Brother M. & the Bag of Groceries

It's possible to think you have Food Stamps placed on your card and find out that you don't. It's also possible to find out that your income report is being processed (10 days) over a holiday weekend. Both these things are happening, and the bottom line is that we're out of groceries. (Our usual food bank is closed.) That's how we found ourselves driving to a big church off Bradshaw near the 50. We walked through the wood-paneled church, following the signs that reminded me so much of an airport.

We filled out an application which, among other questions, asked if we were church attendees. Boy, are we not! I'm Jewish, and my husband is a B'aha'i. We told this to Brother M. He talked for some time about the ingratitude of some of Jesus' followers who, fed one day on loaves and fishes, were angry that they couldn't have that service again. Then Brother M. prayed for us and got us a bag of groceries replete with macaroni and cheese, ramen, the kind of stuff that can make you obese or diabetic if overused. We left. I have never been so desperate as to go through this for one bag of groceries.

At the Food Bank

About once a month, my husband and I visit a local food bank. In case it's not clear, we are the recipients. The people who run this food bank are generally sweet folks who, even though they do this food bank out of Christian religious beliefs, have never once imposed their beliefs on us.

A brief examination of the food is interesting. It's as if the USDA wants us to get fat and develop diabetes -- ramen, macaroni and cheese, Jiffy muffin mix with lard, cereal. Even in the rest of the food bank, they can't give us enough bread. The fresh produce is from the bottom of the barrel. Is this what poor people deserve? Is there a weakness in us that we can't afford the fillet mignon? If we weren't so lazy, if we were go getters, we wouldn't be in this situation, right?

I'm grateful for the food bank, and I don't want to be poor the rest of my life. But the help that's given seems to be a transaction that compels me to accept some shame.

What happened at the grocery store.

I thank God that I have never been homeless and that I have set my pride aside to frequent the local food bank. However, there's nothing like selecting a cart full of groceries and not being able to buy them and take them home to make an impression on the subconscious. The clerks at the store were  kind to me but I was in a great state of shock. The credit card repeatedly did not go through.  By the way, buying groceries on a credit card is the worst deal around -- buying tax-free items on a card that charges double-digit interest. (My husband and I have found it necessary to cover a lot of things on the credit card that we wouldn't have done in the past.) Ultimately, I had to leave the groceries at the store for a clerk to put away. That was the moment that showed me how  precarious my situation is.

I went home determined to prove that I could cook something in our house despite the setback. The result was corn bread, a true comfort food. After that, I puzzled out again how my husband and I are going to save our butts because we are the only ones who can.