It is 7 p.m. and there are two things on my mind: I am hungry and I need to use the bathroom.
Dinner service ended a half hour ago but one person has yet to leave. I wait at the back door, ready to finish my job, which involves making sure everyone has left and locking the door.
I spent two years volunteering full time at André House and now volunteer part time there. André House, a soup kitchen in downtown Phoenix, Ariz., provides basic-need services including a nightly soup line that averages 630 plates per night.
This gentleman is taking his time to finish his meal, pack his bags and move on. I have not seen him before and I try not to hurry people who are not causing a problem. The only thing in a hurry that evening was my own patience.
I tend to move fast and focus on to-do lists. He is taking his time and slowly appreciating each moment. I have no significant reason to rush him so I try to accept his pace.
He finishes his meal and slowly takes his tray up to the dishwasher. Returning to his seat he carefully packs his belongings, putting each item in its own place in his backpack. Then, carefully unrolling his bedroll and blanket, he proceeds to reroll them. Securing the bed roll to his backpack he stands up to stretch.
In my head I continue to tell myself to be patient and constantly repeat my to-do list: lock up building, turn off lights, eat dinner, study, clean, go through emails and write a paper. And this list goes on. Yet right now, all I can do is wait.
Then he walks over to the prayer table, taking a few moments to look over the books, pamphlets, rosaries and prayer box on it. He examines each item; reading the materials, rearranging them and observing the flowers and statues.
The man picks up his bag and a book from the prayer table. Walking over to me, he asks if he could have the bible he found. "Of course," I say, and tell him to have a safe evening. But still he does not leave. He tells me how lucky he is to have a bible. This bible is perfect for him: large print so he can see it under the street lamp at night. It has a soft cover so it is bends in his backpack and will not poke him.
Then he goes on to tell me about his blanket–a Mexican, woven blanket of many colors. It is light weight and easy to carry. He admires its multiple colors. It is tightly woven to keep him warm and also protect him from the ground. He talks slowly as he explains all the things he likes about his new-found bible and his over-used blanket.
Here I am, impatiently waiting for him to leave so I can go home to my safe apartment, a hot dinner and my warm bed.
And here he is, over-blessed, going out to spend another night on the streets with nothing but a bible and a warm blanket.