I picked up some bread this Sunday at the church. It was after the sermon and I was in the bread room, just finishing loading bread graciously offered me by the ministry into several overnight bags.
Then it happened-it was one of those questions that kept coming back, wafting through my consciousness like a tissue in a haze, then suddenly sticking in my mind like when an electromagnet is turned on in the junkyard and tons of scrap metal bolts off the pile onto the magnet like a deer flushed from cover or a birdied putt that falls into the cup on the hushed first green.
"What are you going to do with all this bread?" asked the young man whose wife was busying herself, rightfully so, in a hands on way about the room, in those postures and nonverbals associated with discerning when the last of the patrons had left and when the real final one, me, would leave so the rest of the day could begin.
I don't know. I said something like " "I'm going to have some for us and freeze some and share some with--"
"Yeah, share some!"
"...with some people...ahem, yada yada (trailing off....).
"Well", he qualified, "It's all going to be thrown out anyway, so take all you want. Most of the people we help only want the sweets."
Of course his question was all wrapped up, all associated with the fact that I was a first time visitor. I'm a caregiver of a loved one with a cognitive disability. I show my love by planning things in advance. I did my groundwork over the phone this past Wednesday. I called the church and asked about handicapped access, possibly a separate room where the sermon is piped in like for a person with autism who may call out and disrupt the service and other questions I'm learning to ask. The person on the other end of the line offered to save me some bread. "If you come to the food pantry on Saturday there is a line. I can save the the wait and you can get it Sunday when you come to the service." I am learning to heed these kinds of recommendations. Sometimes an objective person who is not a caregiver is refreshingly insightful into making my job easier, and I am thankful for the kindness.
So questions matter, especially on first days.
I was there to get some much needed socialization and I was measuring my every response with what I felt would be in the realm of a normal flow of conversation. Kind of like a wanna-be Babbit.This was not something I had to do before I was a caregiver. Lately I have hung up the phone and thought "MediSKapt, you said WHAT??!!"
Maybe I needed to respond "Why do you ask, sir?" Which I had, already, in the the scope of this visit.
But not with this question.
As we rode the public transportation system home with my loved one, a view in which a passerby may have needed to look twice to discern whether all those bags hanging off that wheelchair meant that these people were either homeless or just shuttling through town temporarily loaded down, I kept thinking about that question.
Then I had the answer. Just like life, the answer was in a correlated question.
"Well man, a better question would be 'What am I going to do without this bread?"
That question I can answer.
Yes,
God is Immense.
I thank God for that bread.
Then it happened-it was one of those questions that kept coming back, wafting through my consciousness like a tissue in a haze, then suddenly sticking in my mind like when an electromagnet is turned on in the junkyard and tons of scrap metal bolts off the pile onto the magnet like a deer flushed from cover or a birdied putt that falls into the cup on the hushed first green.
"What are you going to do with all this bread?" asked the young man whose wife was busying herself, rightfully so, in a hands on way about the room, in those postures and nonverbals associated with discerning when the last of the patrons had left and when the real final one, me, would leave so the rest of the day could begin.
I don't know. I said something like " "I'm going to have some for us and freeze some and share some with--"
"Yeah, share some!"
"...with some people...ahem, yada yada (trailing off....).
"Well", he qualified, "It's all going to be thrown out anyway, so take all you want. Most of the people we help only want the sweets."
Of course his question was all wrapped up, all associated with the fact that I was a first time visitor. I'm a caregiver of a loved one with a cognitive disability. I show my love by planning things in advance. I did my groundwork over the phone this past Wednesday. I called the church and asked about handicapped access, possibly a separate room where the sermon is piped in like for a person with autism who may call out and disrupt the service and other questions I'm learning to ask. The person on the other end of the line offered to save me some bread. "If you come to the food pantry on Saturday there is a line. I can save the the wait and you can get it Sunday when you come to the service." I am learning to heed these kinds of recommendations. Sometimes an objective person who is not a caregiver is refreshingly insightful into making my job easier, and I am thankful for the kindness.
So questions matter, especially on first days.
I was there to get some much needed socialization and I was measuring my every response with what I felt would be in the realm of a normal flow of conversation. Kind of like a wanna-be Babbit.This was not something I had to do before I was a caregiver. Lately I have hung up the phone and thought "MediSKapt, you said WHAT??!!"
Maybe I needed to respond "Why do you ask, sir?" Which I had, already, in the the scope of this visit.
But not with this question.
As we rode the public transportation system home with my loved one, a view in which a passerby may have needed to look twice to discern whether all those bags hanging off that wheelchair meant that these people were either homeless or just shuttling through town temporarily loaded down, I kept thinking about that question.
Then I had the answer. Just like life, the answer was in a correlated question.
"Well man, a better question would be 'What am I going to do without this bread?"
That question I can answer.
Yes,
God is Immense.
I thank God for that bread.
photo by: grngobstpr
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