Can you believe it? Another
drenching rain, bitter cold wind, streets filled with debris, and too many bags
to carry in under an umbrella. One of the street dwellers was staying dry in
the foyer and greeted me with, "There's a pretty lady!"
"A wet lady," I corrected him. Cutie Gatekeeper let me in, and I
found Dean and his wife abuzz in the kitchen. Before I could begin, Dean had to
show me his complete dinner preparation (as always), and explain that lunch would
be my soup, chicken salad, crackers, and fresh pineapple slices. He also shared
the details of a meal he served yesterday and how well it was received. I
cannot impress on you enough how much this man loves taking care of the people
in the shelter. In fact, his ministrations are being returned; when he left the
kitchen to catch up on his custodial duties, some of the residents were already
cleaning for him.
We were expecting 60 guests,
so the soup pot was filled high. Topping our fresh pineapple slices were little
cubes of flan that my friend kindly sent along today. A few folks wanted to
know what flan is; one pre-release teased me repeatedly and finally said,
"It's custard, right?" And two young women wanted extras—which they
got. In fact, one of them took one look at it and said, "Is that flan?" She was so excited. Most of
the others were clueless, and I do love introducing new foods to them.
Our 9-year-old and her
parents are still there. Because the other two girls have left, I am free to
give this child extra goodies, so today I went to her table and gave her a
large coloring chart (with stickers and colored pencils), a whole box of
crayons, a little bag of candy and gum, and a gorgeous Beanie bear in one of
those pinkish-purple colors that little girls love. She never opened her mouth. She
did not smile. She just looked at me while her father urged her to say
"thank you."
I don't need a child to
thank me. I want to see her happy,
and the fact that her troubles are so large as to deny her from having happy disturbs
me awfully. Also, her parents (according to Dean's best guess) weigh a
collective 800 pounds and often use the child as an excuse to ask for more food
or something special. They will even send her to the counter to ask. She's a
beautiful child; to look at her you'd never know what her roots look like.
Most of you will remember a
toddler we had last year who never smiled. You may recall my report that the
child's mother would put her in the crib, lock her in their room, and go to a
meal by herself. Maybe you remember the one or two little smiles I eventually
coaxed out of the child. She's a "big girl" now—about 3—but not much
has changed, and as you've guessed, she's back.
Our other two children are
infants, one on formula and the other about 1 year. I am no longer pressed to
find babies something to eat, and I haven't time anyway.
Dean's wife and I were looking
out the kitchen window at the gray skies and blowing rain. "What's with
this weather?" I whined.
"It's the
Lord," she said, "and He was right upset this morning when our lights
went out at 5 o'clock!"
I was up at 5 o'clock too, but
only to slug down some sinus headache meds, and I didn't crawl back out until
after 9… so I wonder where this couple finds the strength to do all that they
do.
As I passed back through the
lobby, the same man who'd greeted me earlier nodded toward the 9-year-old who
was walking ahead of me, "That's yo sista, ain't it?"
"Yes," I said,
"Yes, she is."
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