I watched as she wrung out the rag, hands cold and dirty, and the murky water turned even darker. She grabbed a heavy bucket with clean water that she’d prepared and brought it into the room. I watched on as she took the thick wooden stick that served as a mop and draped the almost-clean rag over it; and there she was, scrubbing and washing and cleaning again. Back and forth, left to right, back and forth, left to right… In swift movements, she continued scrubbing the mud and soil that had stuck to the soles of many a shoe. 

She didn’t know it, but she was rubbing off the dirt that stuck to my soul, too.

I’d just finished talking to her before she started washing. She was illiterate, a handicap without a proper diagnosis. We talked, and she told me of her love for the Lord and how she walked kilometers to come to church, listening to worship songs on her outdated phone as she went. Yet she walked briskly, and she walked with purpose: for the floors needed cleaning. Her smile was wide and her eyes were sparkling as she told me, “It’s the ministry I do for God’s glory. I can’t be a global worker like you or do the things you do, but I can wash the floors.”

Perhaps the poor children who came to eat and the eager adults who came to listen didn’t think twice about whether or not the floors were clean, but that didn’t matter. She was doing it whole-heartedly; she was doing it for the Lord. She gave what she could, like the poor widow who withheld nothing as she offered her two cents. Her purpose was clear as she daily cleaned floors for the glory of God. 

I kept watching. The mud was gone and the wood was now spotless. The disabled woman turned around and looked at me, her arms tired but eyes dancing with joy. 

Right then, I understood. In the end, it doesn’t matter if you were the one preaching to thousands or if you were turning on the mic behind the scenes.

What matters is how much glory you brought to God; and how joyfully you fulfilled your purpose.