HOW DO WE LEARN THE JOY OF SERVING OTHERS?
BY DOING IT IN JESUS' NAME . . . .
The “Right to Work" (It Ain’t What you Think!)
Do you know why we work? You probably think you do. But a long time ago I learned the real reason we work (when we are working our hardest and best). I go back to that incident in my mind from time to time to remind me of that first discovery and the God-given ethos that turns work of any kind into joyful servanthood.
I’ve told you in other places about my custom as a child of traveling to Minco, Oklahoma every summer to visit my grandparents for several weeks. My grandparents, Cornelius ("Cornel") and Flossie (on my dad’s side) were two of the hardest working people I had ever met. Cornel, in those years, owned and operated a small gas station on U. S. 81 about two miles north of Minco, and right near its junction with state highway 152. He had three or four hired hands who would come in at different times during the day, and I soon got to know and like them all. They were friendly men who enjoyed their work, and mostly seemed to appreciate my grandfather as their employer. And of course my grandmother worked hard to support him. Often I would find her working the main desk inside the little station building. Flossie would also help with balancing the books and paying the bills, as well as cooking, cleaning house, and keeping at least one steady eye on me and my brothers.
So they all worked hard, for six days a week and more (people drove and bought gasoline on Sundays too, of course) and so did their crew. Often I wanted to do things with Granddad, or I wished that he could do things with me. But he couldn’t, and the reason he always rightly gave was, “I have to work.” Even with this Cornel made time to take us fishing at least once a week, even before he sold the station and retired in 1964.
During the summer of 1962, I was eight years old, and I got an opportunity then that I never had before. There was some candy I wanted from his glass display in the station office, so I just asked him for it as I had in the past. On that particular day, he looked at me as if sizing me up and said, “you know, Paul, that candy costs me money. I have to buy it first in order to sell it to others. And if I just keep on giving it away, then I don’t make any money off of it from selling it to customers.” That’s when it really began to sink home that he mainly obtained all the candy in order to sell to highway travelers for a small profit; he didn’t buy it to give it away to his grandsons! I think I had known this deep down for awhile. But now it really hit me that the candy was supposed to be an additional source of something called income for the operation and success of his business.
I don’t know if he caught the glint of understanding in my eye just then or not, but he
continued. “You’re old enough to work for your candy. And I happen to have a job for you right
now. I’ve been needing someone to do it for a few weeks now. How would you like to work for me?”
“I’d love to, Granddad!” I answered truthfully and with much enthusiasm. “What’s the job?” I asked, innocently.
“There are lots of tall weeds in the back of the tool shed and all around the sides. If you were to borrow my hoe and cut those weeds down, you could pretty well have your choice of the candy.”
“You mean I could have all of it?” I asked with a hopeful gleam in my eye. “I mean one piece of candy each day for a week. How’s that sound?” he asked with a wink. I completely misunderstood the wink, and practically shouted, “Oh, yes, Granddad, that would be just great!” That’s how much I liked my candy back then. And that’s also how much I misunderstood what a good deal my grandfather was about to get (that is, if I did my part and actually followed his instructions).
He gave me a hoe and a wheelbarrow, showed me the shed and the weeds, gave me a quick lesson in how to use the hoe, then turned me loose. At first I thought I could get through those weeds in no time and move on to collect my reward. I soon found out they were not going to be very cooperative. I began to realize hoeing was hard work; the fact that there was no shortage of weeds meant there was plenty of work to be done for quite a while. But I kept working away and began to see a little progress. Very soon I found out the main thing that kept me going was not that piece of candy. Candy didn’t even sound good in those moments of
flying dirt and dripping sweat. Water sounded a lot better, so I took a quick break to drink down a tall glass. Then when I got back to my hoe, I moved from the side of the barn to the back, where the weeds were taller and tougher. It was then that I realized I didn’t have to do this. I didn’t have to work. But instead I was getting to work! And I was getting to work for a man I loved and admired more than anyone else (except his son, my father). He was allowing me to do something for him that he really needed to have done; and the bonus was he was going to pay me something for it!
This thought empowered my efforts for the next hour (until my next water break). I found a joy at hoisting the hoe and bringing it down into the soft dirt to break up and move some weeds. I was learning to go for the roots so as to move out any trace of the weeds. There were the large, leafy, sticky sunflowers, and thistles, but also the bullthorns, mustards, goosegrass, and who knows what other special creations of our Lord (they must have a purpose: we just don’t know what they are!)
Soon there came an additional bonus: I even found a turtle in the midst of one lettuce-like cluster of mustard weed. I was a collector of turtles then and that discovery motivated me even more. Who knew what else I might discover while I was on the job? I liked the idea that there might be something new and as yet undiscovered under the broad leafs of some of those milkweed plants. I worked another hour, and then noticed my hands were getting raw, and I was getting short-winded. There were lots of weeds there, and I didn’t finish the job that evening. Granddad called me in for supper
about the time the sky grew gray and overcast.
I started in the next morning, grateful for the light rain of the night before. I would hoe up a couple of rows of weeds, then stop and scoop them by hand into the wheelbarrow, which was about as big as me.
By then I had at least learned to ask for and use a pair of gloves, and that made the going a lot better. As the morning advanced I realized there were many more weeds than I had time or energy for: indeed the patch behind the shed opened out into a whole field which quickly became rolling pasture for his small herd of cattle. But at least I had cleared enough to enable him to open the back doors of his tool shed easily. What I found throughout the entire experience though was that work had been a privilege, not a duty or a burden.
Granddad hadn’t had time to check on my work as he had been especially busy with travelers, cars, and gasoline. He took time out late in the morning to walk up the hill and check on me. He whistled when he saw what I had accomplished in a few hours. Cornel nodded and smiled. “Son, that’s real good. You did some hard work for me, and I appreciate it. When you get time come down to the station and get your pay. Oh, and make sure you put back the
tools where I showed you.”
I dumped the last load of weeds in a pile by his trash barrel for later burning; then I put away the tools and ran over to the station. He was already there. “I’ve seen you eye the peanut butter crunch. Is that what you want today?”
I’m not even sure of if that was the proper name of the candy. But “peanut butter crunch” was about the size of a razor head, rectangular, maybe a quarter of an inch thick, and it was hard candy on the outside with real peanut butter on the inside. The outside was always striped brown and white, and oohhhhhh, they were good! Granddad wasn’t finished. He stooped down to my level and said, “how about a little cash?” He handed over a whole dime, which I accepted with unbelievable joy. (I know, I know. It ain’t much, but back then, to an eight year old, it was my first real wages.) “You did a good job, and I thank you,” he added. Then he stood up and smiled at the new customers who were walking through the door and asking about the restroom.
I was on cloud nine. I had been honored to have my grandfather asked me to work for him. It almost seemed at first that that was work enough. What surprised me was learning that I actually enjoyed the opportunity to work hard and do a good job, especially if it was for someone I loved. I had for the first time, experienced the joy of work every man should know.
It is an experience I have never forgotten; and it has always returned to me whenever I was asked to help someone else (with or without pay). Overall it had been a privilege to work for him!
Later on I came to understand that this is how Jesus Christ provides for us in the world: by giving us work to do with pay. But I have also thought wouldn’t it be great if we approached the work He assigns us with the same joy? What if we learned how to see our service for Him in the church (whatever it was) as a privilege and an opportunity? If we had that attitude I happened to have as a boy, perhaps our whole approach to volunteering might change. We might do it more often, knowing it was for Jesus Christ, and we might do it with a smile. So smile while you work! That you can do it at all is a gift from God. (And especially now in these times when our own “demon kraut” government has made it so very hard to get a job!)
LBC
BY DOING IT IN JESUS' NAME . . . .
 |
| The Woodworth's Store is still a Land Mark in Minco. Oh, how I loved that place! |
Do you know why we work? You probably think you do. But a long time ago I learned the real reason we work (when we are working our hardest and best). I go back to that incident in my mind from time to time to remind me of that first discovery and the God-given ethos that turns work of any kind into joyful servanthood.
I’ve told you in other places about my custom as a child of traveling to Minco, Oklahoma every summer to visit my grandparents for several weeks. My grandparents, Cornelius ("Cornel") and Flossie (on my dad’s side) were two of the hardest working people I had ever met. Cornel, in those years, owned and operated a small gas station on U. S. 81 about two miles north of Minco, and right near its junction with state highway 152. He had three or four hired hands who would come in at different times during the day, and I soon got to know and like them all. They were friendly men who enjoyed their work, and mostly seemed to appreciate my grandfather as their employer. And of course my grandmother worked hard to support him. Often I would find her working the main desk inside the little station building. Flossie would also help with balancing the books and paying the bills, as well as cooking, cleaning house, and keeping at least one steady eye on me and my brothers.
 |
| My grandfather's old gas station was a fun place to play . . . and work. |
So they all worked hard, for six days a week and more (people drove and bought gasoline on Sundays too, of course) and so did their crew. Often I wanted to do things with Granddad, or I wished that he could do things with me. But he couldn’t, and the reason he always rightly gave was, “I have to work.” Even with this Cornel made time to take us fishing at least once a week, even before he sold the station and retired in 1964.
During the summer of 1962, I was eight years old, and I got an opportunity then that I never had before. There was some candy I wanted from his glass display in the station office, so I just asked him for it as I had in the past. On that particular day, he looked at me as if sizing me up and said, “you know, Paul, that candy costs me money. I have to buy it first in order to sell it to others. And if I just keep on giving it away, then I don’t make any money off of it from selling it to customers.” That’s when it really began to sink home that he mainly obtained all the candy in order to sell to highway travelers for a small profit; he didn’t buy it to give it away to his grandsons! I think I had known this deep down for awhile. But now it really hit me that the candy was supposed to be an additional source of something called income for the operation and success of his business.
I don’t know if he caught the glint of understanding in my eye just then or not, but he
continued. “You’re old enough to work for your candy. And I happen to have a job for you right
 |
| My grandfather's candy counter was to me one of the great wonders of the world. |
“I’d love to, Granddad!” I answered truthfully and with much enthusiasm. “What’s the job?” I asked, innocently.
“There are lots of tall weeds in the back of the tool shed and all around the sides. If you were to borrow my hoe and cut those weeds down, you could pretty well have your choice of the candy.”
“You mean I could have all of it?” I asked with a hopeful gleam in my eye. “I mean one piece of candy each day for a week. How’s that sound?” he asked with a wink. I completely misunderstood the wink, and practically shouted, “Oh, yes, Granddad, that would be just great!” That’s how much I liked my candy back then. And that’s also how much I misunderstood what a good deal my grandfather was about to get (that is, if I did my part and actually followed his instructions).
He gave me a hoe and a wheelbarrow, showed me the shed and the weeds, gave me a quick lesson in how to use the hoe, then turned me loose. At first I thought I could get through those weeds in no time and move on to collect my reward. I soon found out they were not going to be very cooperative. I began to realize hoeing was hard work; the fact that there was no shortage of weeds meant there was plenty of work to be done for quite a while. But I kept working away and began to see a little progress. Very soon I found out the main thing that kept me going was not that piece of candy. Candy didn’t even sound good in those moments of
 |
| He had LOTS of big weeds by that old shed . . . and one young sucker to hoe them! |
This thought empowered my efforts for the next hour (until my next water break). I found a joy at hoisting the hoe and bringing it down into the soft dirt to break up and move some weeds. I was learning to go for the roots so as to move out any trace of the weeds. There were the large, leafy, sticky sunflowers, and thistles, but also the bullthorns, mustards, goosegrass, and who knows what other special creations of our Lord (they must have a purpose: we just don’t know what they are!)
Soon there came an additional bonus: I even found a turtle in the midst of one lettuce-like cluster of mustard weed. I was a collector of turtles then and that discovery motivated me even more. Who knew what else I might discover while I was on the job? I liked the idea that there might be something new and as yet undiscovered under the broad leafs of some of those milkweed plants. I worked another hour, and then noticed my hands were getting raw, and I was getting short-winded. There were lots of weeds there, and I didn’t finish the job that evening. Granddad called me in for supper
 |
| If there was anything I liked more than candy it was turtles! (but not for eating!). |
I started in the next morning, grateful for the light rain of the night before. I would hoe up a couple of rows of weeds, then stop and scoop them by hand into the wheelbarrow, which was about as big as me.
By then I had at least learned to ask for and use a pair of gloves, and that made the going a lot better. As the morning advanced I realized there were many more weeds than I had time or energy for: indeed the patch behind the shed opened out into a whole field which quickly became rolling pasture for his small herd of cattle. But at least I had cleared enough to enable him to open the back doors of his tool shed easily. What I found throughout the entire experience though was that work had been a privilege, not a duty or a burden.
Granddad hadn’t had time to check on my work as he had been especially busy with travelers, cars, and gasoline. He took time out late in the morning to walk up the hill and check on me. He whistled when he saw what I had accomplished in a few hours. Cornel nodded and smiled. “Son, that’s real good. You did some hard work for me, and I appreciate it. When you get time come down to the station and get your pay. Oh, and make sure you put back the
 |
| I learned from Grandfather that the job wasn't over until I put all the tools away. |
I dumped the last load of weeds in a pile by his trash barrel for later burning; then I put away the tools and ran over to the station. He was already there. “I’ve seen you eye the peanut butter crunch. Is that what you want today?”
I’m not even sure of if that was the proper name of the candy. But “peanut butter crunch” was about the size of a razor head, rectangular, maybe a quarter of an inch thick, and it was hard candy on the outside with real peanut butter on the inside. The outside was always striped brown and white, and oohhhhhh, they were good! Granddad wasn’t finished. He stooped down to my level and said, “how about a little cash?” He handed over a whole dime, which I accepted with unbelievable joy. (I know, I know. It ain’t much, but back then, to an eight year old, it was my first real wages.) “You did a good job, and I thank you,” he added. Then he stood up and smiled at the new customers who were walking through the door and asking about the restroom.
I was on cloud nine. I had been honored to have my grandfather asked me to work for him. It almost seemed at first that that was work enough. What surprised me was learning that I actually enjoyed the opportunity to work hard and do a good job, especially if it was for someone I loved. I had for the first time, experienced the joy of work every man should know.
 |
| Eventually I learned that Jesus intends for us to work for Him in this life; and to do so with great joy! |
Later on I came to understand that this is how Jesus Christ provides for us in the world: by giving us work to do with pay. But I have also thought wouldn’t it be great if we approached the work He assigns us with the same joy? What if we learned how to see our service for Him in the church (whatever it was) as a privilege and an opportunity? If we had that attitude I happened to have as a boy, perhaps our whole approach to volunteering might change. We might do it more often, knowing it was for Jesus Christ, and we might do it with a smile. So smile while you work! That you can do it at all is a gift from God. (And especially now in these times when our own “demon kraut” government has made it so very hard to get a job!)
LBC
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Hey, thanks for reading. Enjoy AND USE God's world to the full (otherwise you'll be disobeying Him!) Seriously. I'm serious, Mon!! Get your big shovel, and start digging in the ground . . . find oil, gas, coal, burn it, use it; refine it, and travel and function by it! It's God's will, AND we can now do it cleanly! It is time to obey God's orders from Genesis 1!