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Leadership Development

Willing Hands, Unwilling Heart

Matthew 21:28-31 outlines the story of two sons. When their father asked them to go to work, the first refused, then later changed his mind and went. The second responded that he would go, and then did not.

I sometimes wonder why there was not a third son, though, one who heard his father's request and went at once to work but grumbled, rebelled, and resisted in his heart.

Of course, I am at times like the first son. I answer with a belligerent, "No," then later repent and go do the job. Or sometimes I'll agree cheerfully, eagerly, even enthusiastically, but days or weeks later I still haven't shown up to do the job.

More often than these two responses, though, I find myself being the mythical third son. My face, hands, and feet (and everything in between) show up on the job, do the work that needs to be done, and often do it well. But as my hands busily accomplish the task, my heart takes up a familiar refrain of "Why me?"

For instance, in the kitchen on any evening, there I am bustling about, juggling pots and pans, pouring, measuring, mixing, stirring. To all outward appearances I am the epitome of a good Christian homemaker—"Super Sally Sunshine" serving up splendid suppers.

My mind, however, takes note that everyone else is watching TV or reading or sprawled in a recliner with feet propped up comfortably. And my mind industriously gathers grievances.

Don't they know I'd like to watch TV once in awhile? Do they ever think of me? Oh, no. Here I am, slaving away in the kitchen, and no one even appreciates all the work I do.

My hands bang pots a bit louder to be sure everyone notices how hard I'm working.

Why do I always have to do all the work? Ouch, I burned my hand again. The least they could do is help.

From the living room comes a voice, "Anything I can do to help?"

"Oh, no," I respond sweetly, running cold water over my burned fingers. "You all take it easy. Dinner will be ready soon."

Scrubbing mud-stained jeans or scraping goop off the floor after everyone's off to school or work, my hands work diligently while my mind catalogs the ache in my back, the rawness of my knuckles, or the tiredness of my brain.

So then, what would the Lord have to say? Here I am obeying on the outside but rebelling on the inside. Which one, I wonder, does He count when accounting time comes around?

Will He say, "Well done, thou good and faithful servant; all your clothes are washed, dishes done, meals fixed, and floors polished." Or will He ignore clothes, floors, and dishes, and lift up the flap at the bottom of the refrigerator, finding the neglected dirt down there, rub His finger along the top of the door jambs to discover cobwebs, notice the dusty floor behind the dishwasher?

Will He look at the deeds I have done or will He respond only to those left undone, the heart-and-mind deeds piling up unseen in dark closets?

I might just as well be the second brother, smiling agreeably, looking up from my reading, nodding eagerly while I say, "Yes, of course I'll do it. Is there anything else I can do?" then bury my head in my book again, never budging an inch from my chair.

And so I start from the beginning again, asking God to help me have a willing heart. And I ask forgiveness for the many days when my hands seemed willing, but my heart balked belligerently. May God bring me to the point of having willing hands and a willing heart, that I may obey Him and be pleasing to Him in all that I do.

He tells us in His Word to do all as unto Him. And He hasn't been deaf all these many days. He heard every complaint of my heart even as I washed dishes and prepared meals. He saw the works of my inner rebellion as clearly as the fruit of my outer obedience.

May both my heart and hands bring glory to my Lord, joy to my family, and peace to my entire being.

KAREN M. LEET