Monica had worked in my house in Africa for a few years, but I had never had the opportunity to see her home. At the news of her brother's and father's deaths, I went to offer my comfort.
As I entered the 10-by-12 foot room that housed the fifteen family members, I greeted Monica's mother. In the dim light, I noticed that the room had little furniture to offer - two chairs and a bench. I was shown to one of chairs. Monica's mother was sitting on a grass mat.
The only window was a slit six inches wide and 12 inches tall. As my eyes adjusted, I could see the room had a fresh coat of paint and well-swept floor. There was no ventilation to cool the room. The sweat dripped from my face and arms. How could they stand to live in this place$%:
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I didn't know what to say. I told Monica's mother I was sorry for her loss. Over the next 30 minutes she proceeded to overwhelm me with gratitude. "If it were not for you hiring my daughter, we would not have paint on the walls. Thank you for the paint. If it were not for you, we would still have our leaky roof. But you helped to fix it and we remain dry at night. If it were not for you, we would be fighting mosquitoes throughout the night. But you helped us get a screen door and screen for the window." The list went on and on. I had no idea! I thought Monica had used her salary for food.
I had gone to minister to this woman, to share of the hope we have in Christ. I went away ministered to and convicted of my own ungratefulness. Have I ever thanked God for the paint on my walls$%:
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