Many people don’t know this about me, but I am a bi-vocational citizen. During the day, Monday through Friday, I spend my hours as an assistant at a chiropractic office. Two nights a week, Sunday’s and Monday’s, I find myself donning my black t-shirt, dark jeans, nasty slip-resistant shoes, and a barely-there apron to take up my roll as server in the busiest restaurant in town: Texas Roadhouse. It was one night at this secondary vocation where I found myself desperate, worried, and completely consumed all at once.

I arrived for work just like any usual Monday. A couple minutes late coming from job #1, a bit worn down from the thought of walking into a shift right on the heels of completing another, and honestly ready to get it over with and go home to see my wife. Nothing was out of the ordinary. I found myself serving in a familiar section of tables, greeted by some familiar Monday night faces, and truthfully a bit bored by the evening as a whole. We were slow and I wanted to go home, and that makes for a really long shift.

Slowly but surely, as it always does, business picked up and I was lost in the busy-ness and craziness that is restaurant work. Get the orders, get the drinks, input the orders, refill the drinks, get the appetizers, get the salads, get more bread, get more drinks, make sure everything comes out in perfect order, check the food, fix any problems, all while doing this for three other tables, all while making sure not to screw anything up and making sure not to forget anything! If you are tired from just reading that, imagine actually doing it. There is no time for other things. There is no room for other thoughts. There is no place for other priorities. My customers take priority over everything for those few hours. Except one thing, that is… 

You see, the worst possible mistake a server can make is to lose a customer’s money. Dropping a credit card or someone’s cash and not retaining the ability to rediscover said monetary object opens the server up to more stress and worry than ever imaginable. Long sentence short: don’t lose other people’s money, ever!

(Don’t be too concerned. I didn’t lose anyone’s money per se. But I did manage to lose something that rocked my world. Something that re-oriented my priorities.)

At most restaurants, when the server takes your money, they are responsible for it and every other bit of money given to them for the duration of the evening. So, when I make change for you, I’m making it out of the money I’ve already collected or brought with me. We are like independent sales people who have to pay for the food we sell at the end of the night. So the wad of cash I carry each night is my responsibility. My burden. My problem if something happens to it. And this particular night, something did happen.

As I mentioned before, my night had picked up in intensity and I was in the middle of taking care of twenty things all at one time. I have systems in place that guarantee that my money goes, in order, to the right place in my uniform each and every time. Regardless of how busy I am, I will stop and put cash away systematically so that there is never a question where it went. But, in the middle of a semi-panicked state of business, I sidestepped my trustworthy and tested system and went with the quick and time-saving alternative.

A table was ready to pay and leave while another was awaiting the liquid refreshment that I had in my hand. So to kill two birds with one stone, I took the cash from the first table, thanked them for coming, and made the mistake that cost me many moments of sanity. I shoved the folded bills into the first pocket my groping hand could find and moved along to my next mission. After all, this was only the need of two of the four tables I was currently responsible for.

Not giving the mistake a second thought, I proceeded to the second table and dropped off the drinks. Knowing there were other things that needed tending to, I quickly unsheathed my order book and took the stance of “Hurry up and order. I have a lot to do!”

After drudging through the agonizing 37 seconds it took for the couple to order, I made a b-line for the nearest computer and began the input process, already thinking ahead to the seven other things I needed to be doing at this exact same moment. And in the process of prioritizing all that I would do following my computer time, I remembered the money I was handed shortly before I took the order.

Where did I put that? I remembered grabbing it and over-ruling my protocol, but I didn’t remember ever going back to correct my misstep. I never went back and filed the money away, all face-up and in order of denomination. I would remember that. So I looked in my pocket and pulled out all the other cash I had been given. Everything was neat and even. No unfiled bills here.

Immediately panic began settling over me. I began patting all my pockets as if there was a tiny forest fire somewhere in my pants, frantically searching for this lost money that, for the most part, was not mine. The problem was, the couple had paid and tipped all in one transaction. A little “you’re all set” action. No change required. This is usually a blessing because I don’t have to search for change. Now it had become a curse. Now it had become a truly staggering screw up. Now I had lost not only my tip, but also the $40 that paid for their food. I was responsible. I was burdened. I was screwed!

This would put a huge dent in my earnings for the night. This would ruin my shift!

This would not be fun to tell my wife.

These thoughts and more began pouring through my consciousness and I became surrounded by the haunting reality that I had in fact lost a lot of money and there was nothing I could do about it. I still had tables to wait on, others to serve and take care of, but I couldn’t rid my mind of this one staggering truth.

Was I positive that I didn’t just put it away? Could I have stuffed it somewhere I hadn’t checked? Surely I didn’t lose it. Surely.

And if I did, where would I even start looking? The garbage? The computer terminal? Near my tables? Did I drop it or discard it? And in the midst of all these questions, the back part of my brain is screaming, “You have other things you need to focus on!”

And that was it. I just had to begin the long process of just dealing with it. I made a huge mistake. I failed. I dropped the ball. And now I had to deal with that reality.

And for what seemed like forever, I just wandered through the restaurant. Numb. Dead to the world. Disconnected. Completely beside myself. I just couldn’t believe it. And in that time that seemed to stretch on for an eternity, I honestly couldn’t see past my situation. I couldn’t have cared less about my surroundings or my responsibilities…my mind was lost in my failure. I couldn’t see anything else. I was consumed.

After a short amount of time, I began to swallow the reality that I had just ruined my night and began the process of ridding my mind of the negativity that comes with such a screw up. It was only $45 or so, anyway. A week from now, I wouldn’t even be bothered by this. It was all going to be fine.

And then I returned to my table that I had just taken the order from. And then things completely changed.

As I approached them, the gentleman at the table extended his hand to me. Not sure if he was trying to get my attention or trying to get a hand shake, I gave him a sideways glance. He then proceeded to turn over his hand and reveal a folded pile of bills.

“I think you dropped this when you came over to take our order. We saw you looking around and you looked like you lost something, so we looked around our table and found this. Here ya’ go.”

That’s what happened! I exclaimed in my mind. In my hast to quickly record a dinner order, I had pulled my book from its pocket, spilling the misplaced bills to the floor. It all made sense now. My sanity had returned.

Obviously, I showered the man in thanks and praised him for his honesty. He could have put it in his pocket and had dinner paid for. His family could have had a real need for it. He could have bought his child something with it. But he didn’t. And while that alone is substance enough for a whole article, I won’t go on other than to say he showed me the Kingdom of God in that moment more than he could have possibly known.

As I walked away from the table, lost money in hand, I was overwhelmed with gratitude not only to the man, but to God who always looks out for me. And then I went on to finish my night of work not really giving it much of a second thought.

The next day, however, found my wife and I in the midst of a group discussion about some of the parables of Jesus. Specifically the stories of the prodigal son, the lost coin, and the lost sheep. And where I’ve always perceived these stories from a selfish and introverted point of view, I found new meaning and depth that I had never previously considered.

In each of these stories, there is the obvious connection as we see the lost son or coin or cattle being found. Stories of redemption and unimaginable grace. Wonderful depictions of a God who welcomes each of us and searches for us and beckons us. Incredible.

But there’s more here, isn’t there? What if, instead of placing ourselves into the roll of lost one, we found ourselves as the ones who are looking? The ones who are searching. How would that change our perspective? Wouldn’t it make us a bit more like the lowly server who lost his tip and became unable to focus on anything else simply because his concern was so great for this one thing? Wouldn’t it make us see the lost coin in Jesus’ parable more like it was? A truly valuable item to the owner that, upon its disappearance, merits a whole-hearted and desperate search for it’s return. Wouldn’t it make us see these stories completely differently?

A God who’s entire agenda is to find those who aren’t connected to Him and bring them close again. A God who is so preoccupied with this one idea that He would give anything to find those who aren’t with Him. He would sacrifice everything. Wouldn’t we want to serve a God like that?

And that’s what I came to realize after that night. God sees me this way. One who was so far away from Him that He allowed and endured the horrible sacrifice of His son that I might be found. And His focus was purely on me. His intent was undeterred. His aim was true. And He found me and brought me close and my life will never be the same again.

But there’s another part to it now. I was the lost one He was desperate to find, but now I am the found one He wants to be desperate to find others. He lives in those who believe and desires that we each become desperate for those who are not connected to Him. It’s not enough to have an outreach project twice a year. It’s not about fulfilling some mandate, punching my time card and rolling out. It’s about my focus being determined on those who are far from Him. It’s about being overwhelmed with the reality that there are so many people around me who don’t know the real Jesus at all. They don’t want anything to do with religion and I don’t blame them. But they need to know about this Savior. This grace. This miracle. And I need to be one who is desperate to reach them for my God. I need to let the truth of this distract me from everything else and find myself consumed by the need to bring others to Jesus. What does that look like? How does that play out out in my life and in yours? I’m not completely sure, but I know I’m not here to keep this to myself. I’m here to show it to everyone I know. And how that happens I leave to my Father who was gracious enough to be desperate that I know Him that He relentlessly pursued me until I was His. I can only ask that He do the same through me.