At work, as I sliced ham and served Cherry Pepsi and scrubbed dishes and rang people up at the cash register, I wondered, What am I doing here? Like, seriously. What am I doing, working at a pizzeria? Serving a dish of spaghetti isn't going to make a difference in anyone's life.
But then, I remembered. I'm here for a reason. Maybe it's for the time I helped one of my coworkers out with multiplying and dividing fractions, so he could pass the GED. Maybe it's for the waitress who wanted me to help her with the spelling and grammar on her résumé. Maybe it's for another waitress who needed me to work her shift, so she could stay at home with her sick baby.
God's work isn't always glamorous.