Sitting in the Discomfort of Service by Kristen Stiefel

“Sometimes I wish serving others was easier.” 

I told this to my husband over dinner last week. The previous evening we had the opportunity to host our friend Gus* in our home for dinner. He hadn’t been over in a while, and it gave us quality time to catch up while he ran a few loads of laundry and took a shower. Gus has been living outside in San Francisco’s Golden Gate Park for about three years now, and we got to know him through the weekly pancake picnics in Golden Gate Park that our church hosts for our unhoused neighbors. Gus has also become a beloved and committed member of our church, showing up each week, engaging in the service and a small group, and always asking for updates on how people are doing if he hasn’t seen them in a while. Access to hot running water while living in Golden Gate Park is hard to come by, so it felt easy to share the resources we have.

We were happy to add another setting to our dinner table. We were glad to provide a welcoming space to be supportive friends. It was easy to provide a fresh towel, good-smelling soap, and other toiletries for a shower. We are glad to live in an apartment with a washer and dryer in the unit so friends can use them. 

But then, it got hard.

Like most San Franciscans, we have a shoeless house to keep the sidewalk dirt and dust on the sidewalk. Most guests see our stack of shoes by the front door and instinctively take theirs off or ask if they should. Not only did Gus not follow either of these social cues, but when we informed him that we have a shoeless house, he kindly replied that he would feel more comfortable continuing to wear his boots. Yes, okay, but…

You see, we have this rug, and it was new, and it was a light, neutral color. And Gus was wearing boots…boots that have traveled all over San Francisco and traversed miles in the park. Boots could have accumulated who knows what on the bottom of them. And again, the rug was new, and I thought it was beautiful.

“Sometimes I wish serving others was easier” was the start of my confession. As much as I wanted to welcome Gus into our home, I wanted service to be on my terms. I wanted Gus to behave in a certain way. I wanted my rug to not have boots on it! 

We did reach an easy compromise. We gave Gus the option to take his boots off and hang out inside our home, or if he wanted to keep his boots on, we could hang out in our fun and peaceful backyard since it was a bright and warm summer evening. He opted to be outside, and it was a lovely time. We brought dinner out and sat around our patio table. Over dinner and dessert, I learned that Gus loved quesadillas with sour cream. He showed us some rocks he found recently. Being at our house, we were able to show Gus the rocks we had picked up while on walks and talk about some of our favorite foods, too.

But we were not outside the whole time, and there was still the issue of the rug, which began to look more and more like a lake of lava that needed to be avoided. On one side of the rug was the backyard and the kitchen. On the other side was Gus’ coat and backpack and the bathroom. Each time Gus happened to walk across the rug, I fought an urge to butt in. I wanted Gus to feel at home. I, in my “inside shoes”, could easily cross this lake of lava and grab what he needed from down the hall; he didn’t need to do it. I wanted to reroute Gus’ movements. And I knew I was placing my need for a clean house above my love for Gus. Lord, have mercy on me! 

We had placed this rug down so our living room would feel more homey and comfortable. We wanted the living room to be a place that draws people in and invites them to linger over long conversations and tea. Ironically, I was using this rug for the exact opposite reason we put it there in the first place. I wonder what other ways I am trying to serve others but end up erecting barriers instead. 

I want to serve others with a fuller heart and open hands. I wish that I didn’t place so much importance on the things that I have. I desire to have fewer barriers to keep me from others. I wish that generous service came more easily. 

Gus was simply grateful for the time with us, his friends. The opportunities to do laundry and take a shower were added bonuses. And you know what? When he left, there weren’t any boot marks on the rug. Despite my best, but deeply misaligned efforts to keep him off of it, there were times when he had to cross over to go to the bathroom or get his bag down the hall. This rug looked the same as it had before Gus came over. Why was I so preoccupied by this? 

That night, parts of serving Gus were easy. But, quite quickly and unexpectedly, it turned out to be harder than I thought it would be. Outwardly, my motives were in the right place, but inwardly, my priorities were completely off the mark. I didn’t know that opening the door to Gus that evening would mean shining a light on the ways that I need to change. Noticing my reactions revealed the spaces that I want to invite Jesus into…places where my heart needs further softening and the places where I have disordered attachments. May I take what was illuminated to me that evening to love others more deeply, authentically, and generously.

 

*name changed to protect their identity