffer's, the store clerk stacking shelves at Giant Eagle, the librarian behind the desk. These are the people we whisk past throughout our day, hardly seeing them past the immediate service they provide us. If they're exceptionally kind or exceptionally rude, they'll gain our notice and a few extra comments, but otherwise we give them little but our money and quick questions, and receive in turn our change, answers, and goods.
The truth is, of course, that each of these People Behind the Counter is a creation of God standing there with worlds of pain and joy, disappointment and hope, suffering and life whirling inside him, inside her. That person fishing for your change is loved by God, and needs to receive that love, and now is the moment when you can be a conduit of that love.
I'm not talking about an extended moment of evangelism, or reaching across the counter to lay hands on and pray for the person, or an attempt to get a person to bare her soul while others wait impatiently behind you. It might be as simple as making eye contact and giving the most authentic "How are you?" or "Have a good day" that the person will have all day. (The Lord, of course, may break open the moment for even more grace to flow in. A simple question like "Why are you so ready for your break?" may lead to a moment of unexpected listening, giving, and receiving.)
I've been trying to do this, to be more present to the people serving me from behind the literal and metaphorical counters. It's hard. It requires an internal and external slowness of pace that's not normal for me, and a level of caring that has little space in my hurried, harried days. So I'm trying to take a moment before I enter a store or restaurant to ask God to remind me that at least one of his sons or daughters is waiting inside to meet with me, and for Him to give me the grace to be attentive and responsive, at least for a moment.
Wednesday, March 03, 2010
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