PERFECT TIMING

       Sometimes you have to wonder why things work out like they do. My plan is to go to a conference in DC this week—big doin's, cocktail outfit, special bling. I've worked hard to not get caught in the holiday crowds and to be organized. Today, I had three goals: make sack lunches and help serve meals at the shelter, dash to the mall to exchange a bling purchase, and meet Map at Olive Garden for lunch at 1:00.

       I figured the other volunteer would show up by noon, and I'd be mostly finished anyway… but none of that came together. When I arrived, Joey had umpteen cans of vegetables and soups on the prep table. "We're making soup, today, Miss Joy," he announced. "Do you want some potatoes to go in it?"

       Right there it was plain that I was making soup, and I love that job, but it's tight when there are sack lunches to make too. Still, the soup pot got filled and was bubbling while I rustled up sandwiches to eat with the soup and more sandwiches for the sack lunches. Joey was mostly missing during that hour—or at least distracted.

       It's bitter cold today and snowing. The wind is too righteous for the snow to accumulate, and the outdoors is altogether too bitter to tarry in. There was one pitiful shelter resident huddled on a side wall near the entrance when I arrived. He was too cold to even look up—no doubt focused on getting his nicotine fix. I stress the weather because I'm sure it had something to do with the flurry of residents who came to the dining room before lunch. They're not supposed to come in there then, but one after another came in whining, "I just need some coffee," or "I need some crackers." One man came to sit down and consume a sack lunch because he had church and wanted to eat first. Joey was trying to mop the dining area while all of these distractions took place. The church man could have eaten faster, but he was practicing his sermon on Joey.

       When the man left, I asked Joey, "What's with all the preaching?"

       "They all do it," Joey said. "When they get out of de-tox they find God so they'll always have something to fall back on."

       No disrespect intended, Joey was just giving me the facts. He speaks eloquently of these things, and I asked him where he learned them. He said he'd learned from observation, over time. We had a long discussion of the different ways we can worship and serve. Joey is light years ahead of my thinking; somebody needs to get inside his head and record the wisdom there. (And speaking of school, Joey made a 92 on his latest test and is ready for exams to finish up his first semester! I mean, wohoo, big ol' shout out—Go, Joey!)

       Anyway, we were mulling over the de-tox issues when Joey made a commercial message of the situation: "You don't need drugs; you can have this church! But wait! Call NOW and we'll throw in a little Buddha!"

       We stirred that enormous soup pot, added some macaroni, adjusted the fire, and waited. Not long after that Joey said, "We're having poke and grits—poke out your mouth and grit your teeth!"

       I was gritting my teeth because the other volunteer did not show up and noon was staring me down. I'd already told Joey I needed to leave by noon. I wanted to beat the church traffic for crossing town to the mall—twisting, turning blocks, with light after light. I could see that my schedule wasn't going to dovetail with "doing the right thing." So I told Joey I'd stay until the job was finished, and I'd go to the mall after Map and I had lunch.

       As it turned out, my job was finished by 12:30, and during the extra time I spent there, I figured out how to take the freeway to the mall! Yes, I know—late bloomer here—get over it.

       So I zipped over to the mall, took care of my bling needs, and was early arriving at Olive Garden! SWEET!

       Mr. Wilson. I heard a voice chiding me, "I thought you weren't here today!" And there he stood—grinning that sugar-filled grin. I wish he hadn't caught me off guard like that because I didn't have the presence of mind to make much of an exchange. I hope he wasn't hurt.

       Sugar Muffin DID get some attention. I even stepped into the dining room when he was near the kitchen door, and said, "I didn't get my hug today."

       He was startled and wanting to know what he had done wrong. Bless his heart! I said, "Nothing! I just want my hug, and I think you can do that!" Yes, he could! But golly gee darn… if you're walking around waiting for somebody to FAULT you every second, that's gotta be hard!

       Next Sunday is his last day. I SO want him to succeed. All we can do is tell them we believe in them, and then trust that they will learn to believe in themselves.