A Moment

Have you ever known an ordinary moment that just lodged itself in your mind and stubbornly refused to budge? I had one yesterday morning. When Sunshine and I went to a local food bank.

It started last week, after a conversation sparked by one of those bell-ringers at the grocery store. I explained to Sunshine the kind of hunger and need we've never known personally.

She has a big heart, this little one of mine, and begged to give our food to those in need. Her reaction moved me. I love the beauty of compassion, especially when I see it in my own child.

So, a few days later, Sunshine helped me load a grocery cart with canned fruits and veggies, soups, pastas, and bags of rice. I boxed up the food and packed it into the car.

We drove several miles from our comfortable suburb, across the railroad tracks - literally and figuratively - to the nearest food bank. Sunshine chattered excitedly in the back seat about how we were taking food to the "hungry people."

We arrived at a warehouse with a small lobby and stark sign overhead. Cars filled the parking lot and overflowed into the street in both directions. I pulled into the last space across the street and began giving instructions to the now-quiet Sunshine.

"Stay close to me." I reminded her. "And don't say anything about people needing food or about us giving them food. It might make them feel bad. Do you understand?"

She nodded solemnly.

I balanced the box of food in my arms and Sunshine wrapped her arm around my leg. As we crossed the street, she looked up at me, her expression uncertain.

"Daddy makes me hold his hand when we cross the street."

"I know, sweetheart." I replied. "But my arms are full, so you can hold on to my leg. Just don't let go, okay?"

A man held the door as we walked inside. It was nothing like I expected.

The lobby was packed with tables of food and lines of people. Three rows of chairs sandwiched into the space were occupied mostly by young mothers and small children as they patiently awaited their turn. Volunteers bustled around the tables, filling grocery sacks with breads, fresh produce, and canned goods.

Several foreign languages reached my ears.

I stood still for a moment, unsure, the box growing heavy in my arms. A clean-cut man in his early twenties stepped forward to take it. He gave us a brief smile and then disappeared into the warehouse.

That was it. With our task suddenly complete, the moment seemed to fall flat. (Had I really expected the good deed fairy to appear and thank us profusely?) I grasped Sunshine's hand in mind and headed toward the exit, my eyes downcast. Then, as I reached for the doorknob, a thought pierced my conscience.

Can't I even look these people in the eyes? They deserve at least that much from me...and maybe more.I stopped and glanced around. Immediately, I noticed a young woman seated nearby, her foot gently rocking an infant car seat. When our eyes met, she gave me the tiniest smile. Encouraged, I maneuvered around a chair to get closer, tugging Sunshine along behind me.

"May we see your baby?" I asked tentatively, hoping she would understand my question as well as my intent. She nodded and pulled aside a thick blanket to reveal her child - maybe five or six months old - snuggled in a fuzzy Pooh coat. I admired the baby's fine features, sweet smile, and soft ebony skin.

I looked up and saw both pride and sadness reflected in the mother's dark eyes.

"A boy or girl?"

"A girl." Her accent was heavy.

"She's beautiful."

We shared a mother-smile of understanding. Meanwhile, Sunshine squirmed beside me and launched into a series of questions about the now-cooing baby. We stayed only a few minutes longer, admiring the baby and connecting for that brief time with two other human beings - a mother and daughter not so different from us. People created, valued, and loved by God.

Who just happened to be waiting in line for food at the very food bank where we were making a donation.

It was a moment that simply won't leave me unchanged.