gardening. gleaning. generosity.

I'm feeling very alliterative today.

I'm also feeling like I finally have time to get back to blogging. It's been a crazy couple of weeks: getting the house on the market, showings, a baby boy who is eating like a teenager and starting to teethe...

No excuses, though. I've got some ideas lined up. Here's a little preview of the coming attractions:
- Perogi: Eastern European comfort food
- Cooking class with Suzy
- Retrospective: Mustards in Napa Valley

In the midst of our busyness, I ran into an acquaintance from divinity school who now lives in Greenville. She told me she volunteers with an organization called Generous Garden. The group has a 2.5 acre garden in which they grow fresh produce for local shelters and food banks. They, too, have a blog - Garden Talk. Unfortunately, it's not updated very often (I know, I know...pot and kettle). But the group sounds great, and I'd like to check out the garden sometime.

I've also been getting a ton of emails from a national gleaning organization called the Society of Saint Andrew. I had originally gotten in touch with the local group to hopefully glean as part of our culinary care Lenten experiment. We weren't able to, but now I get emails when gleaning opportunities come up... like when unseasonably warm weather makes strawberries come in early, before the farmers are prepared to harvest them and they need to be picked before they rot in the fields. You can volunteer whenever a convenient opportunity comes along...and I hope we will.

It really amazes me that in our world of fast-food meals, canned-anything, preservatives in everything, there are still groups that help to relieve hunger by gardening and gleaning - by growing fresh fruits and vegetables, and by picking produce that would otherwise spoil before any ever had a chance to eat it. It is perhaps the best stewardship we can practice: to cultivate what we can and share it with others, and to make sure that what God grows does not go to waste.

day forty: (un)finished!

We're finished with our Lenten culinary care! Well, kinda...

The last day of our Lenten practice was a good transition. We helped serve a meal with others from our church at Triune Mercy Center, a non-denominational mission church that ministers to/with the homeless. We met at the church to prep the food (and talk and hang out), then we headed to Triune to serve.

Getting plates ready to serve

The dining room at Triune

We prepared trays of plates in the kitchen, and (and here's the great part) actually served people at their tables. This was no buffet line or take-out. The homeless and hungry of Greenville are able to sit down and be served. 

It was appropriate, then, that many of the people from our church serving were deacons. Diakonos means "one who serves at table." They were living into their title in a very literal way.

After we finished serving, we set up Triune's sanctuary for the multi-church Easter sunrise service the following morning. And as we left, I thought, "Well...we're finished."

But not quite...

The next morning, as I stood outside the sanctuary after the sunrise service and spoke to those who had worshipped, I found myself in a conversation with Eric, who was homeless and had come to the service. There were about 30 people who were going to eat breakfast at Tommy's Country Ham House next door, and I couldn't stop myself from inviting him to eat with us.

I went and sat down, and even then was thinking, "Why did I do this? I just want to have a nice breakfast with my church people, with Suzy and the baby. I just want to have a normal conversation. I'm finished with this Lenten thing...so why did I invite him over?"

I guess I wasn't finished after all. After forty days of practice and discipline, I don't know if I can just "turn it off." 

So I guess these forty days served their purpose. Culinary care has become ingrained in my life and lifestyle. It looks like I will never really be finished. 

Or, to put it another way, I will always be un-finished.

day thirty-nine: empty

Twenty-four hours without food. 

My last meal was Jesus' last supper, the bread from last night's Maundy Thursday communion service at our church. I wouldn't eat again until after the Good Friday service tonight. Following in ancient Christian tradition, I was fasting on this holy day, allowing myself only water and coffee (and only two cups of coffee at that!).

I'd like to be able to say that when I felt the pangs of hunger, I would pray or read scripture. "Give us this day our daily bread..." or "Man does not live on bread alone..."

I'd like to be able to say that... But I can't. Because truth be told, I spent a large part of the day either pissed off, or thinking about a cheeseburger, or both, wondering why I had decided to do this. I LOVE food. That's one of the reasons I started this blog. So it seemed ridiculous that I would abstain from eating.

To make it even worse, today would be the day that I notice the new Bojangles near our house has opened; the day that I walk into my office to find that a church member has left me chocolate; and the day that I spend the entire afternoon at my in-laws while Suzy's mom makes homemade pizzas for dinner.

My gift from a secret parishioner.
The instrument of Jesus' suffering never tasted so sweet!

Here's what Richard Foster has to say about all this, though: "Anger, bitterness, jealousy, strife, fear - if they are within us, they will surface during fasting" (Celebration of Discipline, 66).

In a sense, that's the purpose of fasting - to expose that which fills us and to empty ourselves of it. I've heard someone say, "The problem with most of us is not that we are empty and need to be filled, but that we are filled and need to be emptied."

If nothing else, I realized today that I can indeed survive a day without automatically reaching for food. Usually when I get hungry, I just go to the vending machine or pantry or fridge or (horrors!) all the way to the grocery store. I'm not used to being empty.

But what about people that can't just get a quick fix? My grandfather used to tell stories about being in college, working two jobs, and sometimes only eating an apple for the entire day. He at least had the option to eat, though. He was just cheap. He wanted to skrimp and save every penny, still wanting to be filled up, just with something other than food. But what about the person who works a day's hard labor and goes to bed hungry, only to do the same the next day? What about the person who can't just open the fridge or stop by the store?

I'm not sure what any of this has to do with culinary care. I didn't really care for anyone today. My fasting did not help someone who was in need or hungry...it just made me hungry. 

But maybe I will now understand more fully and be able to identify better with people who are hungry, because I too have been hungry, because I have shared that experience. It's like the lesson that Gloria Clemente (Rosie Perez) tries to teach her boyfriend, Billy Hoyle (Woody Harrelson) in the 1992 cinema classic, White Men Can't Jump.

Gloria: Honey? My mouth is dry. I'm thirsty.

Billy: (Gets a glass of water) There you go, honey.

Gloria: When I said I was thirsty, it doesn't mean I want a glass of water. 

Billy: It doesn't?

Gloria: You're missing the whole point of me saying I'm thirsty...

...See, if I'm thirsty, I don't want a glass of water. I want you to sympathize. I want you to say, "Gloria, I too know what it feels like to be thirsty. I too have had a dry mouth." I want you to connect with me through sharing and understanding the concept of dry mouthedness.

If I'm going to begin to learn this lesson, it seems appropriate for me to do so on Good Friday, the day when God understands (and can be understood by) people who are suffering, because God shares that experience with us, suffering in Christ crucified...

"...who, though (because?) he was in the form of God...emptied himself...and became obedient to the point of death - even death on a cross." (Phil 2:6-8)

day thirty-seven: serendipity

A pleasant surprise. A happy accident. One person put it this way: "to look for a needle in a haystack and come out of it with the farmer's daughter." Or maybe going to a vending machine and finding that it's "preloaded" with money.

That was our gift today. The vending machines at St. Francis Eastside Hospital are in a small break room, so I went in, pumped dollar bills in all five machines, took a couple of pictures with my phone, and walked out. The lady eating her sandwich in there must have thought I was crazy.

Today's was a gift of serendipity - finding valuable or agreeable things not sought for; making fortunate discoveries by accident. (The technological equivalent is StumbleUpon.)

I don't know who will get their free Coke or candy bar. I hope it will be a pleasant surprise for someone whose family member is facing a medical crisis. Or maybe it will be a happy accident for a new father who just experienced the birth of a different kind of happy accident. Or perhaps it will be a nurse, tired after a long day, who discovers her Mountain Dew isn't going to cost her $1.25 tonight.

This Lenten journey has been serendipitous for me. I've discovered so much by way of happy accidents and pleasant surprises, even amidst the fatigue, frustrations, and failures. To me, that sounds a lot like God's work in my life and in this world - serendipitous grace.

Then again, could grace be anything other than surprising and still be grace?

day thirty-six: tuesday breakfast

I arrive about 7:25 a.m. and they're already at our usual table, halfway through their first cup. As soon as I sit down our waitress puts the once-white mug in front of me, stained from what must be decades of use. This is no coffeehouse organic fair-trade blend or skinny sugar-free soy cinnamon dolce latte. It's just coffee...black.

This mug is entirely too clean. Clearly this photo is from the internet.

I could order for them: two pancakes with two eggs (scrambled) and bacon for Larry; French toast for Paul; one egg scrambled with ham, grits, and a biscuit for Andy. If Margaret were here, she would have an omelet with sausage patties, no grits. What else could they order? This is Tuesday breakfast.

Ever since I started working at this church, for almost three years, I've held "out-of-office hours" on Tuesday mornings at a local breakfast joint. It's an idea I stole from my advisor and mentor in divinity school, Diane Lipsett. And I'm glad I did. I've gotten to know the 20-or-so people who have come over these three years in a way I couldn't have sitting behind my desk in my office. But I would expect nothing less when we sit down to share a meal together, to share life together.

Tuesday breakfasts not only feed my cholesterol levels and caffeine addiction, they feed my being. It's nice to just talk - no sermon, no lesson, no agenda - just talk. They seem less like parishioners and more like people. I feel less like a minister and more like a human being...just another person, eating bacon and drinking coffee, getting ready to go to work for the day.

How I feel on Sundays at church...priestly.

How I feel on Tuesdays at breakfast...human.

I picked up the check. "I've got it today guys." In other words, thanks for letting me be me and get to know you as you, even if it's just for an hour once a week.

day thirty-five: the homestretch

The straightaway on a track after the last curve, or the final stages of an undertaking, is called the "homestretch," as racers (or whomever) "stretch towards home."

I feel like our Lenten journey has entered the homestretch. We rounded the last turn. We're tired, but the finish line is ahead. We're in the homestretch.

This morning I volunteered at a place that feels like a home to me. I have two summers worth of memories there, walking the halls and working in the food pantry as an intern. And today, two of my former co-workers - Davida and Roz - played babysitter while I volunteered.

The packing list for each bag

The food pantry.
As you can see, there's plenty more room for donations (*cough* Donate food! *cough*)

I was a slow day and Suzy had to stay home this morning (not feeling well), so I only ended up staying for about an hour and a half. While there, I packed paper bags full of food for people in need. Our son, on the other hand, who had gone with me, never had the chance to do much of anything. The entire time he was held, played with, and loved by these two ladies.

Davida and Roz are special to Suzy and me. I told them when I was going to propose. We went by to show them the ring after we were engaged. They even came to our wedding! And now, the newest member of our family is as precious to them as they are to us.

It was a good reminder that I need to "stretch" my imagination of what "home" is. It is not just a building or a place to sleep. It is a community where you are loved and accepted, where you always feel welcomed and safe...and there are many more "homeless" in our world than just those who live on the streets.

Today, "home" for our son was in the arms of two middle-aged black women who work at a non-profit. "Home" for me was in an un-air conditioned room amidst thousands of non-perishable food items.

I know this idea of "home" seems like a stretch...

...it is.

day thirty-three: harvest(ing) hope

Hope can be difficult to cultivate. It's a delicate crop, one that's easily killed by frosty desperation or scorching fear. But the agency we donated to today has found a way to not only plant seeds of hope, but also to have those seeds grow...even to the point of cultivating the crop.

Jesus is the King of Kings, then Harvest Hope is the Food Pantry of Food Pantries. It is a food distribution center that helps stock food pantries of other organizations (e.g. United Ministries, the kitchen at the Rescue Mission, etc.).

And despite the name of the place, it doesn't seem very "organic" to drop off a box of food, and much less at a warehouse. When I did this morning, it felt so much like a transaction.

But maybe a box of Cheerios or a can of tuna could be a seed of hope for someone. After all, by the time a crop is ready to harvest, a lot has happened and it usually doesn't resemble the seed that was first planted - the seed has to germinate, take root, a shoot has to grow, then the crop has to bud and bear fruit.

As I dropped off this food, I thought of all it would go through: From the warehouse to different food pantries, then eventually to someone's home (or maybe to a homeless person's tent). Still, at the end of the process, maybe someone will be able to harvest a bit of hope from the seed we planted today.

The baby is ready to get this stuff out of the car...

They had me pull up to a loading dock...overkill for the two boxes of food we donated.

Finally! My car is empty! No more canned goods or water bottles!

day thirty-two: fertilizer

*Warning: This post contains adult language. Reader discretion is advised.


"Mary, Mary, quite contrary: How does your garden grow?"

One thing's for sure: It's not with silver bells and cockle shells. You've got to fertilize.

Today Suzy took mushroom compost to the organic garden at Travelers Rest High School (her alma mater, and also where my cousin Kevin goes to school...Go Devildogs!). Suzy walked into the school office and told them she had something for Ms. Chance, the teacher who oversees the garden. The lady at the front desk said to leave the bag with her, so Suzy plopped this bag o' compost on the desk...

...which sucks for the lady at the desk, because this stuff reeks. It smells like crap (which makes sense, since its compost). But that's the best kind of fertilizer. New life grows from that which is dead.

When I went under the bridge on day twenty-one, Tom (who works at the Rescue Mission) struck up a conversation with Adam, one of the addicts we met, and invited him to come to the mission to get some help. Adam said, "I can't go there. Too many rules, too many people telling you what to do. I don't wanna deal with all that bullshit."

I wondered how Tom would respond. But he calmly said right back, "Yeah, but bullshit is the best fertilizer. You ever grow tomatoes?"

"Yeah."

"Well to get good tomatoes you gotta put up with some bullshit to get 'em to grow. It's kinda like with us. God can even use the bullshit in our lives and get us to grow and be healthy."

I just noticed that there's a tomato on the package. Nice coincidence.

Tom went on to talk more with Adam, but I don't remember the rest. I was floored. I'd never heard someone preach with profanity (although I have fantasized about doing it myself, just never had the courage). But it was one of the best sermons I'd ever heard. New life grows from that which is dead.

I know some might think it would be blasphemous to talk about God and minister to others using profanity. But that's fertilizer.

day thirty-one: receiving

I'm sick.

I'm sinus-infection, head-about-to-explode, hurts-to-cough, every-hole-in-my-head-stopped-up, don't-want-to-move sick.

Today's activity was supposed to be at the hospital, but I couldn't even go into work, much less make a visit to the hospital. Hell, I barely made it from my bed to the couch! So, instead of offering culinary care, today I received it.

I'm not very good at receiving, though. I don't like to show weakness or be vulnerable or ever appear to fail. I always want to be in control, to have it all together, to succeed. I don't like asking for help, especially when I feel like I should be able to handle the situation (i.e. always). It's usually easier for me to extend grace to others than it is for me to receive it, from others or from myself.

So normally I would be freaking out that I wasn't able to do today's culinary care activity. In fact, I was. Even as I lay on the couch this morning hacking up a lung, I was trying to figure out a way that I could still get it done. 

Ridiculous? Absolutely. But this is the burden of my neuroticism. It's taken me a minor life crisis, a low-grade antidepressant, and several months of counseling, but I am learning. I'm learning to receive grace. And today, grace came in the form of simple bowl of soup.

Suzy was running errands this morning and brought me some Mexican chicken and rice soup for lunch. This soup is called different things at different restaurants, but it has shredded chicken, rice, pico de gallo, cilantro, diced avocado, and crunched up tortilla chips in a clear broth. Warm, a little spicy, and just the thing to make me feel better...along with the half-dozen medications I'm taking.

If this cocktail doesn't fix my sinus infection, maybe it will cure HIV/AIDS

This is what really makes me feel better

Just a bowl of soup. Just a day of rest. Just laying on the couch with my son. Just being able to receive all of these good graces.

And, by God's grace, I'll feel better tomorrow.

day thirty: (protect and) serve

The alarm went off at 4:40 a.m. I barely remember getting out of bed and going into the kitchen to preheat the oven. We were baking by 5:00, in the shower by 5:30, and on our way to the jail by 6:15.

We had arranged, through our police officer friend Jeffrey, to take breakfast to some police officers going on duty this morning. Suzy made the cinnamon-pecan ring that we made on day twenty-four (see the link for the recipe), and a breakfast casserole with pancake mix, sausage, eggs, and cheese.

The name is accurate. The sergeant we spoke with told our friend Jeffrey that it was the best casserole he's ever had.

Backstory: Suzy is a serious rule-follower. She can't even fathom disobeying a vocal warning, much less an authoritative sign. The sergeant had instructed us to come to the back door where there are steel columns lining the sidewalk. The trouble with that was that there were huge signs along the drive that read "AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. OTHERS WILL BE PROSECUTED. NO ACCESS."  Suzy refused to enter. She made me park at the bottom of the hill for 5 minutes as I assuaged her fears of getting thrown in a jail cell with our son. Once we finally made it to the entrance she apologized to every police officer we passed for breaking the rules. But at least we made it in.

Being at the law enforcement center was like being in a different world. You would never know the kind of activity that happens in the wee hours of the morning, as officers get ready to go out. There are so many people who are coming and going, even at that early hour, preparing for a day ahead. 

Because it was so early in the morning, we completely forgot to take any pictures of the food or people. So as we pulled out of the parking lot, Suzy snapped this masterpiece in her pre-dawn delirium. It's supposed to be a picture of some officers standing by their cars in the parking lot. 

All of the officers we met were so thankful for the simple gift of a homemade breakfast before they went on shift. But it was our small way of thanking them for doing what they do. All of them have taken on the responsibility "to protect and serve." Today, we were able to serve them.

day twenty-nine: chicks

I'm always conflicted about giving money to organizations to fight hunger. I want to help, but whatever I do seems like a band-aid on a gaping wound. Sure, my $5 will feed this hungry child this week...but what about next week? Even some of the stuff we've done over these past twenty-eight days have seemed that way - a quick fix, one-time help. But what about the ongoing problem of hunger?

It's an issue that must be addressed at a systemic level. Buying lunch for a homeless person one day at a time is not going to solve the complex problems of third-world economics, food distribution, and the like. But that's not to say that there aren't sustainable and effective ways to combat world hunger. Today we found one such way.

Chicks.

This is what I like to think our chicks looked like.

We bought a flock of chicks through Heifer International, an organization that provides animals to people in poverty around the globe. (Check out our certificate of awesomeness!) Each animal can offer multiple ways to help bring income and/or food to the family that receives it. For instance, the chicks we bought are easy and inexpensive to keep, provide protein-packed eggs to eat, share, or sell, and help control insects and fertilize gardens.

There's no profound meaning to this entry, no quasi-reflective or semi-contemplative point. I just hope that what we participated in today was a sustainable (albeit, small) way to fight global hunger.

day twenty-eight: sweet

I haven't been very sweet lately. I've snapped at Suzy, avoided people, and haven't been very kind in general. I get this way when I get stressed, busy, tired, etc. I get so focused on getting everything done - including our projects for this blog - that I forget to relax...and I forget to be kind to those I care about.

Today was a good reminder. I took some sugar-free candy to homebound church members in nursing homes. I went to see Frances, who is a lively lady recovering from a fall and extended illness; Jody, who can barely speak apart from a few grunts or moans; Mary, who can't hear it thunder; Florence, who often doesn't know where she is; Charles, who thinks he is a college administrator who travels the country; Ethel, a precious little old lady who is always so kind and thankful; and Diane, who usually doesn't know who I am.

In each case, I offered some sweet treats: chocolate, hard candies, butterscotch. But nobody wanted any! At best, I got a disinterested shrug and an acquiescent, "OK. I'll take some." None of them really cared about the candy.

What they did care about was the visit. Each of them was so pleased to have a visitor, and to spend just a few moments chatting. I was thinking that the candy would be a good way to show them I cared. But just showing up meant more to them than any gift I could have brought. And they all kept saying something along the lines of, "You are so sweet to come."

I guess today's culinary care didn't depend as much on the "culinary" part, as long as the "caring" was there. And even though I wasn't feeling all that sweet, it's hard not to be with these senior adults.

day twenty-seven: scraps

This morning we received a little culinary care ourselves. Grammy scrounged up the “scraps” in her kitchen to make us breakfast before we headed off for today’s activity. But her “scraps”—ham, sausage, eggs, toast, muffins, jellies, and preserves—filled us full…too full. I would have personally raised the stock value of Pepto Bismol if her fridge had been properly stocked.

This is what was left of her "scraps" after we ate

We sluggishly left and headed to Publix to grab snacks for students at Alexander Elementary School, a project suggested by our friend, Mary Beth, who's an internal auditor for schools in the county.

Alexander Elementary has one of the poorest student bodies of any elementary school in the state. I say, “one of” because 100% of Alexander’s students get free or reduced lunch (the standard measure of poverty in schools), and there are two other schools in SC that also have 100%. So it’s really the poorest, it’s just tied for first…or actually, for last. The schools' social worker, Ms. Gilliland, often sends food home with certain students on Fridays because if she doesn’t, they might not eat again until Monday. The meals they get at school are most (if not all) of the meals they ever eat.

We picked up chocolate pudding, granola bars, and applesauce at the grocery store and put them in bags with a nice note for the students.

Our assembly line in the back of the car

For some of these children, their food for the weekend will be the contents of this little brown bag…scraps, really. Meanwhile, we are constantly overindulged with more than we need. Just what Grammy could scrounge up in her kitchen was more than enough for a meal for four (and we were going to throw out the extra!). But we didn’t even give the students a meal. They got snacks...not much more than scraps.

Jesus was once confronted by an immigrant woman who asked Jesus to help her daughter. He basically said, "Get in line. There's a lot of people to help. The children get fed first, then the dogs, if there's any left over." Undeterred, she responded, "Yes...of course. But don't even dogs under the table get the scraps?" (Mk 7:24-30)

Yes. But for the children at Alexander (many of whose families are immigrants), scraps may be all they get. 

I want to be able to do more. I wish I could offer something greater. But, if I'm being honest with myself, I probably won't. It's not that I don't want to, but even when I am being intentional, even during these 40 days, all I ever seem to be able to offer are the leftovers of my time and energy and willingness to help. It's just a little bit here and there...just scraps.

I pray that as we work in God's kingdom, just as when we cook in Grammy's kitchen, even the scraps of good we do can become a feast for all of God's children. Dogs, too.

*There are lots of needs at Alexander and other schools in the area. Email Ms. Gilliland if you want to find out how you can help. 

day twenty-six: a bright life

"bright" (adj.) - radiating or reflecting light; luminous; shining; filled with light

It also happens to be the surname of Tim, who is married to Suzy's cousin, Jenny. (And it's the header on the website of the organization developed to support them, BrightLife.)

In January of 2010, three months before their wedding, Tim was diagnosed with colon cancer and he's been fighting it ever since. It's been two long years, and he's still fighting...but it's tough. They've tried several different treatments, and he's now started a new cocktail of drugs. He gets chemo every other week, which means that he feels sick about 30-40% of the time. (You can follow his story here.)

This week is one of those weeks. We took dinner to Tim and Jenny, but not just any dinner. Because of the cancer and chemo, Tim is supposed to eat as healthy as possible. Suzy searched for a recipe online and found Black Bean Enchiladas that are organic, vegan, and gluten-free. (The recipe doesn't tell you how to make the sauce, but it's easy - char the tomatoes and peppers on a grill or in a cast iron skillet, then put everything into a food processor.)

I was surprised...

First of all, I was surprised that the dish was actually pretty good, a real shock considering the lack of certain ingredients (e.g. meat) and the inclusion of others (e.g. vegan cheese, which I'm sure would surprise me further with how it is made).

I was also surprised by how healthy the meal was - low sodium, high fiber, lots of veggies and vitamins. It is amazing how unhealthy our "normal" eating can be, and Tim even commented on how his doctor(s) had mentioned the negative effects of our overly processed diets.

And I was surprised by Tim. He looked rough. He sounded tired. But there was still a brightness about him. As we visited and ate, he asked about my work at the church, we talked sports and joked, he played with our baby boy and brightened up his day (and ours, too!).

I've got amazing respect for Tim and Jenny. I can't imagine having to deal with what they already have before they're even thirty. I don't think I could do it. I would be consumed by the darkness of despair.

But Tim and Jenny are not. Even as they walk in shadow, there is a light within them. They have a bright life...and by that light, they brighten others' lives as well.

Tim making our baby boy's face light up

*If you like to play golf (or even if you don't) and want to do something to help others, check out the BrightLife Tee It Up Tournament. You can play, sponsor a hole, donate something for the silent auction, or volunteer to help with the tournament, and all proceeds will go to the Greenville Hospital System's institute for Translational Oncology Research (iTOR).

day twenty-five: (re)phil

I'm beginning to think that I shouldn't even make a calendar for these next couple of weeks. Every time I update it, it changes again.

I didn't want it to today. I didn't want to stop. I wanted to keep driving. I just wanted to keep going on my way, to eat lunch at my in-laws and go for a quick run before making some visits.

But there was Phil, again (we had given him a sandwich on day three), standing beside the road next to Stax's, holding a sign that simply read "Hungry." I really didn't want to, but I couldn't not stop.

After a brief chat in the parking lot, during which I (re)introduced myself, I invited Phil to join me for lunch inside. He was reluctant, but eventually he agreed to sit down with me for a meal. It was really hard to talk at first. I felt like it wasn't just a table that separated us, and the distance between us seemed infinitely greater than width of the booth.

Our lives are so different. I don't even know if we operate on the same terms. When I asked him where he was living, Phil told me and said, "Well, I don't really 'live' out there. I exist. Know what I mean?"

I didn't. My life is so unlike his existence.

As we settled into our seats, though, the distance between us shrunk. The more we talked, the more I realized that while we have very different lives/existences, we share common human experiences - family drama, deep emotional pain, humor and laughter. In fact, I found out that his birthday was just a week ago (only a few days after mine), and the restaurant manager brought us a piece of birthday cake leftover from his daughter's party earlier in the day...a nice coincidence (providence?).

When we finished, I redeemed my Stax's loyalty card, full and ready to be used.

Spend $150, get $15 free.

It seems like I am always having to replenish these cards. But that's the whole idea. You fill it up, empty it, then refill it...much like our struggle against hunger, poverty, and injustice.

Jesus once spoke to some "blessed" ones and said, "For I was hungry and you gave me food; I was thirsty and you gave me drink..." (Mt 25:35). Jesus speaks in the past tense. The feeding, giving, etc. has already been done. And it had with Phil, too. I had already given food to Phil once before.

But I wasn't done...and I don't know if I ever will be. In the service of others, we are always moving from the present tense of Phil's sign ("[I am] Hungry") to the past tense of Jesus' words ("I was hungry"). We are making a present need a past reality as we move into God's future. We are offering a refill.

day twenty-four: a gracious plenty

We have an unbelievable staff at our church (despite even my working there). Our ministers are gifted, caring people who are passionate about their work, and often put in many more hours than they are paid for, doing thankless and often unnoticed tasks.

So when a church member offers a simple act of kindness to say "Thanks," like making breakfast for a Tuesday staff meeting, we get really excited...

...and we eat...

...a LOT.

Today we had a gracious plenty.

Suzy made her mom's Overnight Cinnamon-Pecan Ring, which is usually enough to feed about twenty people. Today it fed five ministers, two assistants, a custodian, and two volunteers.

I prefer the butterscotch pudding. If you double it, make it in a deep aluminum roasting pan.

The finished product. It's like a gas-station pecan swirl on steroids (the size of a small tree...see top left of picture). Yummy.

Today we had a gracious plenty for a group of people who offer plenty of grace every day.

day twenty-three: good intentions

Lately, despite our good intentions, nothing seems to go as planned.

At the beginning of the day today, we intended on taking dinner to a young couple who are struggling with cancer. But good intentions weren't enough today...

As I walked down the street to Coffee Underground this morning (great place, by the way...one of my favorites in town), I passed a guy on a bench. He was smoking a cigarette, wearing old jeans, a ragged looking shirt, dirty shoes, and carrying a backpack. I stopped and offered to buy him a cup of coffee at the coffeehouse. He said, "Actually, that's where I'm headed." And a few minutes after I walked in, so did he.

I had good intentions to be kind a homeless guy. Instead I think I insulted a hipster.

(If you need a refresher on how to tell the difference, check out this video clip.) 

We ended up having to rework our plans to take dinner to the couple because of a young adult church event. (We're taking them dinner later in the week, when we can actually spend time with them.) Since it was such late notice, we thought we would donate to Heifer International instead. But alas...our good intentions were subject to change.

As we picked up ingredients for tomorrow's project at the grocery store, we noticed a small piece of paper next to the register: "Food for Sharing."

Food for Sharing. "Food is Love."

It was surprisingly simple. As we checked out, the cashier just punched in how much to add to our bill ($4.69 for Bronze level, $9.62 for Silver, $14.84 for Gold), and the appropriate items were donated to a local food bank. We went for Gold, which meant the following items were donated:
- Plumrose canned ham
- 2 cans Starkist tuna
- 1 lb Publix long-grain rice
- Publix fruit cocktail
- Publix cut green beans
- Publix grape jelly
- Publix peanut butter

We had good intentions when we started the day today. But we had no intention of doing the good we ended up doing.

So here's the revised calendar of what we intend to do. I'm sure will change at some point, despite (or maybe even because of) our good intentions:

18	19	20	21	22	23	24
	Pay extra at grocery store to donate food to food banks	Make breakfast for ministers at church	Provide fertilizer for Travelers Rest High School organic garden	Make dinner for couple struggling with medical issues	Give out bags of sugar-free candy at nursing homes
25	26	27	28	29	30	31
	Donate money to Heifer International	Take snacks/coffee for police officers	Leave dollars in vending machines	Volunteer at United Ministries	Donate food to Harvest Hope

Sunday	Monday	Tuesday	Wednesday	Thursday	Friday	Saturday
1	2	3	4	5	6	7
				Provide  homemade communion elements for Maundy Thursday service		Volunteer at Triune Mercy Center preparing and serving a meal