Look beyond the bread you eat...

Last night, after a long day of classes and tutoring, I came upon Maria, one of Sr. Pat's students.  She and Sr. Pat were talking about how Gabi, Maria's seven year-old daughter, loves the ham at the Welcome Center.

"Do you want a sandwich for Gabi?" Sr. Pat offered.

"Yes, thank you," Maria replied.

"I'll make it," I piped in.  I walked over to the bread drawer.  There were sandwich thins, oat nut bread, and rye bread. 

I have never developed a taste for rye bread, perhaps because it was introduced late enough in my life that I never felt "accustomed" to it. I trained myself to prefer whole wheat bread and other, "healthier" alternatives to white bread, but rye bread hasn't stuck.

As such, I couldn't imagine any seven year old wanting a sandwich made of rye bread. 

The potato bread was all the way upstairs.  And okay, it sounds lame to me now, but I in that moment, I was willing to let anything be an obstacle.

I seriously considered making the sandwich with one of the alternatives.  I couldn't see Gabi wanting any of them, though.  Some seven year-olds don't even eat the crusts on their bread; if I handed her a sandwich with oat and nut pieces in it, I could envision her handing it back to me. 

It's fairly simple to predict the inclinations of a seven year old girl.  Extrapolating beyond that, for extra people or for different situations, becomes more complicated with each additional layer.  How can you know what someone would want?

The heuristic approximation is sympathy.

                                                  *****

In December of 2010, as a senior in college, I was bagging Christmas presents at the St. Francis Inn.  All of the bags that I had were too small for this box, a present for a young boy that was a guest there.  Completely baffled, truly, I presented this dilemma to the volunteer who was supervising me, Kelly.

"What would you want?"  That was her answer, or something similarly sassy.*

The implication was that, obviously, I had to find a bigger bag.   

Would I want a present half sticking out of the bag, not in the least bit surprising to its recipient?  If I were giving this present to someone, what would I want it to look like? 

Kelly's question challenged me to look beyond the act itself toward the way in which the act was performed.  By doing this, instead of being an act of responsibility, it becomes an act of love, a demonstration of concern for the person on the receiving end.

                                                  *****

I walked upstairs and grabbed the potato bread to make Gabi's sandwich. 

It could have been nothing, but it was everything.



*(Side note: I love Kelly, and I love her sass.  I know she is channeling it wonderfully in her fourth grade classroom!)

My first official blog endorsement for John Flynn.

I wrote the following poem/lyric in January of this year after seeing John Flynn perform live in Philadelphia.  I was moved by the caliber and artistry of his stories, and used that inspiration to channel my own experiences into this bit of writing.  I came back to it today after an encounter that left me without any words but these.  

Also, this is my plug for John Flynn.  I think he's phenomenal.  But you can judge for yourself.
http://www.johnflynn.net/


"Two Coins"

Two coins.

That was all she had,

all she could afford,

and as they fell out from her hands,

she said a prayer to her lord.

"I’m asking for tomorrow.

You’ve blessed me with today.

I don’t need much of anything,

just extended stay.

I’ve got so much to finish here.

Please help me see it through.

Whatever is your will for me

is what I will to you."

I took the silver coins she gave

and held them in my hand.

It wasn't much, but it would buy

her way into the promised land,

and as she gazed into my eyes,

I memorized her face,

for never had a clearer picture

been given me of grace.

"I’m asking for tomorrow.

You’ve blessed me with today.

I don’t need much of anything,

just extended stay.

I’ve got so much to finish here.

Please help me see it through.

Whatever is your will for me

is what I will to you."

I hoard the much that I’ve been given.

She gave all she could afford.

At night on bended knee,

I whisper this prayer to my lord:

Please teach me her example

each and every day.

The love she has is all she needs.

Don’t take her soul away.

I’ve got so much to learn from her.

She’s teaching me to do

whatever is your will for me.

That’s what I will to you.