the wrong formula, the right response
Yesterday, while volunteering at the local outreach center, I experienced an interesting thing. I was only about 5 minutes into my “shift” and I was given the file for a Hispanic woman. The coordinator came over to speak to me about this particular family, warning me that they actually weren’t eligible for food that day (there is a 10-day wait period from one visit to the next, and it had only been 5 days since their last visit). She also told me that the family had come to the center on Saturday to get clothes from the thrift store, and had insisted on receiving one free bag of clothing for each family member. This particular family consists of 10 people (2 adults and 8 children of various ages and parentage).Armed with a warning not to let the woman take advantage of me, I called out her name and walked her back to the interview area. As it turned out, the girl who was there yesterday was the oldest child of the family, a 17 year old girl with a child on each hip and another little one in tow. As I looked through the application, I learned that the two children on her hips were actually her children and not her siblings. I smiled and introduced myself and asked her if I could pray with her. Unfortunately, none of the other interviewers do this, so she wasn’t quite sure how to answer … but she breathed a sigh of impatience as if to say “whatever” and nodded. I prayed and thanked God for her and her family, and I praised Him for being able to meet her needs better than I or that center ever could, and I also asked that God would somehow use me that day to help to meet her physical needs. When I finished praying, I opened my eyes to see a blank stare and the still-present look of disgust, but I pressed on with a smile stuck to my face.
I explained to Angelica that she was not eligible to receive food again yet, and asked her what it was that she needed. She told me that they didn’t get diapers, formula, or clothes last week – like they asked for. I explained to her that - while we can request specific items from the pantry - there are no guarantees that we have those items. She sighed again and nodded. I asked for more details about clothing, and told her that it looked like we had given her some on the previous Saturday. She replied with a sharp, “well, we didn’t get what we needed.” I smiled again and explained that the thrift store operates under the same circumstances as the food pantry, and that we can never guarantee a specific item but will do what we can to help.
I filled out a request for formula and diapers, and was just about to hand it off to 11-year-old Ashley (the runner for the day) when Angelica spoke up and asked if I had written down what kind of formula it was that she NEEDED. I hadn’t, so I pulled back the request form and wrote the brand and type of formula that she specified. I shook her hand and thanked her for coming, and wished her a good day. She started to walk away but turned on her heel and asked “what about the clothes?” I told her that someone else would be writing out the request for that, and we would give it to her with the food when it was ready. She rolled her eyes and walked away.
Usually I go straight from one interview to the next, but this time I walked back into the office and closed the door and exhaled deeply, hoping that somehow I could breathe out all of the ugliness that was brewing inside of me. I prayed for God to go with Angelica and those children and to help them feel His love. I prayed for God to please remove the thoughts that were burning in my mind and heart. I took a deep breath, walked back to the front, picked up the next folder, and began the interview process again.
After I finished the next interview with Chester, a man I am beginning to recognize from the center, the local soup kitchen, and also the streets in my neighborhood, I looked out into the waiting area and saw Angelica. She was walking back in with a plastic grocery bag in hand and a look of mixed disgust and anger on her face. She came up to me and said, “this is not the formula I need.” I told her that it was possible that we didn’t have what she needed, and that I had written the request – but that it was just that: a request, and not a guarantee. She threw the bag on the desk and said, “but that’s the kind I need!” People in the waiting area were craning their necks to see what was going on, and I put my hand on Angelica’s shoulder in an attempt to calm her. She pulled away sharply and glared at me. I took another deep breath (I must have been claiming all of the air in that little building yesterday) and said I would see what I could do. I walked to the pantry area and explained the situation to the man in charge. As it turned out, they happened to have the exact formula Angelica wanted, but for some reason the teenager reading the form didn’t catch what I had written.
I mustered up a smile on my face and pushed open the door to the waiting area. I walked over to Angelica and handed her the bag and apologized for the confusion. Again, she rolled her eyes and began to walk away, but turned and reminded me about the clothing request. I went upstairs and spoke to the coordinator, and she wrote up a voucher so that Angelica and her family could come back on Saturday to get clothing.
It was nearing closing time and there were no more people to interview, so I snuck into the back office and closed the door again. My head was spinning with unbelief at how ungrateful this young Hispanic girl seemed to be. What nerve – to ask for help, and then demand that she receive that help in a specific way or through a specific thing. I was feeling quite self-righteous and pretty smug, when suddenly I was able to see a parallel between Angelica and myself. My eyes welled up with tears at the truth that I am very much like Angelica, in so many ways.
I pray and ask God for help, and I place my requests before Him … and I wait for Him to come through. Sometimes I am good at waiting and trusting and letting go, knowing that He is sovereign and that His plan and timing are perfect. Other times I sit and tap my foot impatiently and wonder what is taking Him so long. And then sometimes He does give an answer, but it’s nothing like the answer that I want or that I think I need. How many times have I “surrendered” something to God, but then been upset or disgusted with the answer that He gives? How many times have I come back to Him and suggested that He made a mistake or didn’t really pay attention to my original request? The truth of it is that He has something better in store for me, no matter what I think I need or what I could ever possibly dream of. And the right (although incredibly difficult) response is “Thank you.”
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