1st June 2006

Seven o'clock prayer
A waitress finds God at work in the most unusual places
by Kay Meyers

The date was Sept. 12, 2001. The young people at the restaurant where I work as a waitress hadn't experienced anything close to 9/ll. They didn't have assassinations, cities burning, and devastating pictures of Vietnam to cloud their heads as I did. The evening was crystal clear, but the air felt thick with loss and sorrow.

The local paper had suggested business groups pray publicly. Someone in our group had said, "No matter what, we'll put down trays and bus tubs, step out to the sidewalk, and pray at seven." Knowing my co-workers, I expected silent prayer. When we stepped outside, Michelle said, "Are you gonna do this, Kay?" I wondered if I could, and looking on their faces, I was suddenly drawn back to the years and tears that had made them a part of my life.

The early years of my walk with Christ were padded with safety and beauty. I was home with my children and I was milk fed spiritually, as they were physically. God was very good to give me an easy path as a baby Christian.
In church, my sympathy used to go out to those who testified with heavy hearts of suffering in "the world of the workplace." They spoke of their difficult week, working with sinners they had no connection to. I thought I was God's favored child, being spared such hardship. They had a cross I didn't have to bear.

Then my easy life came crashing down into separation and divorce, and with a heavy heart I had to return to the work arena. Like a gladiator entering the Coliseum, I figured I'd be devoured within minutes. Sure enough, the language was shocking to my virgin ears, and the stories from my new companions amounted to culture shock. I knew the love of Christ, but my abilities to communicate with those who did not know him as I did were poor. I was uncomfortable and defensive. Strange, how quickly we can forget the pit from which we came! My co-workers didn't understand me, and I didn't understand them. What's more, I didn't even want to understand!

I can't pinpoint the moment of change, but God started working on me. I slowly began to listen and care. Friendships evolved as my vulnerable side was revealed. When they realized I wasn't the perfect little church wife, they liked me better. We grew comfortable with one another, and I became more sensitive to their stories, even their complaints about other Christians. I often fail at work, but God moves and repairs - often using my mistakes to draw me closer to those around me.

One afternoon, before another waitress arrived, I filled her table-for-12 with my own customers. She confronted me on what I had done, and after defending myself, I stewed all evening. Later that night, while cleaning our sections, my behavior toward her was so heavy on me that I took her aside. I told her I was wrong and apologized. My eyes filled with tears. That Christmas, knowing my struggles as a single parent, she and another waitress gave me $50. God had built a bridge!

God's fingerprints are all over people. When I slow down and take the time to look into their eyes, I discover they are all wonderful, eternal beings. This is when finding God at work is like winning an Easter egg hunt. You know he is there, but discovering him is like the last egg - a beautiful surprise.

One young man I worked with was heading for college. Jeremy had a background in church, but that summer his parents were in the process of a divorce. We would often eat together and bounce our thoughts back and forth. He spoke of his disillusion with church and family; I would affirm my belief in both. He was experiencing rejection and fear; I was modeling hope, love, and stability in Christ to a lunch buddy. We were never angry or defensive with one another, but enjoyed our summer "sport." The last day he worked, Jeremy took the trouble to come back to the kitchen and say goodbye. I grinned and asked if he wanted me to pray with him. Expecting a final negative joke, I did a double take when he said yes. So I took him back to the storage room, where we prayed, surrounded by cans of tomato paste.

Do I have bad moments at work? Oh my! In a typical 40-hour week, the uglies have time to surface in all of us. I have simultaneously wanted to slap someone, while remembering Christ's mandate to love. So I take a deep breath and go the extra mile - until the next time. I think God loves to be in the midst of our struggles.

Mostly I have seen the dividends of long-term investments -- investments in conversations, in bringing co-workers home for dinner, in baby showers (not preceded by weddings), in karaoke night at the bar (yes, they asked me and, yes, I went), in offering rides home, and in apologizing. Love and faith are open to the motion of God. We do not program the moments anymore than we can program love and faith. They are his doing and are set in motion before we arrive on the scene.

Christ has given me moments of immense joy in the workplace, where I often find him more visible than I do at church. His love has been evidenced in my life on sidewalks, and next to tomato paste cans. Having my way, or proving I am right is not the issue. God is visible when I participate in lives. I have seen hearts turn, but mine has too. I fly higher and the vision is broader from here.

So it was with a profound sense of what I had learned from these friends that I attempted to lead this bewildered group in that seven o'clock prayer - like the rest of the nation, still in shock from the events of the day before.
All I could think of was to start with words from a hymn, "Oh God, our help in ages past, our hope for years to come." I went on praying for our nation, other nations, and those damaged by the tragedy. One of the many reasons I love sinners is the freedom I have with them (because I am one too). They most certainly won't critique my prayers. And as I prayed, I realized anew how much they meant to me, so I ended by saying, "Thank you, thank you, for these dear young people who mean so much to me. They have taught me more about you, Jesus, than I have ever taught them. Amen."

With tears on all our faces they thanked me, hugged me, and said, "That was awesome." I wondered if they had ever heard anyone give thanks for them before.