What a lovely and exhilarating Autumn week. I love when I find myself at the end of a day, or month, or adventure, exhausted for all the best reasons. Exhaustion is arguably one of my favorite feelings. As I reflect on last week's project, I can only imagine that everyone working for The Stewpot and The Bridge finds themselves in a constant cycle of exhaustion and restoration. It was an honor to serve a meal alongside this remarkable group of people, and I am thankful for the sense of duty and urgency that they ignited within me for my own city.
When one considers Dallas, abundant poverty and homelessness are probably not foremost running thoughts. My amazement as I watched over 725 people come through the Second Chance Cafe` in our 90 minutes there, probably indicated my ignorance to this far-reaching and penetrating dilemma existing within my local community.
Dallas.
The place I have gladly called home for most my life... and I feel now like we barely know each other.
Dallas is aching so much more than I ever expected or cared to notice. It honestly never hit me. A small sign of hurt here or a bit of shortage there never registered. Perhaps I was choosing ignorance or naivety or blindness even, but after the experiences of the last few weeks, I can't claim any of those things. I don't want to. I also don't want to idly watch as this relationship built on false premises continues to exist and fester for those around me. What I mean to say is, no matter where you live, probably there are a million more unmet needs than you could ever imagine, and it's unfair to claim ignorance. Ignorance may make you or me feel better, but it does nothing to help us or anyone else.
I would apologize for the rant, but again I'm not trying to sell anyone on anything. This page is about conviction. If you ever feel like I'm wasting your time then please feel free to close the browser window, but I earnestly hope that isn't the choice you make. I hope you feel inspired. I hope you write to me about your convictions. I hope the desire to diverge into uncomfortable territories becomes infectious. Similarly to exhaustion, being uncomfortable is one of those sensations that I find oddly satisfying. I think if you're reading this than either you do too, or you will.
Volunteering at The Stewpot had a much greater impact than I ever thought two hours of being in Dallas, two miles from my apartment, could ever have on me. I'll be honest and admit that I did not perform my due diligence beforehand, and practically knew nothing about the organization prior to our arrival. All I knew was that there would be a short orientation and that we would serve food for 90 minutes. When Will and I arrived, we were met at each gate by a security guard that directed us through the different areas where the homeless either were or were not allowed to congregate. I found this a bit alarming because I had never seen such measures for security taken at other places I had volunteered, but I didn't allow myself to dwell on it, because I imagined they'd seen a fair amount of skittish volunteers and I didn't want to be included on that list. We were greeted by the Meal Service Director and given a short orientation as to the proper way to serve the clients water. Just before they began allowing the clients inside to eat, they asked for two volunteers to move from serving water to serving food- you mean I can be educated in how to do both in one trip? Decision made. Will and I changed aprons and promptly switched sides of the counter. The guards first allowed anyone with a disability to come in and eat, they then allowed others to fill the room so that the meal could be blessed by a prayer. After the prayer, it was pure madness. We each did our one part in the assembly line and worked as an efficient food-serving machine. The guards would allow the room to fill then close the gates so it wouldn't overcrowd. At one point, a fight broke out. Immediately, two police officers broke up the commotion, removed the offending parties, and asked around to ensure that everyone was all right. This made me glad for the guards and I smiled at how their presence made me nervous earlier.
As the afternoon went on, I was amazed at the amount of food we were serving. I was only able to take a few pictures because of the chaotic pace we were required to maintain. I am still unable to decipher the feelings I have about how busy the whole thing was. It is wonderful that an organization can feed 700+ people every meal, but it is saddening to me that there is even the need for it. I definitely think that The Stewpot has the right idea, they have more than 25 partners in the area, and actually team up with The Bridge Homeless Center as the facility for meal services. Yet, I have the same mixed emotion I have regarding all charities and non-profits: I wish that they could accomplish what they were created to do, essentially "fix the problem," and either dissipate or move to the next area of need. That is hardly how they work though, and I wonder if that will ever change. It's one of those seemingly unlikely feats I hope to accomplish; and I will drive towards creating temporary and mobile non-profit efforts until it happens or I've exhausted every option and decided it truly impossible.
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| Waiting for the doors to open. I felt sad to see him siting there in military uniform, he was whittling something and whistling "Summertime." |
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| My new friend, Ida, is a client of The Bridge that was assiting with table clean-up |
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| Will looking very cheeky in his apron. He's British and Irish, so it works. I'm not just some rando throwing out the word "cheeky." |
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| Center courtyard area where the homeless are allowed to gather. |
I hope the few pictures I was able to take during my time there give you enough of a window to understand how well-run and loving of a place this is. I know you can't smell the sweet potatoes and warm ham mixed with the musk of grit and stench of a hot Dallas afternoon, but the view is something. Perhaps soon you can tag along.
-AMF
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