"Miss!  Over here!"

"Waitress, could you check on my order?"

"Could you bring the baby some more milk?"

I sighed and pushed the hair back from my eyes.  That gray February lunch hour found the restaurant where I worked packed with people anxious to escape the snow turned to rain.  There was even a large standing crowd waiting for tables.  I was already exhausted, I had a splitting headache and it wasn't even 12:30!  How was I ever going to make it through the day?

I'd been plenty grateful to get this job the year before.  As a suddenly single mom with two small children to support and little in the way of education or skills, it had been a godsend to be hired by a better-than-average restaurant close to a famous hospital in our city.

As the "new kid" at the restaurant, I had been started off with the worst station, a small room at the back of the building.  It was a long way from the front entrance and equally far from the kitchen, so service there was unavoidably slower than in the front dining area.  The room held two large tables and several tiny ones by the windows.  As a rule, most of the customers exiled to the back were either single women dining alone or large families with children who were expected to be loud and demanding.

After nearly two years and several new hirees, I was still "stuck" with the back room.  Usually I didn't mind.  The view from "my" windows revealed a steep ravine, heavily wooded on both sides, which cradled a small stream at the bottom.  It was a surprisingly beautiful spot to find hidden away in a large city.  With that view, I could relax during off hours and find a moment of peace.

But today was one of those days when I longed for one of the front stations.  Although I was pushing myself to keep up with the demand, I was steadily losing ground because of the hazard of getting through the mob between my tables and the kitchen.  This was made more difficult by the fact that both my large tables were filled to overflowing with extra chairs and high chairs that blocked the aisles.

I stopped for a moment and glanced around to see what were the most urgent of the many things demanding my attention.

That's when I saw her.  She was seated at the farthest table, jammed into a corner, her enjoyment of the view hampered by the unappetizing remains of someone else's meal in front of her.  She appeared to be about 70 years old, with white hair, a deeply lined face, and hands that testified to a lifetime of hard work.  She wore an old-fashioned navy straw hat, and a cotton housedress under a shabby brown coat that appeared inadequate for the weather.  She sat quietly, with an air of dejection and an expression of terrible sadness.

I hurried over, and as I cleared the table, I began a monologue - scolding the hostess for not telling me the woman was waiting and complaining about the busboy for not clearing the table.  "He'll get no dessert tonight for that kind of work!" I added.

She smiled to tell me she knew I was joking, but the smile did not reach her eyes.

"It's all right," she said.  "I live on a farm and out that window it almost looks like home."

"I'd love to live in a pretty place, too," I said, but she was not interested in continuing the conversation.

All she had ordered was a cup of tea.  I made sure her tea was hot, and told her I hoped she'd come back when we weren't so busy.  Then the voices around me called for my attention:

"Waitress!  Where is my coffee?"

"Over here!  It's been 20 minutes since we ordered!"

And I was back on the treadmill, even farther behind.

When I looked over again, the old woman was gone.  I couldn't help but wonder what had made her so terribly sad.

A few moments later I heard my name called and I looked up to see her  pushing her way through the crowded aisles.  "I have something for you," she said, and she held out her hand.  I put down the plates I was carrying and dried my hands so she could give me a dime.

She didn't know that most waitresses here laughed at people who left only small change for a tip.  Then I thought about how far she had to come, pushing her way through the crowd just to give me her money, and how she probably couldn't afford even that little bit.

I smiled and said, "You really didn't have to do that."

She answered, "I know it isn't much, but you went out of your way to be nice to me.  I just wanted you to know that I appreciated it."

Somehow my simple "thank you" didn't seem adequate, so I added, "and God bless you."

Her response was sudden and unexpected.  She grabbed my hand and started to cry. 

"Thank you, Lord," she sobbed.  "You knew how much I needed to know there was another Christian nearby."

Leaving the dishes where they sat, I led her to a chair and said, "Tell me what is wrong, and if there is any way I can help."

She shook her head and answered in a rush.  "There is nothing anybody can do.  I brought my husband here for an operation.  They thought it was a hernia but now they tell me he has cancer and I don't know if he will survive the operation.  He is 72 and we have been married over 50 years.  I don't know anyone here to talk to and the city feels like such a cold and unfriendly place.  I tried to pray over it but I couldn't seem to find God anywhere around here."

She managed to stop crying.  "I almost didn't come in here because it looked so expensive.  But I just had to get out of the hospital for a while.  When I was looking out the window in back, I tried praying again.  I asked Jesus to show me just one other Christian so I would know I wasn't alone and that he was listening."

Still holding her hand I said, "Tell me your husband's name and I will pray for both of you every day for a week."

She smiled and responded, "Please do.  His name is Henry."

With that she stood up and left.  I went back to work with renewed energy.  Somehow I didn't feel tired any more.  For some reason, none of my other customers complained about the delay.  I knew that God had conspired that the two of us meet and help each other.  I was happy to offer her my prayers.  And I hoped she knew she'd given me far more than 10 cents.

It was suddenly an absolutely beautiful day.

Reprinted by permission of Jeanne Morris (c) 1997 from Chicken Soup for the Christian Soul by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen, Patty Aubery and Nancy Mitchell.  In order to protect the rights of the copyright holder, no portion of this publication may be reproduced without prior written consent.  All rights reserved.