Saturday, December 27, 2014

People Matter. Stories Matter.

This morning, I volunteered at Helping Hands, a local food pantry and clothes closet. You may remember me sharing a bit about a previous Helping Hands experience over on Middle Places (click here to read that post).

Some days, it's a quick in and out... ask the questions, write the answers, turn in the form, move onto the next person. Other days, everyone has a story to tell, and I love those days. I love those days, because stories matter. People matter, and when you listen to what they are going through, you offer them more than food. You offer them dignity, and that isn't something you can find on a form or in a grocery bag.

Today was a story day. I had a woman with heart problems, doctor-assured that she will be dying any day now. And I had an elderly man who could barely hear and didn't see super well either. He reminded me a bit of my papaw, whom I adored and still miss dearly 22 years after losing him. As this man stood to leave, he pulled three bracelets from his pocket and told me he wanted me to take one. He wanted to give me a Christmas present.

If you know me, you know I don't wear jewelry often, and bracelets are a hindrance to my constant typing and scribbling in notebooks. They are too much sensory input for me when I am writing, basically. But I picked one of the beaded bracelets and put it on. It is made of fake pink pearls. It is not a bracelet I would ever pick even if I were to wear bracelets.

And I love it.

It is the prettiest thing I've ever seen.

I got a lot of lovely Christmas presents. My husband spoiled me with four Out of Print tees, a new Kindle cover, two new books, and a leather journaling Bible... not to mention gifts from church members and money sent by parents, etc...

But this little bracelet... It's like the widow's mite, and I will treasure it forever.

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