Because He Was Hungry

Like most stay-at-home moms, I crave the luxury of adult conversation.  I don't even mind if the conversation is punctuated with side-whispers of "Get your finger out of your nose and find a tissue!" or, "You just had a snack and dinner will be ready in half an hour" or the all too often, "No I don't know where the other Polly Pocket shoe is.  If you put your toys away where they belong, then you always know where to find them."  What was I saying?

Oh, right.  Conversation.  Adult.  It's sooo nice.  I don't care if it's about the weather, the kids, or something intelligent; I just like to talk with other adults.  So when Wednesday rolls around, I really look forward to the Wednesday night dinner at my Heart of the Shepherd, followed by service, because I get to sit with a few friends and kind of chat in between all of the Mom! MOM!  Mooooooooom!-ing.

Yesterday we arrived early on the scene and as I approached the doors to the multi-purpose room where we would be eating, I could see a gentleman sitting at our usual table.  This posed a dilemma for me.  Now, I'm not all territorial and get huffy about someone sitting in my seat, but there are usually only one or two high chairs set out, which is why I sit at that table.  There he was, sitting right next to the only highchair from what I could see.

I've seen him at church before.  We've had one or two brief conversations.  I couldn't tell you his name. So I was faced with a decision- intrude on his personal space and request to sit there with my four noisy children, or deliberately move the highchair to a different spot and look rude.  But there was more to the decision than just that.  I'm an extrovert only by practice.  Given a choice, I would remain with a small circle of friends and not step out of my comfort zone to meet new people.  Further, I find it challenging to start conversation with people who aren't in the same life journey (i.e. young kids) as me.  It's always an easy conversation starter to ask how old your little cutie is or what their name is, but to approach a lone adult, I find very intimidating.  What would I chat with him about?  Certainly he wouldn't find my day to day activities of interest like my mommy friends.

And if I sat with him, I probably wouldn't be sitting with my mommy friends tonight.  Bummer.  It's selfish, I know, but I relish that time of chatting, because outside of my husband, it's one of the few times I get face-to-face time with another adult (unless you count the cashiers at Kroger who probably wonder why I'm so chatty as I go through their line).

All this decision-making turmoil took place in a matter of seconds as I approached the room.  The honest truth is I didn't want to sit with him.  I just wanted to sit with someone I know, who could hear all about my day and tell me about their similar struggles and we could laugh and reassure ourselves that we're doing an okay job at this whole mothering thing.  But God told me to sit with him, even after I noticed that there was another highchair at an unoccupied table.

So I asked if we could join him, perhaps a little begrudgingly.  He nodded.  I asked how he was doing. "Fine," he said.  Nothing more.  Oh dear!  This was going to be hard.  I remembered he had once told me he worked as a caregiver for the elderly.  I asked him if he was still doing that.  "No," came the short reply.

"On to something else?" I asked.

"Yes."

I made small talk with Colette.  Got up and got us drinks.  Wondered if there was anything more I should say or if I should take his short answers as a hint that he wasn't really looking to chat.  I made small talk with another mom who passed our table up for another one with more seating.  And we sat in silence for a few minutes, while I searched my brain for something to say.

"This where they play men's basketball?" he suddenly asked.

"Yes!" I said, maybe a little too enthusiastically.

"You know what time that is?"

I offered what I knew and then he asked what time service was on Sundays.  "There's a Bible Study on Sunday too, right?" he asked.

Now I was smiling.  "There is," I said.  "I teach one of them and we would love to have you join us!"

"Oh really?  What are you studying?"  He seemed all too happy to talk now.

I told him we were studying the book of Ecclesiastes and he inquired what "that one" was about.  I told him it was written by Solomon and that experts suspect he might have struggled with depression.  "It's sort of evident in the first couple of chapters," I said.  "I suppose you could say it's Solomon's journey out of depression; his discovery of purpose."  I told him how I relate to the book because I've had my struggles with depression, too.  I've thirsted for meaning.

"Me too," he said.  He said it sounded like just what he needed.

"Ecclesiastes, huh?  Sunday?  What about now?  Let's do this now!" he laughed.  "Because I'm hungry," he said a little more seriously, hungrily.  He wasn't referencing the meal we were about to receive.  "This," he said with a sweep of his hand, "Is the only thing I've found that fixes it."

We talked through dinner about Solomon's discoveries about the pursuits of life.  We made some small talk.  Then, he shared a recent medical diagnosis and there was evident uncertainty in how he should approach this new way of life.  I encouraged him to see a nutritionist.  I urged him to join us on Sunday.  I found myself caring.  I could have sat somewhere else and missed all of this, simply because I cared about my comfort and my desires.

I felt like the boy who offered up his fish and loaves to feed the five thousand and watched a miracle unfold.  It was a meager offering- as if gracing someone with my presence at the dinner table can be considered an offering at all.  I didn't even do it joyfully, just obediently, but God feeds the hungry.  If it was up to me, well...

He calls us to sit with them.  To break bread.  To get personal, even when it's uncomfortable.  To seek the hurt.  Find the need.  See the hunger.  Because every single person in this world is hungry.

There's only One fix for that.

Then Jesus declared, "I am the bread of life.  He who comes to me will never go hungry, and he who believes in me will never be thirsty." John 6:35