🕯️ ✍️ 📖 🕊️ 🪨 🌱

There are moments that never make the stage, never carry a microphone, never come with applause. They unfold in the quiet rhythm of obedience that no one schedules and no one celebrates.

For the second day in a row, the bathroom towel holders at The Crate were empty when I arrived at 7h05 this morning. Five crates of clean towels were waiting to be rolled, almost 170 towels in total. The small, ordinary evidence of what had not yet been done.

Roland was running late. Naomi was in early and helped where she could. I cleared the dirty towels into the washing machine, rolled up my sleeves, and began.

One hundred and seventy towels at dawn is no small offering. Yet there is something deeply grounding about simple work. The rhythm of folding. The warmth of freshly washed cotton. The quiet satisfaction of restoring order where there had been lack. One by one, each holder was filled again. By shortly after 8h00, the bathrooms were ready for the day.

"Thank you, Trixi," Naomi said as I walked past the front desk and headed back upstairs.

A few steps later I heard her tell Tiffany, "She’s amazing." Tiffany agreed, "Yes, she’s always amazing."

I do not do it for recognition. Heaven notices regardless. Still, kindness spoken behind my back has a tender way of landing gently on the heart.

The reward is not the words spoken, although they were sweet. The reward is the quiet knowing that I lightened a load. That someone’s morning ran more smoothly because I came in early. That excellence was woven into the ordinary.

Recognition did not motivate me. Love did.

I was not leading from a platform. I was leading from a washing machine. I was not speaking into a room. I was folding kindness into fabric.

What moves me in this exchange is not the compliment, although it was sincere and kind. It is the alignment. What was done in secret was witnessed without me seeking it. Affirmation found me while I was simply being faithful.

I have always believed that value is not measured by visibility. This morning proved it again.

The therapeutic rhythm I describe is not accidental. There is something sacred about stewarding small spaces well. Towels rolled. Bathrooms prepared. The unseen made ready for those who will never know who served them.

This is Kingdom culture.

There is leadership in that. There is maturity in that. There is deep healing in being content to serve without being seen, while still allowing yourself to receive kindness when it is offered.

I am building more than rooms at The Crate. I am building culture. Culture is formed in unnoticed details.

The truth is that I find it therapeutic. There is healing in service when it flows from rest rather than striving. Knowing that these small acts of kindness lighten someone else’s load feels deeply rewarding. This is the ministry of helps.

Helps. Tucked into a list that sounds far more visible, yet placed there intentionally by God Himself.

The ministry of presence carries the same quiet weight.

Driving to New Lynn for half a day once month to build relationship, to be a friend, to be a taxi, and simply to be present for someone whose journey began as once-a-month prayer ministry for a year, then unfolded into weekly Healing Trauma lessons for another year, and has now become monthly support to accomplish what disability limits — these are not grand gestures. They are steady ones.

Presence does not announce itself. It shows up. It waits. It listens. It drives. It carries bags. It sits in waiting rooms. It laughs over tea. It absorbs tears. It keeps showing up.

Knowing that I am adding value, even in the smallest of ways, makes it all worth it.

When we are healed, generosity shifts. Serving no longer feels like performance. It becomes rest.

No expectations for gratitude. No resentment at the absence of reciprocity. The love and compassion of Christ compel us to do unto others as we see Jesus do for us.

🪨 Service rooted in identity does not exhaust the soul.

🌱 Small obediences, repeated faithfully, build quiet legacies.

Perhaps the Kingdom is often advanced not through platforms, but through towels rolled at dawn and miles driven without applause.

Jesus washed feet. He touched lepers. He paused for the overlooked. He dignified the unseen. There was no hierarchy in His compassion.

There is deep freedom in doing what needs to be done without needing to be seen doing it.

This is not small work. It is sacred work.

You are seen, even when the work is not. You are valued, even when the room does not applaud. The Father who notices sparrows notices you.

💡 Reflection:

•  Where might God be inviting you into unseen faithfulness right now 🤔

• Are there small acts of service you have dismissed as insignificant 🤔

• Does your serving flow from rest, or from a need to prove something 🤔

• What would it look like to embrace the ministry of helps as holy ground 🤔

🎺 Affirmation:

I serve from rest, not performance. I add value through faithfulness, not visibility. The love of Christ compels me, and that is enough.

🙌 Prayer:

Father, thank You for the dignity of unseen service. Thank You that You see what is done in quiet corners and early hours. Guard my heart from striving and keep me rooted in love. Where there has been performance, replace it with peace. Where there has been weariness, breathe fresh strength. Teach me to serve as Jesus served, freely, humbly, and without agenda. May every folded towel, every mile driven, and every act of presence become worship in Your sight.

In Jesus’ Name, Amen.