I hadn't been able to contact my daughter for weeks. She and I had had a small dispute about how she was raising her kids and so instead of admitting I was right and knew what I was talking about, having already done my job raising her, she moved out. She left mumbling something about she had known coming home after her separation and impending divorce was the wrong thing to do. She also left a threat hanging over my head about never being allowed to see my grandbabies again till they graduated from high school. I counted the years off on my fingers, up to about ten (minus the two weeks since she had been gone). I was devastated. Of course I didn’t really believe she would fulfill that threat. She just needed a cooling down period.
Therefore I was depressed and feeling down when someone at work asked me to head the food bank campaign for our surgery department. A crusade that spanned two weeks of gathering food and building a gift basket to auction off, the proceeds going to the local food bank headquarters. They caught me off guard, how totally unfair. Being off guard I had agreed to chair the committee, thinking it would distract me from my own personal problems. And distract me it did. I couldn't believe how difficult it was to get those I worked with to fork over money. (Fork over? Food bank? Cute pun!) I had a hard time convincing those that actually worked for a living that there were people in this country going to bed hungry. Not just one night a week, but weeks in a row between paychecks. People with families, little children, elderly parents.
I put together a scheme to sell tickets for a cake baked by one of our own co workers. A dollar a ticket earned a chance to win a delicious cake and another chance to win a basket filled with goodies on display in the building lobby. Elaborate baskets that were donated by all the hospital departments. We competed with the Emergency Room, Cath. Lab, Pathology department, Labor and Delivery, and Physical Therapy to name few, with basket values upwards of nine hundred dollars. I actually bought tickets for some of the competitor’s baskets. Hey, all the departments were rivals but the food bank would be the biggest winner! Baskets conveying summer, spa, baby, sports, emergency preparedness, fun in the sun and pet themes lined long tables down in the lobby next to a display shelf that filled with donated can goods.
Now I had to get people to dole out money and supplies for the basket. The department with the best basket got a pizza party. Wow, helping the hungry kept us well fed. We (meaning me) decided to use the theme of family entertainment for our basket. That meant good Samaritans had to bring things to work like DVD’s, popcorn, games, movie candy, swimming pool and barbeque paraphernalia, ect. I was getting discouraged with the interest not being demonstrated and feeling like I was in this thing by myself. If I'd just put the money I blew on filling the basket into the food bank they'd have a better chance of enriching their cupboards. (The food bank actually spreads a dollar further than we can imagine when it comes to stocking Mother Hubbard’s pantries.)
My evenings revolved around shopping and planning for the city’s malnourished, instead of staring at the comfy beds my grandkids had been deprived of when their mother carted them off. Where were they? Were they safe? Were they happy? Were they eating right? Were they missing me? I hoped not, I didn’t want them to be as wretched as I was! At least I was a proactive agent trying to end world hunger, that had been my platform when I had won the title of Miss America.(Yea, in my dreams!).
Finally, during the last days before countdown (the drawing for the baskets) my friends rallied. Bringing in fantastic items for a family night at home. Of course this had a dual effect, delighting me and bringing me sadness. It made me miss the nights with the grandkids. We had watched some of these movies, eaten some of this popcorn. I had washed clothes with this chocolate melted all over them after a day at the movies. I tried again and again to contact my Patsy. Her phone always went to the voice mail. I left message after message. No return calls were forthcoming. Darn cell phones. There was no way to locate a address on the internet. My mother's heart was breaking. (Really, My heart, not my mother's) I cried every night and went to God in prayer. It seems that the only time he ever really heard from me was when I was suffering. He seemed to tell me to keep plugging along. That helping those needier than I was right now was medicine. I didn't like his responses; I wanted him to get my daughter to call me. If he wanted to hear from his kids, didn't he realize we wanted to hear from ours! And he had the power to get them to call! Come on use some of that power for me.
One of the days in our food bank drive was dedicated to bringing in back packs. I didn't understand the purpose for that till I did the simple thing of asking questions. Sometimes just asking things really solves problems. Apparently the food bank issues back packs to low income children so they can be crammed for the week end with meals. If kids couldn't afford to buy their own school lunches they also needed nourishment while off for two days. I couldn't get over the need in our community but I spent considerable time selecting back packs, with my grandchildren in mind. Bright colorful back packs with Sponge Bob and Miss Kitty. If I bought something for a stranger I wanted it to be comparable to something I would buy for a close relative. I didn’t want to be stingy. I selected ones I knew would have thrilled my progeny’s progeny, making my offering more personal, making me feel connected with my own. Driving home from the store I always kept my eyes open for my daughter's car, hoping to catch her visiting a friend in the neighborhood, or shopping at her favorite stores. Nothing. No sign of where she had ended up. I hoped she was eating good, sleeping good. Working. Recovering from her divorce. Finding closure. Most of all I hoped she was missing me and my unwanted opinions!
Well, the last day of the food bank drive finally arrived. We all gathered in the lobby to hear who won the baskets as one name after another was drawn. I’ve never won anything, but hope springs eternal: till the last basket was passed out then hope took a nose dive onto the tiled floor. It only took twenty minutes for me to leave a looser. Well not really. I felt pretty darn good about the sum we collected for the local starving population. We had nothing to be embarrassed about according to the numbers raised. God was right. Thinking about others really took my mind off of me. My house may have been empty but my soul had company.
When I got home a few nights later, tried and tested from work, I listened to my answering machine and passed out. Well not literally but close, I dropped into a nearby chair and fanned myself. My daughter had called and invited me over to see her new apartment and have dinner. No apologies. No explanation for the long silence. No need to be tacky. I retuned the call and accepted the invite gratefully before she had time to rethink her invitation and rescind the offer. We both acted as though there had been no rift in our relationship. Grudge carrying wouldn’t get me closer to my daughter or her kids.
Her apartment was actually very close to my house, in a low income neighborhood. I started mentally devising ways to be helpful with the kids before and after work, on weekends….then I stopped, that was what had gotten me into trouble in the first place, would I ever learn anything?! I arrived punctually. Not a minute to soon to be told I was too early, or a minute late to be scolded for the dinner ruining. I arrived right on the dot. I would not be responsible for any arguments this night. Joy filled my core as my grandbabies, age six and eight, fought to be the center of my attention. Greg was full of ecstasy about the new things he got his first day at school. School has already started! Where has the time gone? He and Molly ran off to get their new school books and supplies to place on exhibit for me. Their notebooks, pencils, crayons and folders were all precious possessions. But what brought tears to my eyes were the two new back packs. Bright colored back packs for kids. Bright colored back packs I had purchased a few weeks ago to bequeath to hungry children. Back packs my own grand children brought home from school today filled with staples, (that part they left out with the innocence of youth) While I was working on occupying my mind, attempting to forget my missing family, God had us united by a string. Everything I had done, I had done for my own. For God’s own. And he had guided us through every step. But I sure wasn’t going to mention my new found enlightenment to my proud daughter. Not tonight. May be in ten or twelve years when Greg and Molly had graduated from high school. But no, not tonight. I refused to humiliate her with my knowledge of where tonight’s simple dinner had come from. I’ll let Patsy convince me she’s doing okay, making a living, going to school, and raising her kids. (Hey, she was doing okay, God had looked out for her as he had done with me, and we were never on our own!)
I’ve learned how to offer help and advice now, or rather, how to not offer help and advice till asked. I raised my children, I have to agree to let Patsy raise her’s. Obviously, God has a hand in it. He won’t let the righteous beg for bread. Did I say earlier I had left a looser? And that hope had taken a nose dive? Well, I was wrong.
Exodus 23:10-11
Leviticus 23:22
Psalm 37:25
Math 6:2
Math 25:13-40
Math 26:10-13
