I went to a soup kitchen in downtown LA to serve Thanksgiving dinner. It was a very cold year. The lines were wrapped around the block in a not very nice area. I started serving. They were impressed with my efficiency and kindness and quick turn over, so they started sending the more extreme mentally ill or disabled.
Yikes.
Could I cope? Would I mess up?
They were all happy to be eating or…dropping their food.
The rules were, you could have seconds but you’d have to leave and get in line again. Firsts were generous servings and looked deeeelicious. I had dinner plans but contemplated just eating where I was.
Rosie Grier came to help for awhile.
I had some empty seats and so they filled it with a very normal looking family. Two parents, a young boy and a young girl – all towheads and definitely related. I was considering bending the rules and getting them seconds without having to wait in line. This family had honor though. They were quietly putting much of their dinner onto one of the plastic plates to take with them for the next few days.
I wanted so much to try to help. I didn’t know how. I didn’t have a job for them. I didn’t have a house to open up to them. This family had gotten down on their luck. To get a job, you need an address. To have an address, you need a job. It could become a vicious circle.
I did what I actually could do and got them some more food for which they were soooo grateful and reluctantly accepted. I told them – it was a special rule (mine): the kids couldn’t stand outside.
Here was a family with dignity.
All I could think as they left: There but for the grace of God go I.
I wonder…I wonder where they are now.
c. GCYI