My friend’s look of incredulity made me pause.
“You feel more real?” she repeated, as if my answer to her question about why I loved my work at Christ Kitchen was incomprehensible. “It’s like finally finding where I fit…like being home,” I said, attempting to raise her furrowed brow.
I’d run into this poor, unsuspecting friend at the grocery store where she’d simply asked how I liked my work — you know, the way you do when you’re making polite conversation with someone you haven’t seen in a while. Poor thing, she was probably expecting a short little chat that went something like, “Oh, you sell shoes? How nice. Do you like selling shoes?” To which I would respond, “Oh yes, its just great.” We’d smile our goodbyes and continue pushing our buggies along familiar grocery aisles.
But my comment made her pause. You see, she was familiar with Christ Kitchen, our job-training ministry in Spokane. We hire homeless women and those in various life transitions to make and sell gourmet food mixes: like bean soups, cornbread, cookies and tea. We also have a restaurant and catering service staffed by women whose lives have turned around. So, to suggest that somehow this work with indigent women made me feel complete, just couldn’t be tossed lightly aside. We aren’t talking shoes here. Thus, her surprise.
I understand this surprise. Over the past 15 years, my life and thoughts have changed dramatically. I’ve had to re-evaluate or relinquish assumptions I’ve had about poverty, opinions on class and gender, and understandings of rich and poor. I’ve questioned my middle-class values, probed tightly held theories, discovered my own biases, and grieved my insulated, limited experience. What I never expected to find in my work at Christ Kitchen, however, were heroines in the guise of the homeless, mentors clad in second-hand clothes, teachers among the disabled. The courage and resiliency of the women who work at Christ Kitchen inspires me. I am humbled by their honesty and generosity, and am challenged by their simple, sweet acceptance of me. I am a part of a thriving, healing community that ironically nurtures me more than I thought possible and offers more than I could possibly give in return.
Who could imagine that? Well, my friend for one. She’s coming next week to volunteer. Just imagine!
“I’ve had to re-evaluate or relinquish assumptions I’ve had about poverty, opinions on class and gender, and understandings of rich and poor. I’ve questioned my middle-class values, probed tightly held theories, discovered my own biases, and grieved my insulated, limited experience.”
Perfectly said. I share that witness in my pastoral work in East Central. I’m praying I can someday say the last part as well.
Good read, good work.