The Waitress

Five Minute Fridays from The Gypsy Mama. This week’s prompt: Sit down, think of the most unique person you encountered while you were out and about this week, and write them into life for us. In five minutes flat.

She was just another waitress.

There were several in the restaurant and she was just one more among the faces that served our large group last night. Short curly hair, combat boots, a few tattoos. She wasn’t pretty, she wasn’t overly friendly, she would not stand out in a crowd. She just quietly kept refilling my glass, asking if we needed anything else, bringing condiments.

I will probably forget her in a few days. Most customers probably do.

But what dawned on me as I watched her was that, while she moved around the tables, each hair on her head was counted. Each thought listened to. Each hope considered. She may not even know it. Maybe nobody ever told her. But as she did her duty, she was marveled over, she was sung over, she was loved.

There is One who knit her together delicately and carefully. One that has recorded every day of her life. One that knows her name, thinks she is precious, and loved her enough to die for her.

I forget sometimes that every person I encounter is one of God’s beloved. I may not know her story, but He knows every tear she has cried.

I pondered all this from the comfort of my bed later that night. I thought about my lack of recognition and the loss of opportunity and I prayed that someone else, wiser and more obedient than I, will see her, really see her, and be bold enough to handle the introductions between the waitress and the God who rejoices over her day after day.