³ Jesus, knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands, and that he had come from God and was going back to God, ⁴ rose from supper. He laid aside his outer garments, and taking a towel, tied it around his waist. ⁵ Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples’ feet and to wipe them with the towel that was wrapped around him.  Matthew 13:3-5 (ESV)

As we were led to the pickup truck that would take us to the mission, we had not yet left the airport and my fifteen year old heart was already overwhelmed. I stared at the small fingers clinging to the fence as little faces begged, “Gives me one dolla.” I climbed into the back of the truck, put on my sunglasses and waited for our departure to the mission.

During the long, bumpy drive, we passed through villages where women and children lined the roads asking us to buy bananas. The sun was setting, but I kept my sunglasses on in an absurd effort to hide from the poverty that stretched before me. Small, sweet faces haunted me as they stood by the side of the road scantily clad with distended bellies.

This was Haiti, and it was worse than anything I could have imagined.

We finally arrived at the mission, our home away from home, and it was a far cry from the warm bed I was used to. We were greeted by a group of women who had come to know Christ, their lives forever changed. They were thrilled to see the Americans who were here to help them build a better life.

One afternoon we had a torrential rain storm. We were tired from our days of back-breaking work so we ran out into the road and let the rain wash over us. It wasn’t long before the fun began, and in a short time, we were not only drenched but also covered in red clay. The Haitian women laughed and clapped in delight as we let go with wild abandon. I was dismayed that my favorite shirt was ruined.

Several hours later, to my utter amazement, my shirt was spotless. There was no trace of clay left in the fabric. One of the women approached me tentatively and told me she had cleaned it as a display of gratitude for the entertainment. She painstakingly washed every inch of the fabric by hand. It took her hours. Looking back, I know that this was a woman who understood the gospel. We were there to serve her, and she found a way to serve us.

Living in America, it can be a challenge to have perspective. We live in a country filled with excess, and we gorge ourselves on it. I don’t believe that we are meant to feel guilty for where we live or how we are blessed, but I do believe that we must be careful to view it for the gift that it is, and use it for a greater purpose.

I have complained that I have nothing to wear as I looked a closet full of clothes. I have complained that my house isn’t large enough even though there are only three of us. I have stared straight ahead as I tried desperately to avoid eye contact with the person holding the cardboard sign, willing the light to turn green. I have been envious of the nicer cars, the bigger house, the better this and the better that.

It was Jesus who washed the dirty feet of the disciples the night before He was to die for our transgressions. In an incredible display of humility, God Himself performed the lowliest of tasks. Nothing was beneath Him.

God has given us each gifts that we can use to either serve ourselves or others. There is no earthly possession we can take with us when we leave, and serving others is far more important than a larger house, a larger wardrobe or greater social status in the community.

Whether it is encouragement, spending time with someone, financial means or the promise to pray something through, we can all make the choice to serve Him well.

Will you pray for God to show you where you can serve?