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I was hungry
Emotional up and downswings caused by relational conflicts or life disappointments are magnified by the struggles of living outside in the sweaty heat, freezing cold, or soaking rain. Add mental illness and addiction and the fight to hold on to hope is desperate. Finding joy is a treasure.
From day to day, I never know who will show up or how many. Some days it’s a dozen. Other days 25 people gather to eat and connect. We check in on each other, notice who we haven’t seen in a few days, offer encouragement, and eat yummy food.
One of our young #lovegang guys loudly complained, “Fruit in meat. That’s just not right. I don’t do fruit in meat.” I asked him if he had tried it before. He said, “I don’t need to try it. I know fruit don’t go in meat. My mom always made tuna salad . . .” and he went on to loudly proclaim what things belong in tuna salad.
As Brandon eats his chicken noodle soup, we put a hat on his head. Someone hands him a pair of those warm socks, and the new guy wraps a warm blanket around his shoulders. Snot drips from Brandon’s long nose.
He pulled up his sleeve and extended his arm toward me. Tracks marked the inside of his arm. He pulled up the other sleeve and swiped his fingers over the red places.
Frank smiled. Then he asked, “Does your iced tea have healing powers?”
The Food Pantry at Joe’s is an amazing experience every week. As we give out the groceries, we often get to hear people’s stories, sometimes weep with them, and many times pray with them. Volunteers serve in all these ways, and then carry the groceries out to a car, stroller or shopping cart—whatever means of transport they have.
Jimmy’s mouth dropped open. Then he said, “Are you kidding me? Are you kidding me?! Don’t mess with me!” I assured him that I wasn’t and asked if he would be willing to assist the chef at the country club. For a moment, Jimmy stood there silent. Then a gigantic smile swallowed the lines of Jimmy’s haggard face. He grabbed me around the shoulders, picked me up and began to sob, “God is giving me back my dream! He’s giving me back my dream!”
I looked at David, an alcoholic, vietnam vet who suffers from paranoid schizophrenia, and who spends part of every day at Joe’s, and his mouth was hanging open. He said, “That’s like ‘deja vu’ or something . . .”
Without a beat of hesitation, he responded, “God told me that we are going to have a lot of people!” My heart dropped. Oh no, I thought. What if God didn’t really say that to him? What would it do to Carl’s faith if people didn’t show up? I threw up a quick prayer, “God, you know… please show up! For Carl’s sake!”
