The Best Cure
My husband and I chose to join others serving at a local
soup kitchen sometime back. It was a holiday and we
were feeling a bit dejected. We decided giving to others
might be the best cure in healing what ailed us.
I took my place in line with other volunteers. Most were
seasoned, dedicated servants. I had my instructions,
"Make everyone feel welcome." I sat on my three wheel
motorized scooter at the beginning of the line. I was to
keep the plates and silverware replenished and pass
out special treats for the occasion.
We were fairly new in town, only had made a few
acquaintances. Two of our grown children and their
families had preceded us to this large Metropolitan City
by a few years, but they had their own friends. We were
feeling a bit lonely, so far away from the home we had
known for most of our lives. We had left other children
and grandchildren, parents and friends behind. I was
feeling a bit needy myself. Sometimes more than our
stomachs need nourishment.
The food smelled pretty good and everyone was preparing
for the line that was expected. The volunteers had all
introduced themselves and I was ready to do my small
part to greet and to serve.
First one and then another filed through the line. A tall,
light headed, nice looking young man, a little bedraggled,
found his way as I greeted him. A middle age man with
his wife and children in tow seemed a little down on their
luck. A woman with her homeless partner, more than a
little unkempt, filled their plates and found a place at one
of the tables set festively for the holiday meal. Some
seemed embarrassed, some eager, some reluctant;
all seemed thankful.
Then he stepped up to the line. There I was on my
three-wheel scooter and him with an outstretched hand.
He stopped to chat, talking to me about my predicament
and the scooter I sat on. As he began to talk I recognized
him. "Yes, I know you, I said" I was as much surprised
as was he. I hadn't expected to see anyone that I knew
at this place for the needy. But I remembered him; I had
seen him one day down at the mall. I was on my scooter,
he was walking and stopped to chat; he asked about my
problems and my motorized scooter. He was clean, nice
and polite; I didn't know he was without. He didn't
remember me and was surprised and pleased that
I recalled having met him. I don't usually recall meeting
strangers in such brief encounters, but he, I remembered.
He tarried, hanging on to my every word. He was eager
for conversation and pleased that of all the people who
had come, someone actually remembered him. His smile
of appreciation beamed from his face and swirled through
the space between us landing comfortingly in the pit of my soul.
He finally ventured on through the line and partook of his
meal. Often though, I caught a glimpse of him as he looked
over at me, smiling that smile that continued to make me
thankful that I had come. I could sense from the look in
his eyes how grateful he was that I knew him. My heart
went out to him.
The man, after eating his meal, wondered over again to my
side and continued to share with me his words and his smile.
He relayed how he had visited an elderly lady doing some
odd jobs for her and how he had refused her money when
she offered to pay. She only needed someone to talk to he
commented, she was lonely. He was genuinely interested
in my disabilities; it was clear as he spoke. I sensed his
caring heart and sincere interest in those outside of himself.
He may have come to partake of a meal and fill up his
stomach, but he gave much more that day than he ate.
I thought I had come to feed the needy, but it was he
who nurtured my spirit and fed me. A Homeless man
truly taught me, in giving to others; we best cure whatever
it is that ails us.
Betty King
www.betty.newsmoose.com
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