The Greatest in the Room
I’ve stayed at Hotel Çarshia e Jupave before. It’s one of those rare places that doesn’t just impress you—it humbles you. Nestled in the old city of Gjakova, the hotel has all the charm you’d expect: stone walls, warm wood, the soft blend of tradition and elegance. But the soul of the place isn’t in the architecture—it’s in the people.
This morning, I woke up early to have my devotional time with God. I was meditating on thankfulness—trying to slow down, breathe deep, and really see the goodness around me. Gratitude has a way of recalibrating your heart. It doesn’t just change how you feel—it changes what you notice.
When I went downstairs for coffee, one of the servers greeted me. I’ve seen him before. We’ve spoken often. He’s always kind, but today his kindness caught me off guard. Maybe it was because I was paying better attention, or maybe it was just something in his posture, his genuine smile, his quiet presence. He didn’t just hand me a coffee—he served with warmth that stayed with me long after I left the table.
Later in the day, we visited a friend’s home in the countryside. They showed us their farm—the cows, chickens, ducks, and a flurry of laughter as our kids held baby chicks and gathered eggs. It was beautiful. Peaceful. But even more than the scenery, it was the hospitality that stood out. There was no performance in it. No show. Just open hands and open hearts.
And that’s when something clicked.
We went to a number of places today and saw some well-dressed, apparently influential people, some were seated at tables with elegant meals and taking selfies in front of the beautiful scenery or driving by in polished cars. But it wasn’t their presence that carried weight. It was the servers. The hosts. The ones who poured coffee, opened doors, and shared their homes and stories. Their presence had more gravity than anyone else in the room.
Jesus once said that the greatest in the Kingdom is the one who serves. And I was reminded of that today—not just in theory, but in real, quiet moments. The kind you almost miss if you’re not paying attention. I thought of the story of Jesus washing His disciples’ feet. The Son of God, kneeling, towel in hand, doing the lowliest job in the room—not to prove a point, but to show the truest form of love. That kind of humility doesn’t lessen a person’s stature—it elevates it.
That’s what I saw today. The dignity of the servers, the nobility in the hosts, the grace in every small act of service. When you’re in a place like this, you don’t feel awkward being served. You feel honored—because the ones serving do it with such genuine joy and humility that it dignifies you too. And somehow, in lifting others, they become the most lifted themselves.
Gratitude opened my eyes to it all. And what I saw was not just beautiful scenery or cultural charm—it was greatness, wrapped in service, and dressed in humility.
Wherever you find yourself today—whether in a café or a cubicle, on a farm or in a city—know that the same kind of greatness is within reach. You don’t have to cross oceans to find meaning or beauty. The privilege of serving, of noticing, of lifting others up with kindness—that’s holy ground, no matter where your feet are standing. The posture of Jesus is still the most powerful one in the room: not standing tall, but kneeling low. And in that, there is incredible joy.
