Of sandwiches, services, and second chances

I made sandwiches this afternoon.

I don't work for a "that's not my job" agency. When there's a challenge, a deadline, people out sick or a big project, everybody pitches in. None of that "I'm the boss, so I don't carry boxes." Somebody needs a hand, I have two.

Today was the first day of CCJ's partnership with U.S.Vets. U.S.Vets exists to help homeless vets get back on their feet, employed and self-sufficient. CCJ exists to help all people get back on their feet and self-sufficient. U.S.Vets moved off the VA campus today. Its 56 vets need to eat. My agency cooks and feeds people. It's a great partnership. If all goes well, our agencies will partner on something bigger. A culinary training program to give our participants job skills.

But back to the sandwiches -- part of tomorrow's lunches for the vets who have found employment. Ham and cheese and lettuce on bagels. A side of applesauce and some juice. I imagined the veterans who open those bags tomorrow, somewhere at a workplace. I doubt they are thinking about who made their sandwiches, but I'm thinking about who will eat them as I assemble them.

One of my staff took over tonight's dinner. Spaghetti and meatballs, salad and fresh bread. A hot, tasty meal in a new location. Each veteran is already making huge adjustments. First, from whatever military service assignment (and possible trauma) to civilian life. From homeless to a program. From one location to another. From scraping out a living to case management and job search. From unemployed to a job. And hopefully, from this program to their own apartment and a long-term working situation.

A few vets have been at CCJ before. If they are homeless and ready for change, we try to hook them up with U.S.Vets. It is a very narrowly focused program where ours is a broad net. We accept people where they are and provide for many of their basic needs. And without pressure, we offer them the chance to move to self-sufficiency. Food. Hygiene. Resources and access to other programs. Clothing. Mentorship.

Some days I think our staff and volunteers may as well be case managers. While they feed people, they are so observant. Who is here, and who is not? Do people seem to be their normal selves? Emotional, physical, mental health checks. Our regulars and even some who are new find that the staff care enough to ask basic questions. What can we help you with? What would you like to eat today? Is everything OK?

I finish bagging the sandwiches, pack the other items and fold the tops. Twenty bags, ready for tomorrow's lunches. I know the vets have someone who is asking them these questions, and that makes a difference. They have a place to sleep, a roof over their heads, and a chance to regroup and start again.

And tomorrow, each one has a sandwich.

Stoking the fire or sustaining the passion: anniversary reflections

Today is my second anniversary at CCJ. In another way of looking at it, I'm starting my third year here. For a time, I wondered whether this position was going to be the interim, while I figured out what God's next plan for my life was. Apparently, this was his plan. I am where He wants me to be. Time to unpack and settle in.

Hard to believe that someone could hang out in a place for 730 days and not settle in, but I've really done it here. My desk is piled high with papers needing organization. I have a photo frame with two family photos on my shelf. An inspirational photo from my last office. Two plants, one that a former co-worker sent when I arrived, and a philodendron growing in an Arizona tea bottle that Leslie gave me after Lloyd died of lung cancer at age 42. It was a piece of the one Lloyd grew all around the house. I brought it into my office in April, following Lucy's death. I see both of them need attention, as does my desk. As do I.

I'm not very good at tending to myself. Mike is demanding I take a few days off next week, and I submitted reluctantly to three days at the Canyon. Did I really say that? "Submitted...reluctantly...Canyon"? I have lost my boundaries here.

The thought that crosses my mind today is "burning." What IS it that I'm on fire for? I am moved by many things. My heart aches for the homeless, the hungry, traumatized veterans, and so many other groups of people who don't have what I consider basic necessities: food, clean and plentiful water, shelter, mental and physical health, resources, relationships, peace. Truly, a large percentage of the global population.

I used to think I could change the world. And at 50, I feel like I've lost that idealism. I can't change my country, my state, or even my sick red county. I've resorted to celebrating when I can -- at least temporarily -- change the circumstances of some people who cross my path here at CCJ. But that feeling is so fleeting. Have I really changed them long-term or just made them more comfortable in their poverty? Have they grasped the power of change or have I acted for them? It's so difficult to see the bigger picture.

I find it so easy to get stirred up about an issue, really stoked, and then the moment passes. Like throwing countless logs on the fire and building a huge inferno, soon to burn out. A few embers remain, but the heat is gone until rebuilt with new logs.

Slow burn. That's what I need to learn. I need to feed the fire one small log at a time with a sustaining passion. Make action a daily, hourly, continuing effort without the bursts of fuel. Working for that compassionate, just community as praxis, rather than consumption.