I know that I'm not supposed to admit this, but, sometimes I get bored on the race. I ascribe to the “only-boring-people-get-bored” philosophy, so, I am basically admitting to you that sometimes I am a boring person. I believe that you can put a positive spin on any situation, and even repetitive tasks can be entertaining with the right attitude. Unfortunately, being bored can sneak up on you even in the most unexpected circumstances. For example, playing with children all day has tons of opportunities for creative fun. But, after pushing the 17th child on the swings for the 38th time, all of a sudden, you may realize that things have gotten a little stale. You may attempt to introduce a new activity in order to maintain your own sanity, but, somehow, you find yourself back at the swings once again.
Bored.
Being here and being bored just doesn't seem right. (I guess based on my personal “only-boring-people-get-bored” philosophy, being bored never does.) There are tons of sweet children here needing the attention that I can give. But what happens when that attention takes the form of my arms slowly turning to jello as the rhythmic monotony of the swings threatens to gelatanize my mind as well?
Last week, after hearing the words, “please come push me,” for probably the 77th time, I hesitated. (Boredom has a way of keeping you from even doing the boring things, it seems.) It's tempting to think that maybe pushing a child on the swings doesn't really make a difference in the scheme of things. Playing on a playground hardly seems like the stuff that changing the world is made of, you know? It was in that split second of hesitation that Jesus' words from Matthew 25:40 came to mind: Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these, you did it to me. And there it is. Jesus' words have a way of changing things; and, that day they changed my attitude. You're not doing it for him, you're doing it for me.
I doubt that my little friend on the swings remembers that I pushed him that day. It seems likely that, to him, I'm part of an ever-changing sea of friendly volunteers. Needed? Yes. Appreciated? Yes. Remembered?
Well, no, not by him. But by the One who asked me to play in the first place?
Yes, I'm sure of it.
