Several years ago on a cruise ship, Janet and I met a hard-working young lady named Lenora.

She was cleaning tables and carrying away dirty dishes when we sat down for breakfast.

Lenora was from Ukraine.  Janet’s been to Ukraine before, so someone who knew exactly where her country was, much less having been there before, seemed a genuine treat for Lenora.

Quick observation — most people vacationing on cruises don’t really see the people working on the ship.  It’s like the workers are simply working movable fixtures, walking robots, not real people at all, as if invisible.

Lenora definitely seemed to feel that way. When we spoke, she was hesitant to even speak back, but after we asked her a few questions, Lenora’s eyes locked in.  She looked directly in our eyes as conversation bounced back and forth.

Lenora was on her second contract with the cruise ship. She works ten to twelve hours a day, seven days a week, no days off. This will continue until her seven-month contract expires in two more months.

Then, she’ll get to go home to see her parents, three brothers and a boyfriend who she can Face Time every once in a while. 

Although she’s been to a number of U.S. cities, she’s never been farther inside the United States than the actual port area.   Her only understanding of Americans are the passengers on a cruise ship, and I guess like everywhere, there are all kinds, good and bad.

Anyhow, there was an empty table beside us that was a bit wet.  An uppity passenger carrying two huge plates of food from the buffet walked behind Lenora as we talked.  The arrogant woman waited a second before clearing her throat to interrupt our conversation.

She looked at Lenora like she was a lowly peon who had no more value in her life other than to serve her. The pompous woman about to devour two heaping plates of food spoke in a condescending tone, “Excuse me! Can you clean that table!?”

In essence she said, “Hey you, inferior servant girl! Clean my table, and I mean now!”

We had room on the end of our table, so I offered for her to lay her dishes there.

The passenger immediately said, “Oh! Thank you!” about to lay her overloaded food plates down next to us.

Before she moved any closer, I quickly told the uppity passenger, “I was talking to Lenora, not you.”

The passenger just stared at me with an indignant, open mouth expression.

The working movable fixture, the walking robot, the one who is a real person named Lenora, immediately looked down and began cleaning the table with one hand while balancing a huge tray of dirty dishes with the other.

Lenora faithfully did her job, then Janet and I talked with her a bit more. Even as she shifted the heavy tray of dirty dishes from hand to hand, she was smiling. She wished us well and went back to work.

In the mean time, the uppity woman began eating from her plates like she was a little bird.

Janet’s kindness is genuine, sincere and constant.  Mine? Well, it can be rattled, quickly dropped and if I’m not careful, followed by a cutting tongue.

I started to lean toward the uppity woman at the table beside us to chastise her with a quick thought or two. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Janet whose quiet, compassionate look was enough for me to bite my tongue. 

Still though, the thought of the arrogant, self-centered woman treating Lenora poorly still crawls all over me. 

We kept an eye out for Lenora the rest of our time on ship, but only saw her once more.  She was busy, so we smiled and waved.  She smiled back appreciatively, as if to thank us for noticing her existence.

A couple of weeks after we got home, I went to a hardware store. The young man working the electrical aisles was a green as a gourd.

I asked a simple question about where to find a specific plug type, a GFCI. He looked as confused as a child trying to tie his shoes for the first time.   He had no idea what I was talking about. In fact, he was just a working movable fixture, a walking robot who had no programming.  

I was about to tell him never mind, I’d find it myself, but suddenly Lenora’s face popped in my mind.  I felt my face blush, for this time, I was about to be the uppity woman at the table next door.

I changed gears, asked if I could show him what I meant. He followed. 

On the next aisle over we found the GFCI plugs. I stood with the walking robot, a young man named Carson, and explained when, why and how a GFCI plug works. 

Carson’s eyes lit up as his understanding turned on.  The day before someone asked for the same thing. He didn’t know and said they became frustrated with him.  He was sincerely appreciative for the explanation knowing he could use the newfound knowledge again.

Lenora. 

Carson is Lenora, and vice versa.

And when you boil it down, I’m not any different than the uppity woman with Lenora.

I left lumpen, chewing a leathery piece of humble pie.   

Lenora, Carson, they’re all around, all there, all very, very real.

Lord, help me see the seemingly invisible, working movable fixtures, walking robots, all who You have fearfully and wonderfully made.