She had gobs of black liner, wrinkles beyond her age and tattered cloths, but her eyes, her eyes would not leave me as I placed a pastry on her paper plate. My eight year old daughter asked her if she'd like another, as she slowly bent down at the Salvation Army, she said no thank you, how about you give it to another in line. She smiled as she left with her plate and said, "thank you for bringing your daughter to the soup kitchen."
My fourteen year old son was serving plates of apples and applesauce at the end of the line. He told me later that so many (hundreds) didn't want the delicious fresh apples he had cut. No, he said their teeth were too rotten and one has said it hurt to eat. They wanted them, but fresh apples hurt too much to chew.
After gathering our pastry cart, withthe two hour free dinner for the homeless finished in Olympia, I got a tap on the shoulder and the most beautiful look from behind smeared eye makeup and leathery skin. "God bless you Ma'am for helping, and for bringing your children here." And that. That look of thanks, That understanding my son has if not being apple to eat apples due to teeth aching constantly. That lifting of fear of pealed away from my eight year old daughter, when she sees another woman on the streets going through a garbage can with black smeared makeup. I know compassion is taught, as it is learned, and no thanks is more heartfelt than helping someone understand need. The kids asked if we could go help next week. And my heart is full as a Mom.
Review from #MyGivingStory