One year Ron and I decided that since we were self-employed, one of us needed to get a part-time job for insurance benefits. Since I didn’t want to run our restaurant alone, I volunteered. After all, I could certainly squeeze a part-time job into raising three children, maintaining our home, keeping the restaurant books and employee schedules, volunteering at school, keeping up with the kids’ extra-curricular activities and oh, how could I forget, be a wife! I could probably even cover a shift now and then at the restaurant if needed.

So off I went job hunting, and of course, landed the one job I never wanted to have, a bank teller. Not that there's anything wrong with being a teller. It's just that I hate to count money and I’m self-conscious about my hands since I’m a nailbiter, but it would work into our part-time plan. Before you think we pulled this off, let me assure you that nine months into this, I informed Ron he could either buy me a straight-jacket or a coffin, because I’d need one or the other SOON!

Back to my story. One day as the bank opened, a rather large line of customers began to form. Everyone seemed to be impatient as they shot urgent stares at us. As I glanced at the line, I noticed a woman several people back who looked particularly upset. As I finished with my customer, I glanced up and realized the woman that looked upset was going to be my next customer. I felt dread and braced myself for what I expected to be a raging complaint. Greeting her, I began to process her transaction.

Suddenly, she began crying.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“No,” she said, “I just got word my grandson died.”

Instinctively I reached out and covered her hand with mine, expressing my sorrow while struggling to keep my own emotions in check. Her story came spilling out as she told me her six-month-old grandson had died that morning, most likely from Sudden Infant Death Syndrome (SIDS). She needed to cash a check before she left town to be with her daughter. I cashed her check and as I handed her the cash, I squeezed her hand again, stating that I would be praying for her and her family. She graciously thanked me and left.

As she left, I stepped away for a moment to gather myself. Stunned at what just happened, I stopped to assess the situation. There were four of us in the teller windows that day, one expecting her first child, another who wasn’t a Christian, the other, a young man. Had that grandmother shared her story with any of the other tellers, it might have been frightening or very uncomfortable. Instead, God had maneuvered her to my window, someone who had lost a baby, who understood the loss and pain of SIDS. In my very ordinary part-time job, God allowed me to minister to this grieving grandmother. Maybe that is the only reason I worked for nine months as a teller.

In 2 Corinthians 1:4: “He comforts us in all our troubles so that we can comfort others. When they are troubled, we will be able to give them the same comfort God has given us.” (NIV)

Although I offered compassion and comfort that day, God showed me that my losses could be used to help and comfort others, even in a teller line.