As I unlock the door to my office, two follow me in waiting my arrival.
Welcome to Grand Central Station. My office.
Updates from the kitchen, confirmation that all is well as a smooth running machine. Translation: "I handled everything. Everything has been done and I've gone the extra mile as I do every single day. Lunch is ready and the meats are in the cooler thawing for the next couple of nights dinners." He shares all the details I should know and those he wants me to know. I warmly tell him I have no doubt when he runs the kitchen that every detail is tended to and I am so thankful for him. He runs the morning team, is well like and respected by everyone, and we have quickly formed an awesome working relationship.
Next ... [I'm thinking the deli does it best with its take-a-number system.]
Doctors appointments. Agency appointments. Health issues. They line up to talk, tell me, and share.
Many are from prison and they don't hesitate to share their stories of how they got there, lost their families, how they are doing the work to clean up their lives. The ones you wouldn't expect to share, get emotional. So many ashamed of the destruction they brought on their lives due to bad choices.
All day I hear about their appointments, said out loud so another person knows.
This community I have been welcomed into and quickly a part of where I don't have to have any magical words but to be someone to listen and encourage.
They share the damage they have done, I share I see what they are doing to make it right.
Several have jobs and they want to tell someone about their day. I remember being alone in the past and genuinely missing sharing daily details with another person.
I heard a loud commotion outside my office, bad language, and had my first drunken confrontation yesterday. He is a ring fighter, a thief, and sells drugs for an income [I'm still a bit shocked at how transparent and open they are]. He is in a bad place being kicked out of the shelter for being intoxicated and knows this violation will most likely have his probation officer shipping him back to prison violating his parole. He has no place to stay. He is frustrated and embarrassed that his new paper route pays nothing and he feels going back to selling is his only way to bring in money to support himself. He was drunk, crying at times, and scared to go back to prison. He was respectful and would apologize when he said a bad word in front of me.
I hear their stories of brokenness, I hear how they lost everything due to bad choices, I hear about prison. I also see so many who are utilizing the shelter and services to do the work to get back up on their feet. Grateful for clean facilities to sleep in, clean clothes, and good meals.
I greet all our dinner guests when they come in and I say kind words when they leave. Some of the roughest looking guys, I admit I wouldn't make eye contact with on the streets, when I acknowledge them will smile, warm up, thank me, and introduce themselves.
I have a job to accomplish and a meal ministry to enhance and grow, but I am learning every day the power of a smile, a kind word, and the gift of listening.
