He was down, all he had was thoughts;
He thought there was no way out
He thought he’d be there forever
He thought he was alone
He thought it was over for him
Until a hand came stretching
He looked up and smiled;
Not on his feet yet, not out of it yet
But a hand-up sent a living hope;
Hope of change, hope of lifting
And hope that he was not at all alone.

One of the things I miss about Africa is that with very little, you can touch so many in deep and personal ways. As I watch so much going to waste across the West, I have to restrain myself from imagining how many faces would light up if only I had the chance to do my “Delivery Services.” I see myself as a messenger; I make the connection between available resources and the needy. I see something and I know right away who needs it and no matter the cost, I get it to them. Nothing goes to waste where I am; food, clothing, household wares, stationaries, just name it. I never turn down gifts even when I don’t need them because I already know or am sure to meet someone who needs them. Whenever I meet rightful owners, forgetful as I can be, it rings a bell, “That shoe will be perfect on her!” “That green shirt is his!”

It didn’t have to be anything significant and nothing was ever too small, including my lunch. I worked for an organization that was generous enough to provide lunch for employees. I had my own eating arrangements so I would take home my lunch. You’d be shocked how many people shared in it. In fact, it became a habit. Also considering that I grew up in a home where my parents were always giving things to people, it was the norm for me. What I didn’t realize based on reactions of colleagues was that it wasn’t normal for a lot of people. A friend once told me of his friend who almost lost her job because she drank water in the home where she worked. It was one of the strangest news I heard but that is life for some people.

I was privileged to be connected to a lot of very poor people that I could always tell who needed what most. Their dire needs and circumstances made my little gifts appear like a lot. The resources didn’t always come from me. I was blessed with friends who wanted to be blessings and supported me with their contributions. Those who worked in the kitchen in the office, always packing extra portion for me, never knew their gifts were going way farther than my stomach. Some friends traveled thousands of miles lugging suitcases they had no need of just to get me something for these ones. Some of them came along to poor neighborhoods where we all had fun sharing God’s love and much needed gifts. We took pictures but they were more for memories since I’d rather protect than publish faces of these disadvantaged folks. My friends also being like-minded didn’t want to turn God driven services to social spectacles for the commendation of men. We were content with the approval of God whom we served through these people. Our cup of joy was always filled and ran over watching and knowing that we just added to the joy of others who would never be able to pay us back.
(To be continued August 28, 2020)

Glory!