The other day I went grocery shopping with my two older kids—Lee and Rose. My third was in summer pre-school. And while we were driving to the store, the kids devised a plan that I should buy some canned goods for them so they could feed poor people. My children frequently see people going up and down our alley, looking through the trash for recyclables.
So my daughter says, “We should put up a table and put the food on the table for the homeless people.”
And my son, Lee, replies, “We don’t have a table. We can’t use our desks and we can’t use the kitchen table. People will steal it.”
Rose says, “No, we can use that table in the garage with the ripped top.”
Lee says, “Someone could still steal that too!”
Rose replies, “We can put a sign on it that says, ‘This food is for homeless people. Take some food. Not the table.’”
“That’s too long to write. Why don’t we just write ‘Free Food’?”
"Because what if rich people come and see all the food and take it?"
"Rich people don’t like canned food, Rosie!"
They agree. We do our grocery shopping. The kids each pick out three canned items with pop-tops for the homeless, and when we get home they get out the junky table from the garage and make their signs.
I then suggest we pray for whoever takes the food. We are standing in the alley where it is quite hot and Lee, who does not care for prolonged discomforts, says so and dashes inside before I have a chance to say anything. Rose and I follow where I suggest we pray on the couch. Rose sits obediently. Lee decides to fall on her because, you know, we all need just a little bit more chaos in our lives.
Then they run off to their rooms. My son fuming to his room, and my daughter, smug, to her room. I was left alone on the couch in the silence thinking, well, that’s church for you. Two well-meaning people given gifts by God to do ministry together, fight over how to publicize their ministry, and then the Holy Spirit has to sit on them and interpret their moans and grunts into prayers to God.
So my daughter says, “We should put up a table and put the food on the table for the homeless people.”
And my son, Lee, replies, “We don’t have a table. We can’t use our desks and we can’t use the kitchen table. People will steal it.”
Rose says, “No, we can use that table in the garage with the ripped top.”
Lee says, “Someone could still steal that too!”
Rose replies, “We can put a sign on it that says, ‘This food is for homeless people. Take some food. Not the table.’”
“That’s too long to write. Why don’t we just write ‘Free Food’?”
"Because what if rich people come and see all the food and take it?"
"Rich people don’t like canned food, Rosie!"
There was more discussion, which devolved into name-calling and sticking out of tongues and finally shoving the baby's empty car seat back and forth at each other until I intervened and suggested they both make signs for their table.
They agree. We do our grocery shopping. The kids each pick out three canned items with pop-tops for the homeless, and when we get home they get out the junky table from the garage and make their signs.
Lee’s sign says, “Free Food,” and Rose’s says, “Free food supplies welcome, poor take what you really really need.”
I then suggest we pray for whoever takes the food. We are standing in the alley where it is quite hot and Lee, who does not care for prolonged discomforts, says so and dashes inside before I have a chance to say anything. Rose and I follow where I suggest we pray on the couch. Rose sits obediently. Lee decides to fall on her because, you know, we all need just a little bit more chaos in our lives.
Naturally, Rose pinches and scratches Lee back, which enrages him—for what reason, I can't comprehend—and proceeds to go at her tooth and nail. So I do what all reasonable mothers do, I sit on my son to keep his hands off my daughter while she flirts with danger and mocks his inability to reach her.
Above the din I say, “Let’s pray! Dear God, thank you that we have the means to buy extra food for others.—Lee, put down my sandal, you're going to break a lamp—We pray that whoever needs that food would get it, Amen."
Then they run off to their rooms. My son fuming to his room, and my daughter, smug, to her room. I was left alone on the couch in the silence thinking, well, that’s church for you. Two well-meaning people given gifts by God to do ministry together, fight over how to publicize their ministry, and then the Holy Spirit has to sit on them and interpret their moans and grunts into prayers to God.
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