“Whatever you do,
work at it with all your heart, as if working for God.” ~
Colossians 3:23
Wednesdays always
began the same, at Miller’s Diner, in the corner booth with cracked vinyl
seats. The place smelled of bacon grease and fresh coffee, an aroma that
wrapped around you like a familiar hug.
Bill arrived first, claiming he needed “time
to organize his thoughts,” though everyone knew he just wanted the first cup of
coffee. Charlie, the crew’s unofficial captain, brought steady leadership and
encouragement. Pete faithfully studied the entire menu, “just
in case today was the day waffles appeared.” Others soon filled the booth, their laughter
and fellowship fueling the day’s work ahead.
They laughed, prayed, and traded stories of aching joints and grandkids. Only when the plates were cleared and the last cups drained did they rise together, ready to serve.
Doug tested every light, convinced a bright room welcomed a lively spirit. Jim
circled the building, checking each door with the urgency of a professional
security agent. And Bob, “Head of Plumbing,” proudly inspected every toilet, a
title no one challenged.
Others painted, polished, and repaired whatever needed
attention. Church members called them the Wednesday Willing Workers. They simply
called themselves brothers.
For decades, these retirees had tended the church as if it
were their own homes - patching cracks, repainting walls, polishing windows
until they shimmered in the morning sun. They never spoke of payment; only of
gratitude.
One morning, Pastor Johnny arrived early and
found them already working. Tom knelt in the entryway, wiping dust from the
baseboards. Ray dusted the pews, humming a hymn that drifted softly across the
sanctuary. Benny mopped the Fellowship Hall floor in steady, practiced sweeps.
“Fellas,” the Pastor said gently, “You know we could
hire someone to do this.”
Charlie smiled respectfully. “Why hire someone to love what we already
love?” Gene nodded. “This church held us when we were young men
raising families. It buried our wives. It baptized our grandchildren.” He tapped the
wall with quiet affection. “We’re not just fixing a building, Pastor.
We’re preserving what matters most.”
That Sunday, Pastor
Johnny paused the service to honor them. The congregation rose, clapping and
cheering, until the men’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. Bill quietly wiped
his glasses, struggling to keep his composure.
“We’re not heroes,” Allen said later, slightly
embarrassed. “We’re just old men who believe there’s no greater service than
caring for God’s house.”
Everyone knew better. Their care had left a
mark far deeper than paint or polish. Long after they were gone, their love
would linger in every corner of the church they cared for with faithful, joyful
hearts, a living testament to lives devoted to God’s work.
