J. Grant Swank, Jr.

 
In the Lakes Region there is this sixtyish gas station clerk who is predictably courteous. It doesn't matter what the lousy weather, the line up of customers or the complainers, she still smiles and serves.


I quietly have taken special note of her--over time. And the research always comes out the same: she is consistently kind and giving. Interesting but not unusual in the neighborhood where I hang my hat.


This mystery woman reminds me of Vi.


Vi was the one who put out the gorgeous, round, luscious fruits in a huge color-splashed bowl. There it was in the center of our morning table--along with the pastries, cereals, hot beverages and whatever else the Massies requested the night before.


Vi saw to it that vacationers Priscilla and Grant were treated exceptionally well. It was "simply her way," Herb and Pearl informed us. And with that, they were most fortunate to have Vi as their housekeeper.


Montego Bay could not have been more outlandishly pleasant that spring. So days we went sightseeing with our host and hostess--he being the retired overseer of the entire island's road system.


Consequently, we got to explore enticing nooks and crannies off the beaten path. Then evenings we laid back at the Bay, closing out our excursions with a full meal set forth by none other than our faithful, meticulous Vi.


"Come join us for Bible," Herb would invite Vi. So she did. We--the five of us--had our devotions together: Bible, prayer and a bit of chatter centering on God's ways with our lives.


The next day was the same: a variety of island birds exchanging messages outside our bedrooms windows, sunlight smiling through those artfully carved air passages in the walls, and that Picasso-like breakfast table--not only lush with exotic tastes but overflowing with happy colors.


In the center of it all--Vi.


Her faith was a simple trust. In that, Vi lived out her love for Jesus. That love was shown practically in her consistent kindness of serving.
 

Then the years slipped by. From Kingston (their second home) came Herb and Pearl's note. Included in much familial detail was the news that heaven had added one. Vi had been taken from Jamaica to serve other tables. Massies were sad but the angels were delighted.


When we have company for dinner and our table needs cleared of its dishes, I often look at my wife to say, "Where's Vi?" Then we chuckle. And then we pause, thanking God that we ever crossed island paths with the likes of one named Vi.


Sometimes friends say to me, "I don't know what this old world's coming to!" And of course we can all read between the lines on that one.


But when I hear that lament, I often think back to past-tense Vi. And then I remember present-tense sixtyish gas station clerk. So with that I conclude that the world's probably like it's always been--some bad, but some good, too.


Well, then, what's the good ones' secret? How can they do it--serving, breathing out an unadorned kindness, reliable in their love? Why don't they cave in? Why don't they leap into the bank lobby and shoot-em-up?


Jesus opened up secret's door a long time ago when He washed His disciples' feet. "Wash one another's feet. For I have given you an example. The servant is not greater than his lord. Neither he that is sent greater than he that sent him. If you know these things, you are happy if you do them." (John 13:14-17)

 
"Happy if you do them."



Yessirree. I think Vi learned that a long, long time ago.