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Authors: JUDY DUARTE
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one.”
“Did that electrical short ever get fixed?” George asked.
“Yes, but now we’ve got another problem.” Joe placed a hand on the senior pastor’s shoulder. “I heard a rumor that there’s a group of homeowners planning to attend the city council meeting next Tuesday night. They’d like our soup kitchen moved.”
“Where to?”
“It doesn’t seem to matter, just as long as it’s outside city limits.”
“What good will that do? Most of the people we’re trying to feed don’t have transportation or the means to drive back and forth across town each day.”
“Apparently, there’s a group that’s complaining about the bad element we draw to the church. And since we’re so close to the park, a place where families with small children often gather, they’re worried about safety issues.”
George shook his head and sighed. “Sometimes we even feed entire families. The parents, whether single or married, are often between jobs or on temporary disability. They can bring their kids here for a warm, nutritious meal. And afterward, they’re able to take them to the playground for a while, which is what Dawn usually suggests. That way, for a couple of hours, they get a chance to enjoy themselves and forget their troubles.”
“I tried to explain that to Ralph Gleason when he complained about the bad element,” Joe said. “But some people can get awfully hardheaded when they think they’re right.”
George’s gaze locked on Craig’s. “I suppose you’d better plan to be at that meeting and represent the church. Hopefully, Joe and Dawn can go with you. But if not, they can fill you in on some of the politics we’ll have to face.”
Craig nodded, realizing his job just got a bit more important.
To be honest, he didn’t mind overseeing the soup kitchen. Whenever his parents had taken him to visit his grandfather in India, he’d seen how poor some of those people had been, how helpful the church had been in providing for more than their spiritual needs.
He’d only been six on his first visit, so it had been awkward for him at first, trying to connect with kids who had been raised in a different culture. But he’d learned that they had a lot in common at playtime.
Not that this was the same thing, but it did give him an opportunity to practice some of what he’d learned in his missiology classes.
“How’s Dawn holding up?” George asked Joe.
“She’s doing okay. Losing her mother unexpectedly was tough, but she’s got a lot of faith.”
“I know,” George said. “It seems as though she’s had more than her share of disappointments over the years.”
As the two men chatted, Craig found himself surveying theroom, noting the various people who’d gathered to eat. Two elderly women sat nearest him. He wondered if they were homeless, or if they were just living on a limited budget.
Either way, he could see that the church-sponsored meals could certainly help senior citizens stretch their social security checks.
He made a mental note to keep that in mind when he addressed the city council.
A couple of men, one of whom wore a Veterans of Foreign Wars cap, sat a few tables away. He’d gotten rather animated as he talked to the men next to him.
One young woman sat alone. She was bent over her plate, her long, stringy hair falling forward and hiding much of her face. Her elbows were on the table, and her arms were circled around her plate, as though she was trying to protect her meal, as though someone might snatch it away before she was finished eating.
He watched for a while, as she practically shoveled in her food.
Meatloaf and baked potatoes, he noted. Green beans. A scoop of … peach cobbler? It all looked pretty tasty, and he figured they had Dawn Randolph to thank for that.
“We’ll need to make another run to Costco,” Joe told George. “We’re running out of paper plates again.”
Craig figured he probably ought to pay attention to the conversation, yet he
“Did that electrical short ever get fixed?” George asked.
“Yes, but now we’ve got another problem.” Joe placed a hand on the senior pastor’s shoulder. “I heard a rumor that there’s a group of homeowners planning to attend the city council meeting next Tuesday night. They’d like our soup kitchen moved.”
“Where to?”
“It doesn’t seem to matter, just as long as it’s outside city limits.”
“What good will that do? Most of the people we’re trying to feed don’t have transportation or the means to drive back and forth across town each day.”
“Apparently, there’s a group that’s complaining about the bad element we draw to the church. And since we’re so close to the park, a place where families with small children often gather, they’re worried about safety issues.”
George shook his head and sighed. “Sometimes we even feed entire families. The parents, whether single or married, are often between jobs or on temporary disability. They can bring their kids here for a warm, nutritious meal. And afterward, they’re able to take them to the playground for a while, which is what Dawn usually suggests. That way, for a couple of hours, they get a chance to enjoy themselves and forget their troubles.”
“I tried to explain that to Ralph Gleason when he complained about the bad element,” Joe said. “But some people can get awfully hardheaded when they think they’re right.”
George’s gaze locked on Craig’s. “I suppose you’d better plan to be at that meeting and represent the church. Hopefully, Joe and Dawn can go with you. But if not, they can fill you in on some of the politics we’ll have to face.”
Craig nodded, realizing his job just got a bit more important.
To be honest, he didn’t mind overseeing the soup kitchen. Whenever his parents had taken him to visit his grandfather in India, he’d seen how poor some of those people had been, how helpful the church had been in providing for more than their spiritual needs.
He’d only been six on his first visit, so it had been awkward for him at first, trying to connect with kids who had been raised in a different culture. But he’d learned that they had a lot in common at playtime.
Not that this was the same thing, but it did give him an opportunity to practice some of what he’d learned in his missiology classes.
“How’s Dawn holding up?” George asked Joe.
“She’s doing okay. Losing her mother unexpectedly was tough, but she’s got a lot of faith.”
“I know,” George said. “It seems as though she’s had more than her share of disappointments over the years.”
As the two men chatted, Craig found himself surveying theroom, noting the various people who’d gathered to eat. Two elderly women sat nearest him. He wondered if they were homeless, or if they were just living on a limited budget.
Either way, he could see that the church-sponsored meals could certainly help senior citizens stretch their social security checks.
He made a mental note to keep that in mind when he addressed the city council.
A couple of men, one of whom wore a Veterans of Foreign Wars cap, sat a few tables away. He’d gotten rather animated as he talked to the men next to him.
One young woman sat alone. She was bent over her plate, her long, stringy hair falling forward and hiding much of her face. Her elbows were on the table, and her arms were circled around her plate, as though she was trying to protect her meal, as though someone might snatch it away before she was finished eating.
He watched for a while, as she practically shoveled in her food.
Meatloaf and baked potatoes, he noted. Green beans. A scoop of … peach cobbler? It all looked pretty tasty, and he figured they had Dawn Randolph to thank for that.
“We’ll need to make another run to Costco,” Joe told George. “We’re running out of paper plates again.”
Craig figured he probably ought to pay attention to the conversation, yet he
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