Sunday, August 23, 2009
Thursday, June 18, 2009
There by the Grace of God
There by the grace of God…
As I was coming home midmorning after a doctor’s appointment there was a couple from Latin America in the street at the bottom of our driveway. They were collecting bottles and cans. Unfortunately, the containers out on the street were the blue ones- paper and plastics recycling. The likelihood of finding the five cent returnable treasures was pretty slim in the recycle bins of the Gray House. The majority of those who staff some of the programs are neighbors who volunteer their services and receive from the thrift shop, food pantry as well as the other programs depending on need. If there are any returnable cans or bottles it is most likely that they will be collected by someone who spends their day in service to the Gray House. I could see the disappointment on the man’s face as he opened a few of the bins to see they were filled with boxes.
I’m a diet soda addict. I keep a bag in the trunk of my car for the empties. Usually I donate these collectables to Jane for Homework House. Seeing the disappointing look on this couple’s faces, I knew that the bag had to go somewhere else this time. I retrieved the bag from the trunk of my car and offered it to them. They took it gratefully and thank me several times. There wasn’t more than two dollars worth of bottles and cans in that bag, but to them it clearly made a difference.
I also began to think about this encounter in a couple of ways. The first was that we made a connection, if even for a few moments. The couple didn’t have to pick out of the trash, I asked them if they wanted it and I handed it to them as well as thanked them for taking it for me. There was dignity in this exchange.
Upon more reflection I remembered an experience I had when teaching high school sophomores about fifteen years ago. It was Thanksgiving time. There were classroom collections for food. Discussions about being poor and how some could end up homeless or exceedingly needy by just a few misfortunes, such as a parent losing their job or an illness were major topic. One bright young woman, from a financially secure family was very adamant that her parents would never allow the family to ever end up in a needy situation, nor would any of her classmates have to experience what we were discussing. It was great that she felt so secure in her family and community. She didn’t know however that one of her classmates, a popular athlete, was experiencing exactly what we were talking about. His mother had just had to apply for food stamps as they were referred to at that time to feed her son. Their single parent income just couldn’t make ends meet. She also didn’t know that there was a family with three siblings whose school breakfasts and lunches were their main meals Monday through Friday. When our principal found out about how these students needed to scrounge for food every week-end, she would have the kitchen staff pack up all the leftover lunch food from the week for these children to take home.
I felt a learning situation coming up. The next day when the students came to class they were divided into group. One group had a breakfast of donuts, fruit and juice. Another group had fruit and juice, the third fruit and the last group which was the largest had to share two rolls left over from dinner. There were many reactions. The secure young woman ended up in the group with the rolls. She wasn’t very happy. Some students made the best of the experience. In follow-up discussion, I explained how each group represented a section of the world population from the wealthy to the developing nations. It was an eye opening for many of the students. My previously very verbal student still held to her security that this could never happen to her family and friends.
How does this go with my experience of the couple collecting cans and bottles this morning? Perhaps they never thought they’d be supplementing their income by going through the trash on the streets. I began to think about the fact that I am probably never going to have to go through someone else’s trash to get my needs met. I realized this afternoon that I’m a lot more like that young woman without realizing it. My family (religious community) will never be in a situation where my sisters and I will be out collecting cans and bottles or other necessities for daily living. At least I like my young student believe that those responsible for us will make the decision necessary to keep us from having to experience what truly being poor is. My parents were hard working individuals who rarely bought something on credit that they didn’t have the money for in the bank. They never let my brothers, sister or I feel that we were poor. We always had what we needed, not always what we wanted. I know a great deal about the poor and poverty. I do not know what it to really be poor or to have to struggle to survive from day to day.
There by the grace of God go I… may I be grateful for all that I have, not taking for granted those things that I rarely think about because I am cared for so well. May I use the gifts and talents I have for the good of all I journey with on the streets, at work, in our house and in those moments of prayer in gratitude for all that I am gifted with in life. May God’s grace go wherever we all go.
As I was coming home midmorning after a doctor’s appointment there was a couple from Latin America in the street at the bottom of our driveway. They were collecting bottles and cans. Unfortunately, the containers out on the street were the blue ones- paper and plastics recycling. The likelihood of finding the five cent returnable treasures was pretty slim in the recycle bins of the Gray House. The majority of those who staff some of the programs are neighbors who volunteer their services and receive from the thrift shop, food pantry as well as the other programs depending on need. If there are any returnable cans or bottles it is most likely that they will be collected by someone who spends their day in service to the Gray House. I could see the disappointment on the man’s face as he opened a few of the bins to see they were filled with boxes.
I’m a diet soda addict. I keep a bag in the trunk of my car for the empties. Usually I donate these collectables to Jane for Homework House. Seeing the disappointing look on this couple’s faces, I knew that the bag had to go somewhere else this time. I retrieved the bag from the trunk of my car and offered it to them. They took it gratefully and thank me several times. There wasn’t more than two dollars worth of bottles and cans in that bag, but to them it clearly made a difference.
I also began to think about this encounter in a couple of ways. The first was that we made a connection, if even for a few moments. The couple didn’t have to pick out of the trash, I asked them if they wanted it and I handed it to them as well as thanked them for taking it for me. There was dignity in this exchange.
Upon more reflection I remembered an experience I had when teaching high school sophomores about fifteen years ago. It was Thanksgiving time. There were classroom collections for food. Discussions about being poor and how some could end up homeless or exceedingly needy by just a few misfortunes, such as a parent losing their job or an illness were major topic. One bright young woman, from a financially secure family was very adamant that her parents would never allow the family to ever end up in a needy situation, nor would any of her classmates have to experience what we were discussing. It was great that she felt so secure in her family and community. She didn’t know however that one of her classmates, a popular athlete, was experiencing exactly what we were talking about. His mother had just had to apply for food stamps as they were referred to at that time to feed her son. Their single parent income just couldn’t make ends meet. She also didn’t know that there was a family with three siblings whose school breakfasts and lunches were their main meals Monday through Friday. When our principal found out about how these students needed to scrounge for food every week-end, she would have the kitchen staff pack up all the leftover lunch food from the week for these children to take home.
I felt a learning situation coming up. The next day when the students came to class they were divided into group. One group had a breakfast of donuts, fruit and juice. Another group had fruit and juice, the third fruit and the last group which was the largest had to share two rolls left over from dinner. There were many reactions. The secure young woman ended up in the group with the rolls. She wasn’t very happy. Some students made the best of the experience. In follow-up discussion, I explained how each group represented a section of the world population from the wealthy to the developing nations. It was an eye opening for many of the students. My previously very verbal student still held to her security that this could never happen to her family and friends.
How does this go with my experience of the couple collecting cans and bottles this morning? Perhaps they never thought they’d be supplementing their income by going through the trash on the streets. I began to think about the fact that I am probably never going to have to go through someone else’s trash to get my needs met. I realized this afternoon that I’m a lot more like that young woman without realizing it. My family (religious community) will never be in a situation where my sisters and I will be out collecting cans and bottles or other necessities for daily living. At least I like my young student believe that those responsible for us will make the decision necessary to keep us from having to experience what truly being poor is. My parents were hard working individuals who rarely bought something on credit that they didn’t have the money for in the bank. They never let my brothers, sister or I feel that we were poor. We always had what we needed, not always what we wanted. I know a great deal about the poor and poverty. I do not know what it to really be poor or to have to struggle to survive from day to day.
There by the grace of God go I… may I be grateful for all that I have, not taking for granted those things that I rarely think about because I am cared for so well. May I use the gifts and talents I have for the good of all I journey with on the streets, at work, in our house and in those moments of prayer in gratitude for all that I am gifted with in life. May God’s grace go wherever we all go.
Monday, June 1, 2009
Silence
Silence. . .
In the falling pink and white petals of the spring blossoms as they make their way to line the sidewalk for all who walk like rose petals scattered down an aisle to set the tone for a new journey to begin
In the drops of blood dripping down the eyelashes of an injured homeless man as he lies on the concrete looking up at the world like a young child wondering who will reach out to help remove the pain
In the movements of a young man who spends his evening dancing alone on a platform in a dance club while scores of others dance beneath him on the floor connecting with smiles, gentle touches and rhythmic movements to the deafening music
In the breath of a poor mother sitting on a step at a cheap motel blowing dandelion seeds to the delight of her young daughter who knows their life is not like the other girls in her class, yet she dances with nature’s melody as the seeds blow away
In the eyes of an adolescent girl who feels alone at a gathering of hundreds perceiving she is ignored by all she tries to connect with, when there is joy and celebration surrounding her, yet her pain only increases like the volume of the music being played as she stands alone and stares at others waiting to be acknowledged by someone, anyone
In the drifting of a boat being maneuvered by the current on the river as rain begins to gently fall on the water like the dropping of a spider from its web, still connected yet free
It’s there; water, boat, rain all connecting like those gathered at a celebration, a dance club, on the concrete and scattered up a sidewalk all connected for those to see and experience
Silence.
In the falling pink and white petals of the spring blossoms as they make their way to line the sidewalk for all who walk like rose petals scattered down an aisle to set the tone for a new journey to begin
In the drops of blood dripping down the eyelashes of an injured homeless man as he lies on the concrete looking up at the world like a young child wondering who will reach out to help remove the pain
In the movements of a young man who spends his evening dancing alone on a platform in a dance club while scores of others dance beneath him on the floor connecting with smiles, gentle touches and rhythmic movements to the deafening music
In the breath of a poor mother sitting on a step at a cheap motel blowing dandelion seeds to the delight of her young daughter who knows their life is not like the other girls in her class, yet she dances with nature’s melody as the seeds blow away
In the eyes of an adolescent girl who feels alone at a gathering of hundreds perceiving she is ignored by all she tries to connect with, when there is joy and celebration surrounding her, yet her pain only increases like the volume of the music being played as she stands alone and stares at others waiting to be acknowledged by someone, anyone
In the drifting of a boat being maneuvered by the current on the river as rain begins to gently fall on the water like the dropping of a spider from its web, still connected yet free
It’s there; water, boat, rain all connecting like those gathered at a celebration, a dance club, on the concrete and scattered up a sidewalk all connected for those to see and experience
Silence.
Let the little children come
Let the little children come… is the thought which continually buzzed through my head as Jane and I grilled food on the corners of Huntington and Main, then offered it to anyone who wanted a free hotdog.
As we made our way from the Gray House to that parking lot we probably looked a little odd. We had borrowed a rather large cart from the food pantry. I covered the top of it with heavy aluminum foil which made it quite shiny. On the top of this I placed our well used gas grill. On the lower shelf was a milk crate holding the ketchup, mustard, napkins, an extra gas canister and the few other things needed for the breaking of the bread with our neighbors. In a white postal carrier’s box left from the food drive a few weeks ago were packages holding 48 fresh hotdog rolls. All this we pushed down Sheldon Street on to Main being aware that we didn’t want to interfere with any of the small businesses that have stands dotting Main Street these days. I had originally thought about this undertaking the day before with a ripple of “neighbor with neighbor” in our North End growing like the circles from a stone dropped into still water.
After picking our spot I started grilling the dogs. There were two men in the parking lot. I asked them if they’d like some once they were cooked assuring them they were free. They didn’t turn down the offer. One man even made a call to someone else telling them of these two women with the hotdogs. Jane translated his call as it was in Spanish; we then wondered who he was calling and whether or not someone might come to tell us we were doing something illegal. Since we were offering it to anyone who was hungry with no cost or strings attached we didn’t figure there could be too much of a problem.
The first two had their meal. We offered more to a few people walking on the other side of the street, they didn’t want to believe it was free. They would smile and keep walking. I thought maybe that we might be eating a lot of hot dogs if we couldn’t give find someone to give them to. As I offered them to people walking by Jane walked over to a house where children were on the porch. BINGO! Soon we had about six small children all waiting for hot dogs. Seeing this brought more children as well as a few mothers. In the midst of serving all the children, a woman who seemed a little out of place in our neighborhood started by. I made our offer to her, to which she replied, “I don’t have any money.” I reiterated our “it’s free” with a smile. With that she came over. She had been in the hospital. She showed me the bus token the hospital staff had given her; she was trying to find her way to the bus station. To get home she had to get to Belmont which is quite a distance from where we were. She thanked us. With hotdog in hand she made her way toward the bus station.
The line of children increased. Jane was getting really good with those ketchup and mustard bottles. We were introduced to brothers, sisters, cousins and Mimi the dog. A child dropped part of his hot dog so even little Mimi shared in the feast. The children waited patiently to be served, no pushing or negative language which is common among those who often have to fight to get simple things others of us often take for granted. Their eyes bright with anticipation and each responded with a gentle thank-you. Our first group of children began asking for seconds. Sharing became the concept of the afternoon by splitting one dog for two with the children choosing with whom they wanted to share. One little girl asked if we were the sisters from the Gray House? It was nice to be identified by our neighbors. Jane and I weren’t just some strange women who happened to have stopped in this parking lot giving food away. We talked a little about summer camp and encouraged Moms to register their children. Though the offer was made, very few men stopped today it was truly about the children. A young mother with five children ranging from an infant to a boy of perhaps 8 years of age apprehensive at first accepted our invitation. Then she and her children returned to the side walk a distance from the group we had gathered. After they ate the mother with her limited English came over to thank us. I thanked her, wishing her a good afternoon as they continued their journey. Her son had a smile and a glimmer in his eyes that I won’t forget.
A little over an hour later we had served the dear neighbors of our block 48 hotdogs. We had the little children come to us. We turned off the grill, packed up, headed back around the block with the odd looking cart just as it was trying to start to rain. The sky could drop all the water it wanted; at that moment nothing could have dampened our hearts or our spirits.
As we made our way from the Gray House to that parking lot we probably looked a little odd. We had borrowed a rather large cart from the food pantry. I covered the top of it with heavy aluminum foil which made it quite shiny. On the top of this I placed our well used gas grill. On the lower shelf was a milk crate holding the ketchup, mustard, napkins, an extra gas canister and the few other things needed for the breaking of the bread with our neighbors. In a white postal carrier’s box left from the food drive a few weeks ago were packages holding 48 fresh hotdog rolls. All this we pushed down Sheldon Street on to Main being aware that we didn’t want to interfere with any of the small businesses that have stands dotting Main Street these days. I had originally thought about this undertaking the day before with a ripple of “neighbor with neighbor” in our North End growing like the circles from a stone dropped into still water.
After picking our spot I started grilling the dogs. There were two men in the parking lot. I asked them if they’d like some once they were cooked assuring them they were free. They didn’t turn down the offer. One man even made a call to someone else telling them of these two women with the hotdogs. Jane translated his call as it was in Spanish; we then wondered who he was calling and whether or not someone might come to tell us we were doing something illegal. Since we were offering it to anyone who was hungry with no cost or strings attached we didn’t figure there could be too much of a problem.
The first two had their meal. We offered more to a few people walking on the other side of the street, they didn’t want to believe it was free. They would smile and keep walking. I thought maybe that we might be eating a lot of hot dogs if we couldn’t give find someone to give them to. As I offered them to people walking by Jane walked over to a house where children were on the porch. BINGO! Soon we had about six small children all waiting for hot dogs. Seeing this brought more children as well as a few mothers. In the midst of serving all the children, a woman who seemed a little out of place in our neighborhood started by. I made our offer to her, to which she replied, “I don’t have any money.” I reiterated our “it’s free” with a smile. With that she came over. She had been in the hospital. She showed me the bus token the hospital staff had given her; she was trying to find her way to the bus station. To get home she had to get to Belmont which is quite a distance from where we were. She thanked us. With hotdog in hand she made her way toward the bus station.
The line of children increased. Jane was getting really good with those ketchup and mustard bottles. We were introduced to brothers, sisters, cousins and Mimi the dog. A child dropped part of his hot dog so even little Mimi shared in the feast. The children waited patiently to be served, no pushing or negative language which is common among those who often have to fight to get simple things others of us often take for granted. Their eyes bright with anticipation and each responded with a gentle thank-you. Our first group of children began asking for seconds. Sharing became the concept of the afternoon by splitting one dog for two with the children choosing with whom they wanted to share. One little girl asked if we were the sisters from the Gray House? It was nice to be identified by our neighbors. Jane and I weren’t just some strange women who happened to have stopped in this parking lot giving food away. We talked a little about summer camp and encouraged Moms to register their children. Though the offer was made, very few men stopped today it was truly about the children. A young mother with five children ranging from an infant to a boy of perhaps 8 years of age apprehensive at first accepted our invitation. Then she and her children returned to the side walk a distance from the group we had gathered. After they ate the mother with her limited English came over to thank us. I thanked her, wishing her a good afternoon as they continued their journey. Her son had a smile and a glimmer in his eyes that I won’t forget.
A little over an hour later we had served the dear neighbors of our block 48 hotdogs. We had the little children come to us. We turned off the grill, packed up, headed back around the block with the odd looking cart just as it was trying to start to rain. The sky could drop all the water it wanted; at that moment nothing could have dampened our hearts or our spirits.
Friday, May 29, 2009
Thankfulness, its all around
Thankfulness, it’s all around
As I walked down Main Street in West Springfield one rainy Friday morning, my thoughts had been as numerous as the rain drops that were soaking my jacket. Since a good part of my 70 minute walk in the early hours of the day is spent in prayer, this particular morning I admitted to God that I felt I had spent very little of this time in sacred space. It was only a few moments after that realization I saw a young man walk out of a hotel with his young daughter. They had sweatshirts with the hoods tied tight, but no rain coats. It was beginning to rain even harder. The man took the little girl's hand. I could tell by the child's khaki pants that she was a student in the Springfield school system; this meant that they were going to have to walk on this cold rainy day over the North End Bridge to get to her school. She held tightly to her father's hand and kept pace with him. As they started over the bridge, a white car pulled up, stopping the traffic coming off the rotary and picked them up.
I became very conscience of my prayer at that moment. I was thankful that someone had picked them up this wet morning. I begin to imagine what the little girl might be thankful for, perhaps things such as a room with her Daddy that has a TV rather than having to live at a shelter. She may also be thankful for the opportunities to get breakfast and lunch at school. She's sure there will be something for supper; she's not sure what because there really isn't much of a kitchen in their new home, it didn’t matter as she'd be thankful because she'd have it with her Dad.
My prayer turned to the things I am thankful for...
having a home that is bigger than a room in the hotel that takes in the homeless;
the rain pouring down watering the earth, especially all the gardens that have been recently planted;
knowing I have choices for breakfast, lunch and supper as well as my sisters to share thoughts with when we break open our daily bread, in whatever form it comes to us in;
and for those who have picked me up when the world seems to be raining down soaking through the fabric of my life.
Thank you God. Bless this day for the little girl, her father and me.
As I walked down Main Street in West Springfield one rainy Friday morning, my thoughts had been as numerous as the rain drops that were soaking my jacket. Since a good part of my 70 minute walk in the early hours of the day is spent in prayer, this particular morning I admitted to God that I felt I had spent very little of this time in sacred space. It was only a few moments after that realization I saw a young man walk out of a hotel with his young daughter. They had sweatshirts with the hoods tied tight, but no rain coats. It was beginning to rain even harder. The man took the little girl's hand. I could tell by the child's khaki pants that she was a student in the Springfield school system; this meant that they were going to have to walk on this cold rainy day over the North End Bridge to get to her school. She held tightly to her father's hand and kept pace with him. As they started over the bridge, a white car pulled up, stopping the traffic coming off the rotary and picked them up.
I became very conscience of my prayer at that moment. I was thankful that someone had picked them up this wet morning. I begin to imagine what the little girl might be thankful for, perhaps things such as a room with her Daddy that has a TV rather than having to live at a shelter. She may also be thankful for the opportunities to get breakfast and lunch at school. She's sure there will be something for supper; she's not sure what because there really isn't much of a kitchen in their new home, it didn’t matter as she'd be thankful because she'd have it with her Dad.
My prayer turned to the things I am thankful for...
having a home that is bigger than a room in the hotel that takes in the homeless;
the rain pouring down watering the earth, especially all the gardens that have been recently planted;
knowing I have choices for breakfast, lunch and supper as well as my sisters to share thoughts with when we break open our daily bread, in whatever form it comes to us in;
and for those who have picked me up when the world seems to be raining down soaking through the fabric of my life.
Thank you God. Bless this day for the little girl, her father and me.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Lunch for 16 for Less than $20
On the week-ends I frequently walk first thing in the morning for about 70 minutes. Part of this time is spent processing whatever has been going on in my life and part is spent in prayer. It may be prayer needed in response to my processing, prayer promised, prayer for the nature I encounter or prayerful reflection between stories from scripture as I see the connections between the people I journey near on my walk. I like to make connections between the people in the Word and those I encounter in the everydayness of this morning ritual.
While I was walking one Saturday morning a white haired man with a short snow white beard was walking a bit ahead of me. He turned to face me and he had the bluest eyes. He was very soft spoken and asked me something, I couldn't hear. I said, "Pardon?" and he repeated his request- "Do you have a dollar so I can get some food?" I gave him the dollar, he thanked me and we parted company. As I walked on I started to think about what could he buy for a dollar? I had just finished a soda that cost $1.54. I had two dollars and change which I wished I had given him. I turned to look for him but he was gone. In reflecting on this I think of Jesus’ appearing after his resurrection to some and disappearing at that “aha” moment. An “aha” moment hit me as I thought about him, I even wished I'd had enough money in my pocket to take him for some breakfast, to sit with him, maybe even hear his story. This was not to be, however as I continued walking I started thinking about the homeless and that it’s Saturday. Most agencies that give out food do it on the week-days. I began thinking about what I could do for lunch. I have carried this desire to bridge the gap between my knowing and my experience with the poor for quite some time.
Jane was at the table when I came home. I asked her what her day held and she named a few possibilities. Then she asked me if I had any thoughts. I said, "Actually I do" and paused. I told her about my encounter with the man and the idea of making sandwiches and giving them out to the homeless. My idea needed her however as she is far more familiar with the poor of the city than I. She agreed she'd be interested in doing this after getting her haircut.
Before I went out to buy the materials for this luncheon, I was thinking 25-50 sandwiches. I'm a big picture person. I asked her what she thought. She suggested 12. It was an immediate thought for the 12 apostles; it could be the 12 tribes of Israel or the 12 Days of Christmas (unlikely but the thought makes me smile). I said that my concern was the 13th person we would come upon...her experience is that it is best to start small and see what happens. I hadn’t totally decided it is best to rely on the voice of experience and as I drove to the store the thought of 14 came to me, the 12 and 2 for us. This way if we need to give to someone else we could or we will sit in solidarity with our homeless brothers and sisters, eating what we are offering. I had made the ham and cheese sandwiches and was waiting for Jane to come home to put the lunch bags together as I had apples, cookies and some candy to sweeten the day. As I was making the sandwiches I was thinking that a reflection entitled "Feeding 14 for less than $20" might catch a reader's eye.
Jane returned, we put our bag lunches together, loaded our backpacks, heading out into the world. Now remember I’m a whole picture person. I could see us in the river area by downtown Springfield with lots of people and not lots of lunch. We walked to the end of the street and turned left on to Main St. Jane had seen some men a couple of blocks up that she thought might want be hungry. We soon encountered the men. They were a little skeptical at first. I’m not sure they believed that we were actually giving out lunches with no strings attached. Once we handed out the first bag, several others became hungry as well. Within five minutes of leaving the house we had given half our lunches away.
About a block later we encounter Crystal and her mother-in-law. Crystal remembered meeting Jane when she was a child in the neighborhood. When Jane first asked them if they were hungry they said no. After some conversation and what I call Gray House outreach, Crystal questioned about the giving out of lunches. She and her mother-in-law graciously accepted our small offering. As Jane and I turned to continue our walk north there were two men sitting together. One had been in the original group we had served and was sharing his lunch with his friend. Service is a relationship between equals and as we had served the first man, he was ministering through his small act of kindness, his service to the other man. We were all equals in this time and space. We were gifted with the opportunity to see this action unfold in front of us. Small acts of kindness so often flower in front of us and we frequently walk by without looking.
We walked quite a bit of the neighborhood after that in silence, dwelling on what the Spirit was calling us to in those moments. The heat of the sun beating down on us. We had six lunches left when we started back toward Main St. We had seen Joan as we had begun our journey less than an hour earlier. She had walked to the store with two little girls she was caring for, who also had two brothers who had been left at home. As we started to walk toward Joan and the girls, Jane tripped and fell on the pavement. It was not exactly the introduction any of us expected, however it served as a great icebreaker! One of the little girls was so distracted seeing Jane fall that she tripped and fell while looking at Jane. She scraped her elbow. Joan immediately came to help us. Service reveals itself in many different opportunities. We each took Jane’s arms, together as one we had Jane standing on her feet again. Joan has lived in the neighborhood for a number of years; this was our first but not our last encounter. After some conversation, lunches were offered. We gave each of the little girls one and offered one to Joan. She declined, mentioning that the two boys were home. With the little ones fed, Jane and I continued to the end of the street.
As we reached the corner we saw a man on the other side of the street. He had a stick and in some way may have been fighting a personal demon as we approached him. Rafael was strung out. He had a hard time focusing both with his eyes and mind. The tattoo of a tear by his left eye revealed the pain he was bearing more clearly than his clouded brown eyes. He seemed to appreciate that we were only trying to talk to him. No lecturing, no trying to change him, just letting him be as he was for the moment. We offered him lunch and he turned us down, saying he was all right. He tried to speak to us with his clouded mind. Staying awake and standing up seemed to be becoming more difficult. He mentioned the bag lunch, saying he’d like it but when we had offered he was too shy to take it. We helped Rafael put on his winter coat. It was way to warm for today, however besides the lunch we had just given him it might have been his only possession. We promised him prayers and he thanked us as he started to walk talking to whoever would listen. Perhaps it was his own prayer to the angel Rafael that Jane reminded him of a few moments before.
One lunch left as we headed back toward Sheldon St. We saw Jose leaning up against the side wall of Medina’s Grocery. We looked at each other then crossed the street to approach him. He was a little leery of us. We offered the last lunch, at first he turned us down. A little conversation seems to do a great deal for trust. In a short period of time he accepted our lunch offer with a gentle smile.
Within an hour we returned home, our backpacks emptied of the fourteen lunches. Our minds and hearts spilling over with what we had just done. We came home and broke bread, thanked God for the gift of service given this day. There was a step taken to bridge my gap. The Spirit was there giving to us as we gave to others. Bless us O God…
While I was walking one Saturday morning a white haired man with a short snow white beard was walking a bit ahead of me. He turned to face me and he had the bluest eyes. He was very soft spoken and asked me something, I couldn't hear. I said, "Pardon?" and he repeated his request- "Do you have a dollar so I can get some food?" I gave him the dollar, he thanked me and we parted company. As I walked on I started to think about what could he buy for a dollar? I had just finished a soda that cost $1.54. I had two dollars and change which I wished I had given him. I turned to look for him but he was gone. In reflecting on this I think of Jesus’ appearing after his resurrection to some and disappearing at that “aha” moment. An “aha” moment hit me as I thought about him, I even wished I'd had enough money in my pocket to take him for some breakfast, to sit with him, maybe even hear his story. This was not to be, however as I continued walking I started thinking about the homeless and that it’s Saturday. Most agencies that give out food do it on the week-days. I began thinking about what I could do for lunch. I have carried this desire to bridge the gap between my knowing and my experience with the poor for quite some time.
Jane was at the table when I came home. I asked her what her day held and she named a few possibilities. Then she asked me if I had any thoughts. I said, "Actually I do" and paused. I told her about my encounter with the man and the idea of making sandwiches and giving them out to the homeless. My idea needed her however as she is far more familiar with the poor of the city than I. She agreed she'd be interested in doing this after getting her haircut.
Before I went out to buy the materials for this luncheon, I was thinking 25-50 sandwiches. I'm a big picture person. I asked her what she thought. She suggested 12. It was an immediate thought for the 12 apostles; it could be the 12 tribes of Israel or the 12 Days of Christmas (unlikely but the thought makes me smile). I said that my concern was the 13th person we would come upon...her experience is that it is best to start small and see what happens. I hadn’t totally decided it is best to rely on the voice of experience and as I drove to the store the thought of 14 came to me, the 12 and 2 for us. This way if we need to give to someone else we could or we will sit in solidarity with our homeless brothers and sisters, eating what we are offering. I had made the ham and cheese sandwiches and was waiting for Jane to come home to put the lunch bags together as I had apples, cookies and some candy to sweeten the day. As I was making the sandwiches I was thinking that a reflection entitled "Feeding 14 for less than $20" might catch a reader's eye.
Jane returned, we put our bag lunches together, loaded our backpacks, heading out into the world. Now remember I’m a whole picture person. I could see us in the river area by downtown Springfield with lots of people and not lots of lunch. We walked to the end of the street and turned left on to Main St. Jane had seen some men a couple of blocks up that she thought might want be hungry. We soon encountered the men. They were a little skeptical at first. I’m not sure they believed that we were actually giving out lunches with no strings attached. Once we handed out the first bag, several others became hungry as well. Within five minutes of leaving the house we had given half our lunches away.
About a block later we encounter Crystal and her mother-in-law. Crystal remembered meeting Jane when she was a child in the neighborhood. When Jane first asked them if they were hungry they said no. After some conversation and what I call Gray House outreach, Crystal questioned about the giving out of lunches. She and her mother-in-law graciously accepted our small offering. As Jane and I turned to continue our walk north there were two men sitting together. One had been in the original group we had served and was sharing his lunch with his friend. Service is a relationship between equals and as we had served the first man, he was ministering through his small act of kindness, his service to the other man. We were all equals in this time and space. We were gifted with the opportunity to see this action unfold in front of us. Small acts of kindness so often flower in front of us and we frequently walk by without looking.
We walked quite a bit of the neighborhood after that in silence, dwelling on what the Spirit was calling us to in those moments. The heat of the sun beating down on us. We had six lunches left when we started back toward Main St. We had seen Joan as we had begun our journey less than an hour earlier. She had walked to the store with two little girls she was caring for, who also had two brothers who had been left at home. As we started to walk toward Joan and the girls, Jane tripped and fell on the pavement. It was not exactly the introduction any of us expected, however it served as a great icebreaker! One of the little girls was so distracted seeing Jane fall that she tripped and fell while looking at Jane. She scraped her elbow. Joan immediately came to help us. Service reveals itself in many different opportunities. We each took Jane’s arms, together as one we had Jane standing on her feet again. Joan has lived in the neighborhood for a number of years; this was our first but not our last encounter. After some conversation, lunches were offered. We gave each of the little girls one and offered one to Joan. She declined, mentioning that the two boys were home. With the little ones fed, Jane and I continued to the end of the street.
As we reached the corner we saw a man on the other side of the street. He had a stick and in some way may have been fighting a personal demon as we approached him. Rafael was strung out. He had a hard time focusing both with his eyes and mind. The tattoo of a tear by his left eye revealed the pain he was bearing more clearly than his clouded brown eyes. He seemed to appreciate that we were only trying to talk to him. No lecturing, no trying to change him, just letting him be as he was for the moment. We offered him lunch and he turned us down, saying he was all right. He tried to speak to us with his clouded mind. Staying awake and standing up seemed to be becoming more difficult. He mentioned the bag lunch, saying he’d like it but when we had offered he was too shy to take it. We helped Rafael put on his winter coat. It was way to warm for today, however besides the lunch we had just given him it might have been his only possession. We promised him prayers and he thanked us as he started to walk talking to whoever would listen. Perhaps it was his own prayer to the angel Rafael that Jane reminded him of a few moments before.
One lunch left as we headed back toward Sheldon St. We saw Jose leaning up against the side wall of Medina’s Grocery. We looked at each other then crossed the street to approach him. He was a little leery of us. We offered the last lunch, at first he turned us down. A little conversation seems to do a great deal for trust. In a short period of time he accepted our lunch offer with a gentle smile.
Within an hour we returned home, our backpacks emptied of the fourteen lunches. Our minds and hearts spilling over with what we had just done. We came home and broke bread, thanked God for the gift of service given this day. There was a step taken to bridge my gap. The Spirit was there giving to us as we gave to others. Bless us O God…
Saturday, April 18, 2009
In the Beginning...
This is the beginning of a new path, a new way to journey as I explore with more open eyes, heart and hands what the Spirit draws me to in life. As I walk to streets or the hallways of work I hope to see the blessings offered in the simple each day as well as see my connectedness to all whose life crosses with mine.
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