Last week and weekend were busy ones for us. In the midst of that busy week, I had both a minor infection in a tooth and two nights of insomnia. My body was fighting hard, and I was feeling it every step of the way.
Sam and Katie had planned to get together with their families over at Sam's this weekend. John and I were obligated to attend Outreach at the same time. Sam wanted to bush hog a path to the property that Katie hopes to have as her homesite in the future. He got that job done and decided he'd widen out the area where the mail carriers make a U-turn in our driveway so they wouldn't scratch their vehicles. He bumped my mailbox, and it went down. The post was rotten; the wonky box was wonkier. He made a good temporary repair on it, and we declared it good enough for the time being.
John and I got very little done on Friday as we were already worn out. That's about the time the minor infection set to work in my body. My lymph nodes ached, and I had a steady headache. Fortunately, I had some medication on hand, and I thought to start it right away. I followed through with that regime and thankfully was starting to feel much better by Sunday. Sunday night I broke fever in the middle of the night. I slept until nearly 10am this morning. My body needed that rest!
Saturday morning, we left home and headed to Warner Robins. I couldn't help but think back to a few years ago when John begged me to come with him to the Outreach. At that time, I had a load of extra responsibilities on my plate. The Outreach program met outdoors. They served a hot meal and passed out clothing, but it was terribly cold out there. The need I saw weighed me down still further, spiraling me into a depressed state that I fought against hard. What was one hot meal when the people before us didn't have proper winter clothing? I saw one couple with a baby wrapped in a thin blanket. The mom didn't have a coat. My body physically ached looking at these folks.
And I felt so incapable of meeting any need at all. My plate at home was full of needy ones: a husband unable to find his ground after retiring, a daughter who was struggling with her mental health, a little boy who was too young to voice his needs who was desperately in need of love and care. I came home and cried and cried and told John I'd not go back. I couldn't see that much need and feel I was so poorly meeting the needs already in my own home.
But I thought often of those I'd met. The two brothers, one who was not quite right and the other super protective. The girl and boy who were obviously a couple, he as courteous and kind and gentlemanly as if he were born to it and she shy and overwhelmed with his kind care. The mom with a baby wrapped in the inadequate blanket holding him tightly against her own cold body. The older man who in another age might have been called a hobo.
The Outreach is now held indoors. Another church, more centrally located to the town than ours provides the space, volunteers, a pastor. Our church provides volunteers and pastors and food for the hot meal, vans to pick people up. Donations fulfill clothing and food needs to be carried away with the people. There are dentists and hairdressers who come to provide free services for people.
I have stayed in the background. Technically, I am John's assistant. I help him load and unload, set up, do sound checks, fetch whatever it is he needs at the moment. Unofficially, I observe. Sometimes, if I see a need for a chair, a helping hand, a spot needs to be cleaned on the floor and everyone is busy, I step in and provide it but mostly I have stayed off to the side, an observer.
Faces are familiar to me now. Some people cycle in and some cycle out and then some return and others don't. The baby wrapped in a thin blanket is a boy now, who detaches himself from his mom and plays with the other children. Other babies have been born and grown into toddlers. People come for months and then they disappear. Sometimes I see them return months later, without a partner, with more care written upon their face than when they were last seen. Sometimes, I see them return as a volunteer with a shy smile and a light in their eyes because their lives changed for the better and they want to give a little something back.
This weekend, as John was playing, I watched people come in. I recognized faces. I saw that some who had once come only to receive were now busily pitching in to help set things up even though they were still in need of the handouts. Children ran in and out. People chatted with serve team members and with each other. A child came in on roller skates and skated around the empty spaces in the room. Another child ran in crying, "Mama! Mama!" People laughed and talked and ate and offered help one to another. A volunteer walked over to one man and asked "How are you? Did you get a hotel room as you'd hoped? How's..." and they talked and talked.
I found myself smiling. They come together to share a meal, share their story, hear a story, receive help and give it. What I saw was the same thing I see every Sunday at church. I saw fellowship. I saw a spiritual community.
My attitude was hugely different in leaving on Saturday. I look forward to next month. I wonder who I'll see. I'm eager to ask a report of how someone is doing after I was requested to pray.
And how vastly different my own life is now. Lives have changed. We all have changed.
Sunday morning, we got up and got ready for church. It was so dark and oppressive outdoors. I told John in the car that I desperately longed to turn on the lights inside the car to try and dispel the gray dark skies. We were about two miles from church when the storm hit. The car was rocked from side to side by the fierce wind. Debris hit us as it was flung from trees. The rain slanted horizontally in front of us, hitting the car from the sides.
When we arrived at church, cars were queued at the curb waiting to let people out. Everyone in the lobby was standing staring out at the weather and arrivals. Umbrellas and towels were rushed to the entrances. Umbrellas blew inside out, and towels were sopping within seconds.
I was soaked. The rain had penetrated my raincoat, my ball cap, my purse, my shoes and jeans, t-shirt and sweater that I'd thought I might require at service. I shivered as I stood in the lobby waiting on John to park the car and the weather to calm enough to allow him to walk to the door.
We went to Katie's after church. I took corn on the cob and Gramma's Fried Chicken. I had a hot wheel's car for Caleb and hairbands for Bella who exulted that I'd brought her 'new crowns'...lol. Henry was sitting up and shaking with excitement at the idea that he was about to be picked up. I brought him a soft little rabbit that he ignored.
We had a lovely, pleasant time with the children, Gary (Not the Mama), Cody and Katie and we stayed longer than we might ought to have. We all talked and laughed and ate. The food was good. The cup of hot coffee most welcome. The hugs and kisses and full laps even more welcome. Caleb ran to pick up something Cody dropped and said, "I got that Dad." I watched as he climbed on a chair with Gary and snuggled in. "I'll sit with you, Grampa." Gary and I smiled at one another across the top of Caleb's head. Bella told her daddy about the new crowns but when he failed to appreciate the moment as Bella felt he should, she ran to Katie. "Mama, look! Can I wear one?" "Crowns! Aren't they pretty? I think this one would look best with your outfit." And Bella took the one Katie suggested and was adorned. John and I smiled over Henry as he wiggled from one of us to the other. Here was proof that lives had changed indeed!
We arrived home about 4pm just as the skies opened and pounded us with rain all over again. Sam had been working on installing a new mailbox and post for us and had raced home to escape the rain. We managed to get in the house without getting as wet as we did earlier in the day. I shivered coming into the house. I dressed more warmly than I might have otherwise.
Once we got home, the full impact of weariness hit us. I don't think we even spoke for hours. We just sat here together, companionable in our silent tiredness.
I slept until nearly 10am this morning. I had just gotten my coffee ready to drink when Sam came by with a surprise. He'd brought Millie with him. She proudly told us that next year she was going to kindergarten. She was so proud of that. And so were Bella and Caleb yesterday who both told us all about getting to move to Kindergarten next year.
I was sitting here listening to Sam and semi-supervising Millie polishing her nails and started thinking of all that I must get done this week. Then Sam said, "Oh...can you keep Millie and Isaac for a bit tomorrow?" I said I would, but I was busy the rest of the week, and I am. I need to catch up from last week, I have all of this week's tasks to catch up on. I want to go visit Mama. I want to sneak away and get a bit of time alone, on my own, to shop at the garden center and grocery. I want to take one day to take the kids to the library and maybe a meal out after. I need to do so many more things, so many necessary things.
I've worked on a few things as I could today. The house blessing is done. Bread was made. Plants got watered. Spaces were tidied and neatened. Laundry was washed and hung to dry. Drawers were organized and put right once more.
I've also recognized my great tiredness from last week and fighting that infection off and have taken time to rest and read in between tasks. It's been a long day and I'm eager to see it end. Tomorrow is a new day.
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