Haboob Manifesto, Pt. 2.5: Your Fight

Meal giveaway
Meal giveaway

The remnants of the salad, dinners, and milk awaited the last customers.

Inside the packates
Inside the packages

Thirty plates (to eat now) with thirty bags (to eat later) is what we had. Our family cooked all night, packed assembly-line style all morning, for this moment. We greeted our colleagues from the church–not the one we attend but the other one, the one pastored by a friend and colleague–who were so kind to give us food from the food bank to pull this off.

We talked to the store owner and he said we could do it. It was his fight too.

Our pastor friend had allowed us a table from his social hall; he came too. It was more his fight than anyone’s.

In my last installment of the H.B. (it was in Pt. 2), I mentioned hunger and homelessness. I mentioned that we should all have at least one cat/rooster/cricket/mucha lucha dog in the fight. Our fight today was with hunger.

It was 3pm and they started coming. We’d sent word out, person by person, hoping to have enough people for the meals we had prepared. Eight of us, thirty meals, and a community of homeless people. We joined hands and prayers went up in English and Korean. “Merry Christmas” was shouted over and over again. And we handed out food to people who were so happy to get it.

“They are going to be laid out under a bush, full tonight!” Laughter from a few customers who sat on a log next to the parking lot, chewing salad and potatoes, happy for a hot meal. They ate everything and plotted where to sleep tonight.

We gave away the last meal, smiled the last smile, said the last prayer. Hugged the last hug. Accepted the last thank you, the last “God bless you.”

We said “Merry Christmas” to our friends and went our separate ways, toward warmth, toward home, toward food, toward bed.

For eight of us, it was our fight today. We had many cat/rooster/cricket/mucha lucha dogs in it. We were glad it was successful, where success meant we gave away everything. The church even gained a little something–two bikers refused to leave without giving a donation. It was a good fight.

Today, it was our fight. Where’s yours?

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