FROM TOO MUCH… TO NOT ENOUGH

      It was sad to leave a half gallon of soup uneaten last week, but today Doug said that Miss Lillian had served out that soup on Monday and Tuesday! And the good times rolled on from there: BOB was slicing hams, I was to make the soup, and several young teenage girls had shown up at the shelter one day last week with bags of canned goods. They brought about six bags, and it was obvious that the girls had chosen things they like: peanut butter, spaghetti O's with meatballs, canned corn and carrots, and Vienna sausages. Oh... that reminds me.

       When I went to the pantry to get some more canned goods, there was a little man on the floor in our foyer, his back against the wall. You may recall that people may use that foyer for warmth, if they've no other shelter. He was curled tightly into a tattered, dirty blanket, seeking warmth, shelter from the rain, respite from pain, a place to sleep—all of the above? His head was covered with a knitted cap, and his face was hidden. It hurts to look at "them," and I took my pain back to the kitchen with me.

       I put a can of Vienna sausages, a little box of raisins, and some other small things in a plastic bag. Doug and BOB were busy, and for a few minutes they even left the building! I thought it to be the perfect opportunity to gift the huddled man with some nourishment. I'd already mentioned him to Doug, and I was TOLD that we DO NOT FEED THOSE PEOPLE.

       It must have been written all over me, as I pressed the issue, because Doug knew exactly what I was wanting to do, and he emphasized that giving food to those people was like feeding a stray cat—you never get rid of it. I stopped arguing with him; after all, I've been told that "the greater good" doesn't always cover everybody.

       Then Doug surprised me. "If you can give it to him with nobody seeing you, that'll be okay." There had been another fellow in the foyer earlier. So I took my little sack down the long hall, holding my breath for the outcome. That tragic lump of humankind was lying down, completely covered by his blanket, and the sole occupant of the foyer. I nestled the little bag between his hands and his face, and prayed that he'd understand the sack was for him—if he wakes.

       Doug said to fill up the soup pot, so I did… again. Then Doug had the idea of making boiled eggs and cheese toast! So I did. And I found one bag of candies—enough for everybody to have a taste. BOB was a big  help, and it was serving time before I was ready, as usual. When the pre-release came in, their faces were nearly all new. One man is tall, old, feeble-looking, and somewhat toothless. His overall demeanor caught me far off-guard, so I asked him, "Are you a pre-release?" (Sometimes the homeless get confused and come to lunch at the wrong time.) Yes, he's a pre-release. Doug overheard me and said the fellow had caught him by surprise too.

      So last night, Doug texted that the same two young 'uns were living at the shelter, but this morning, a bright-eyed, very chubby 10-year-old girl came to the kitchen with her mother. I had packed my goodie bag expressly to provide for the two pre-schoolers, though there's always more in it. Still… I had removed a lot of things—including a "Baby's First Words" book. But the bag played "loaves & fishes" today. There was a lanyard with a hand sanitizer bottle attached to it (the 10-yr-old thought it was way cool). There was a teething ring for the infant. There was plenty of gum, and there were exactly enough tiny stuffed toys to cover the five pre-schoolers! I hope I never go so unprepared again! (P.S. Only two of those children are actually "staying" at the shelter. The other families were at lunch by hook or crook.)

       Lunch was a huge hit, and we served many second helpings. At one point, the pretty little chub came to the counter to ask for more. She was still chewing something, and it was not going down. I was beginning to have fear that she would choke when she finally swallowed and said, "Can I have another boiled egg?" Those things are dry, you know… I'm just thankful we didn't have any more eggs.

       Doug reported that Sweet One came by last week for a short visit, but looks horribly beaten up from his recent surgery. Still, it's good to know that he's mending. Also, the Christians came with their bread donation. Otherwise there's nothing else to tell. It's cold and wet outside; the shelter machine is in full swing again, and I enjoy being a part of that, but taking my pleasure from the pain of others is surely sinful.

       When I left, the food was all gone, and several latecomers were complaining bitterly that they were getting only sack lunches. It's true what they say about the early bird and the worm.