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!)