Poor in Spirit, and Just Plain Poor
Gil and I had breakfast at our small-town family restaurant this morning. It's only been open for about five years, but the building is in an early 1900's, square, nondescript building in the heart of old-town Purcellville, Virginia. The inside is kinda faded and worn around the edges; my favorite customers there are the craggy-faced farmers with their baseball caps and plaid flannel shirts. The trucks in the parking lot are likely to sport NRA stickers, or, today we smiled at one that said, "1-20-2008: Bush's Last Day in Office."
We go there most Saturday or Sunday mornings and get a home-cooked breakfast for about $6.00 each. I've only ever seen three waitresses there: one has a round, peachy face with shoulder length blond-gray hair, the rest of her is "round" too and she has a ready smile and a can-do attitude; I'm guessing she's in her 50's. Another is older yet, gray as well; she doesn't smile much. But I personally would guess that her determined, humorless face is a result of tired feet and back. She plods through her tasks there with hard-worn efficiency. This is their livelihood.
The third is a fresh-faced young single mom with a North Carolina accent, and three little kids at home from about 12 down to 5 years old. She prides herself on remembering what each of her customers likes, and being able to order "the usual" for you from memory. She, like the others, wears the small-town Wal-mart white top, cheap pants she can afford to drip grease on, and sensible shoes. We talk about the price of gas, how to do right by the kids for Christmas when you have a limited budget, and this morning, about her driving back from North Carolina last night after saying good-bye to her gramma who's dying of Alzheimer's, diabetes and kidney failure. The night before, she stayed up writing a little "thanks for being great customers and good friends" in Christmas cards for her regular customers.
I remember waitressing. I remember Wal-mart clothes. I remember $1.25 an hour wage plus whatever tips I could make. Thank God, I have never been a single parent, but I remember how hard it was when I was a teenage mom. So in love, so inexperienced and so poor.
This past week Mary and I got to go help at a warehouse with the Holiday Coalition. It was an acre or so of tables and shelves piled high with toys, food and gifts for the poor. They are expecting their largest Christmas ever, with 1700 pre-screened, poor families. One of the organizers told about how awe-struck, emotional and grateful the families are when they get to come "shopping" at this overflowing warehouse. They leave with a shopping basket so full it is toppling over. There is no way they would have been able to give their kids or spouses these kind of gifts otherwise. They take home groceries too.
I was telling Gil about this over breakfast, and about the donation I made to the Loudoun Free Clinic, saying how I remember, and that's why it's so meaningful to me.
I remember one year we were too poor to afford a Christmas tree. A family in Great Falls who knew us from church kinda found out, and they showed up at our door a few days before Christmas with a fresh Christmas tree for us.
Another time, I remember having a family from McLean bring us groceries because we were both out of work and couldn't afford food and rent.
I remember selling beaded necklaces I strung and wove by hand, in an open market in Reston on Saturdays. Whatever I made ($35 was a great day) determined the groceries I would bring home for the week. I remember giving a speech in my Public Speaking 101 class at Northern Virginia Community College. We were supposed to speak on something we know. The title of my speech was How to Feed a Family of Four on $25 a Week, or Doing Your Week's Shopping in the Express Lane.
I remember sitting in the office of a Virginia Power manager, after they had shut off our power. I brought the money to pay our past-due electric bill, but they wanted to charge me $200 more as a penalty. I was in disbelief over the irony or insensitivity of it all. "Listen," I said, "We didn't not pay because we are deadbeats. We are having a hard time right now. If we didn't have the money for the electric bill, where do you think we'll get the money for a $200 fine?!!" and that's when I started to cry. I remember I had a baby on my lap - not mine, I was babysitting other people's children during the day to try to make ends meet. My very young children were there with me too, in that office, watching their mother in tears. The manager waived the fee.
Later, when I got a job a half hour away, I remember taking a bus home in the winter. I'd have to bundle up cause it was so cold - I would get off, walk a block or so to a babysitter's house, where I would pick up my two kids, stuff them into snowsuits and then trudge off with one on my hip and holding the other one's hand, walking through an open field behind the neighborhood houses, snow blowing in our faces, until we reached home in the dark.
I remember going to a clinic where I could get free immunizations for my kids. I remember applying for help to pay our heating bill in winter.
I've never been homeless, but I've been poor, and I remember.
That's why the waitress today got a tip that was more than our $16.00 bill for breakfast. That's why I help the holiday coalition and the free clinic in Loudoun. That's why I buy Street Sense, a newspaper written by, about and sold by the homeless in Washington, DC. For every grungy old man in rags you see panhandling on the street, there are 9 more homeless people you don't see - children under 18 account for 40% of the homeless.
Where am I going with all this? Well, a couple things.
We go there most Saturday or Sunday mornings and get a home-cooked breakfast for about $6.00 each. I've only ever seen three waitresses there: one has a round, peachy face with shoulder length blond-gray hair, the rest of her is "round" too and she has a ready smile and a can-do attitude; I'm guessing she's in her 50's. Another is older yet, gray as well; she doesn't smile much. But I personally would guess that her determined, humorless face is a result of tired feet and back. She plods through her tasks there with hard-worn efficiency. This is their livelihood.
The third is a fresh-faced young single mom with a North Carolina accent, and three little kids at home from about 12 down to 5 years old. She prides herself on remembering what each of her customers likes, and being able to order "the usual" for you from memory. She, like the others, wears the small-town Wal-mart white top, cheap pants she can afford to drip grease on, and sensible shoes. We talk about the price of gas, how to do right by the kids for Christmas when you have a limited budget, and this morning, about her driving back from North Carolina last night after saying good-bye to her gramma who's dying of Alzheimer's, diabetes and kidney failure. The night before, she stayed up writing a little "thanks for being great customers and good friends" in Christmas cards for her regular customers.
I remember waitressing. I remember Wal-mart clothes. I remember $1.25 an hour wage plus whatever tips I could make. Thank God, I have never been a single parent, but I remember how hard it was when I was a teenage mom. So in love, so inexperienced and so poor.
This past week Mary and I got to go help at a warehouse with the Holiday Coalition. It was an acre or so of tables and shelves piled high with toys, food and gifts for the poor. They are expecting their largest Christmas ever, with 1700 pre-screened, poor families. One of the organizers told about how awe-struck, emotional and grateful the families are when they get to come "shopping" at this overflowing warehouse. They leave with a shopping basket so full it is toppling over. There is no way they would have been able to give their kids or spouses these kind of gifts otherwise. They take home groceries too.
I was telling Gil about this over breakfast, and about the donation I made to the Loudoun Free Clinic, saying how I remember, and that's why it's so meaningful to me.
I remember one year we were too poor to afford a Christmas tree. A family in Great Falls who knew us from church kinda found out, and they showed up at our door a few days before Christmas with a fresh Christmas tree for us.
Another time, I remember having a family from McLean bring us groceries because we were both out of work and couldn't afford food and rent.
I remember selling beaded necklaces I strung and wove by hand, in an open market in Reston on Saturdays. Whatever I made ($35 was a great day) determined the groceries I would bring home for the week. I remember giving a speech in my Public Speaking 101 class at Northern Virginia Community College. We were supposed to speak on something we know. The title of my speech was How to Feed a Family of Four on $25 a Week, or Doing Your Week's Shopping in the Express Lane.
I remember sitting in the office of a Virginia Power manager, after they had shut off our power. I brought the money to pay our past-due electric bill, but they wanted to charge me $200 more as a penalty. I was in disbelief over the irony or insensitivity of it all. "Listen," I said, "We didn't not pay because we are deadbeats. We are having a hard time right now. If we didn't have the money for the electric bill, where do you think we'll get the money for a $200 fine?!!" and that's when I started to cry. I remember I had a baby on my lap - not mine, I was babysitting other people's children during the day to try to make ends meet. My very young children were there with me too, in that office, watching their mother in tears. The manager waived the fee.
Later, when I got a job a half hour away, I remember taking a bus home in the winter. I'd have to bundle up cause it was so cold - I would get off, walk a block or so to a babysitter's house, where I would pick up my two kids, stuff them into snowsuits and then trudge off with one on my hip and holding the other one's hand, walking through an open field behind the neighborhood houses, snow blowing in our faces, until we reached home in the dark.
I remember going to a clinic where I could get free immunizations for my kids. I remember applying for help to pay our heating bill in winter.
I've never been homeless, but I've been poor, and I remember.
That's why the waitress today got a tip that was more than our $16.00 bill for breakfast. That's why I help the holiday coalition and the free clinic in Loudoun. That's why I buy Street Sense, a newspaper written by, about and sold by the homeless in Washington, DC. For every grungy old man in rags you see panhandling on the street, there are 9 more homeless people you don't see - children under 18 account for 40% of the homeless.
Where am I going with all this? Well, a couple things.
The poor - they are us. I know they are me. I have been there, and there is a part of me that is still there. That part is a gift, because it fills my heart with compassion. I'm grateful for that.
The other thing is that when I see people around me as "the poor" I am really only seeing an outward manifestation of material poverty. When I was poor I don't ever remember feeling "poor" inside. I remember the Christmas Eve that the best we could come up with for dinner was scrambled eggs and toast, and I recall feeling enormous gratitude that we had food, and shelter, and each other, and praying for those who did not.
And maybe that's what "poor in spirit" is. A simplicity that isn't greedy or envious, but rather is able to see straight through outward trappings to the richness of the soul.
And lastly, for every friend and family member who helped us during time of need, and every one who still stands by to support us in body, mind and spirit - you know who you are - thank you.
Copyright (c) 2007
You made me cry today, but also very thankful. It reminded me of Jesus's words in Matthew 25:40: "I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me."
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