The Faces Of Hunger (Take Seven): The Blessings Box Lives Up To Its Name

<"Timely Reminder"/Take I:
The Reckoner>

 

Life rarely follows a straight line. There's always room for ambiguity, in good times and in bad, as The Squawker and myself found out a couple weeks ago, when we stopped off at the Blessings Box. It's a project that one of our local Methodist churches started doing a couple years ago, or so.

Like all the best ideas, it's breathtakingly simple. Take some food, leave some food, whatever you need, no questions asked. You can't bring any perishable items, since the church has no place to store them. But otherwise, anything goes. 

It reminds me of what a local hunger expert once said, when I covered a presentation about food insecurity: "I don't understand people who demand proof that you're hungry. If they come through the door, that should be proof enough."

That someone in any social service capacity should feel the need to say such things speaks volumes, I suppose, of how much suspicion the poor are often held. In any event, no cross-examination awaits you at the Blessings Box offers no judgments, and makes no promises.

Whenever our food budget bends to the breaking point, we stop by the Blessing Box, looking for items to help stretch it out: a box of macaroni here, a can of green beans there, and that's just a start. People often leave surprisingly high quality items there -- like bags of quinoa, for instance -- which makes the trip worthwhile. 

This particular Sunday came with a twist, however. Just as I was hauling some items to the van, a sixtysomething woman glides her SUV to a stop. She reaches into her pocket, and hands me a $20 bill.

Before I can say anything, she smiles, and tells me, "I haven't donated yet this week. But I see people getting what you're getting, and I figure... Somebody else can use this." 

"Thanks a lot," I say.

"Happy Easter," she smiles, and with that, she drives off.

I slide into the van, and show Squawker the twenty. "Well, guess what? Your efforts got a slight boost this week."

"Sure looks like it. Well, every little bit helps, as they say."

I put the van in gear, and head out. Faith in  humanity, however transitory it feels, however temporarily it's restored, is a beautiful thing. At some point, once those moments wash over you, they fade away, leaving some more ambiguous or disagreeable to take their place.

But until that happens, you're bound and determined to wring every drop of meaning out of that particular moment. That's how I'm feeling this Easter weekend, anyway. I hope you've gotten the same chance to experience it lately. The way are things going, we all can use a break now and then. --The Reckoner

<"Timely Reminder," Take II:
The Reckoner>