ungracious and off

I'm not always as charitable as I would like to be. In high school I remember other kids in youth group who thrived off of helping or befriending people who could only take, and never give. Although I was part of a leadership group at a local camp, I never volunteered to help with the week designated for disabled students. I just felt I wasn't holy, wasn't patient enough. Of course I never articulated this; I assumed others innately sensed my inferiority in working with these particular students and therefore never tried to enlist me. I know it's what Jesus would do...give and give to people that cannot repay you, just seem to take and take. If some of my high school friends didn't actually possess the genuine, humble servanthood of Christ, they at least faked it pretty well, something I didn't feel I could do. Fortunately, I've grown up a bit since then; I'm not as frightened, or preoccupied, by the possibility of failing at ideal Christ-like servanthood. I'm just one broken person serving another. And yet, I still find myself surprised and, simultaneously, ashamed at my occasional impatience, my lack of compassion with those whom I serve.
There's a woman at my church who has been needing help with her apartment. It's terribly disorganized and she will be moving soon. I went over to her apartment to help, and within a half an hour, I found myself consumed by the task in front of me and, internally, spiritually, pushing her away. I was frustrated by how slowly everything was going--how she had to look over each bill before throwing it away, how every object was the opportunity for a meandering detailed story, how every photo a lengthy explanation. I was frustrated by the pencil shavings and paper scraps spilled on the floor after I painstakingly swept it with a five dollar broom. Besides the fact that it was late, I was ready to leave. She wasn't aware that anything was wrong, but I was. I was mad at how the evening went, mad at myself for being mad at her. Sorry Christian that I am, I didn't go home, repent, and promise never to feel this way again. I felt justified in my attitude, and, to tell the truth, it was quite easy to slip into the next time I interacted with her, this time in my own home. Why did she ask for more, and more? Why the presumption that I would help? Why the demand for making a list for her when I wanted to enjoy Sunday lunch? This is all terrible, no? She's not a self-sufficient, stable person--you are, Elizabeth...so why the filthy attitude?
I realize that engaging in another person's life is often a messy process; it may be punctuated by moments of frustration or anger. I'm not the sweet blonde girl who talks to homeless women on lunch break...this is to my shame, but, it's the truth, nonetheless. Still, I think I'm realizing just how selfish I can be, even in situations in which I am to be giving. I want to feel a sense of accomplishment, that I have helped, that I am appreciated, that I am not being taken advantage of. I hate feeling used, and pointless, and drained. What I do and do not want to feel when ministering to another person is irrelevant, at least according to Christ's teachings. If I am to give a man a shirt, why not my cloak as well? And if he strikes me on the cheek, am I not to turn the other? The way of Christ is a surrender of self, not a particularly humanitarian fulfillment of it. Christ emptied himself; the least I can do is damn my petty goals and expectations and desire for good feelings when I help someone to clean up their apartment.