In class, our professors teach us that the world is a diverse and unfair place.
Only through immersion and action can we get an unfiltered glimpse of what they mean.
There are talkers and there are doers. I don’t claim to have changed the world when I volunteered at a soup kitchen this past fall semester. Although it was for class credit, the experience got me out into the community, where I did my part to help out for a few sessions. I don’t claim to understand the lives of the impoverished or feel their frustration and discomfort, but I got a small dose of the appreciation they feel for the ways we can help on a small-scale, daily basis. The scene was nearly the same every day. When people of all ages and sizes came in for their meal, their exhaustion and hunger were quite apparent. The kitchen’s policy of serving and re-serving until everyone was full had the men, the women, the children and families leaving in the complete opposite condition, full and smiling, with more energy and possibly more hope, in their step.
After the first couple of sessions, I began to recognize a few returning faces, a handful of which I will never forget. There were a few people who would return for every meal, the ones who always had a smile on their face, their warmth clearly conveying gratitude. In a place where people facing hardships come to feed themselves, they brightened up the entire room, transforming it from a basement cafeteria to a lively place of gathering.
Throughout the chilly autumn months in which I volunteered, I was touched by the parents who put priority to keeping their children comfortable, often at their own expense. The best jackets went to the toddlers whose folks sacrificed theirs for layered sweaters or a blanket. One of my favorite sounds was the chatter and laughter of the kids as they got excited over a delicious meal. They didn’t have to say thank you, though most of them did; their enthusiasm was rewarding enough.
Of the minor challenges I faced when doing my volunteer work, petty when compared to the daily struggles of our guests, I clearly remember one not-so-great feeling. We were only allowed to serve a set portion size to each person per trip through the line, to ensure that everyone got a bit of everything that they wanted. When I had to kindly turn down their request for more, sometimes it made me feel like I was holding something back from them. We would never turn them out the door, and they could come back for seconds, thirds, fourths — but the principle of it was that I wanted to give them all they needed, at once, making them feel as welcomed and happy as possible.
My one regret through this experience is that I didn’t sit down with someone and ask for their story. Maybe I felt like it was too personal. Maybe I was too shy. I’m not outgoing like that, but it might have given me a deeper perspective, more accurate, though still far from a true understanding of what it’s like to walk in their shoes.
I can best describe this experience as eye-opening. I admit that I only got a glimpse of a lifestyle that I will hopefully never have to live, but that’s more than many people can say. The depths to which this country, among others, is willing to push poverty is heartbreaking. I put myself on the edge of it and only got an inkling of how hard things are for some lower-class families. I don’t claim to understand exactly what these misunderstood folks go through every day, but in the hours that I volunteered at the soup kitchen, it became crystal clear that we should be doing more to end it, once and for all.
Poverty is a more desperate issue than many of us can grasp, and like the atmosphere that covers this planet, it extends around the globe. Although a massive problem to tackle and seemingly impossible to solve, the steps taken in the meantime, the little acts, they do count. You don’t have to change the world to make a difference in one person’s day. From there, if we can see that we are one people, a connected network of family and friends and community, humanity might actually stand a chance.
