ptui!

Sometimes, the hand that feeds gets bitten; the shoulder that's cried upon is beaten.
On occasion,  I find myself in this circumstance.

I pour everything I am into caring for the people God has led me to; I'll cook and clean for them, love and comfort them, and walk alongside them through the darkest shadows of their journey.

To be spit on. Literally.
And its in that moment where everything stops.

You see, that incredible joy of loving people with God's love and seeing lives change, well . . . its tainted with a tinge of pride. "Look at me, I'm Mr. Nice. I help people! Yay, me!"

But when that spit hits my face, Gr!
The adrenaline kicks in. The pride. The anger. The entitlement.
The self-righteous lie that I deserve to be treated with respect

Its in that mili-second that I can, in no way, fool myself into believing that I'm good. Not one bit.
I'm forced to face my flesh.

On different occasions in the bible, Jesus used spit when working miracles.
Mark 7:32-35, Mark 8:22-25, John 9:1-7.

God has an uncanny knack for using the ordinary to do the extraordinary. 
And when that angsty teen's spit hits my face, something extraordinary happens.

My ego is put in check.