At some point in life we soon learn a lesson every human being on earth must encounter: life is hard. People look at my life and marvel at the seemingly hard things I do. I run 70 miles a week and I participate in ultramarathons on mountain trails. Yes, these are physically demanding and require a lot of physical effort and training. But running is not the only hard thing I do. In fact, other life events, harder to face and harder to get through, have given me the confidence and resilience to tackle ultramarathon training.
A number of years ago, when I first retired from my oil industry career of over 30 years, I was asked by a friend of mine to help him pastor a storefront church in a run-down mini-mall in nearby Gardena, California. The church's mission focuses on discipling the very poor and homeless in the area. The church had both a Sunday and midweek service where meals were provided to those in attendance after the singing and sermon.
This was a hard thing. I had never served as a church pastor before and had never worked with the homeless. I brought these shortcomings up to my friend, and he reassured me that as someone who had suffered hardship in life (I had been through a lengthy divorce and court custody battle), I was a perfect candidate to provide compassion, empathy, and comfort to those in need.
His words of encouragement to me were, “You’ve never done this before, so you’re going to have to rely upon the Holy Spirit to lead you. You’re in the best position you could ever hope for.”
Terrific. What could go wrong?
The first couple of weeks I did what I knew I could do: churchy stuff. I helped with room and equipment setup, cooked meals, helped with the services including playing keyboards for the worship team, and I even preached sermons. I started to get to know the people who we were helping and they were getting to know me. I was slowly getting comfortable in this role.
An older gentleman of the church, José, lives in his early 90’s Toyota Tundra pickup. José believes in living out his faith. So, he fills that pickup up to the point of overflow until the rear leaf springs are practically flat from the weight of the payload. Fred Sanford would be proud. José scours the local neighborhoods, rummaging through trash and claiming his catch. But José’s heart is as big as his booty, so every week he distributes his finds to those in need. In addition to his ministry of repurposing discards, José also feeds the homeless in Alondra Park with a budget of zero. He invites me to one Wednesday dinner to witness this miracle in action.
José fires up the propane grill. The tall stainless soup pot fits perfectly over the single burner grill. As sous chef, my job is to keep open cans coming. Chicken noodle soup, chicken stock, chicken with vegetables get added to the pot. The homeless, not helpless, keep bringing cans to add to the mixture. Kidney, lima, and black beans; peas, corn, carrots, tomatoes keep coming. I open, José dumps and stirs, occasionally adding more spices to the mix.
A woman approaches our table taking slow, measured steps as if she’s never done this before. She’s clutching a can of Hormel Chili and a can of fruit cocktail and delivers them to me with a smile. I return the smile with a nodding thank you. I hesitate.
“Open the can, brother,” says José.
“It’s beef and bean chili!” A pleading sous chef protests.
“Open the can.” The head chef insists.
Hormel Chili cans are always the same. A thick layer of orangey red congealed fat that looks more industrial than edible always has me thinking twice. As I remain motionless, his eyes peer at me above his glasses.
Staring into my soul, he says, “Brother, that’s all she has to give.”
There is no air to breathe when truth strikes you so deep in your soul. It empties the air in your false self, forcing it out of you. You must will yourself to inhale again. And as my heart and pride break, I open the can. Who knew that trying to operate a can opener while tears are welling in your eyes would be such a hard task to perform? But I manage and hand the can of chili to José who promptly adds it to the mixture. More cans are added without judgment and the mixture comes to a boil then let simmer.
The soup is hearty and plentiful. We have enough to feed the more than two dozen that have come to our spot in the park for dinner. One sole can is left to open. José sinks his arm into one side of his treasured chaos and somehow, miraculously, pulls out a long plastic bag of the tiniest disposable dessert cups imaginable. The next plunge into the depths resurfaces a bag of plastic spoons. We serve up the can of fruit cocktail and everyone gets a tiny cupful and spoon.
While everyone sits satisfied with their meal and enjoying dessert and conversation, I sit alone off to the side, quietly taking it all in. I scan the scene and spot the woman who brought the chili and fruit cocktail. Her face has softened. No hint of fear, shame, or anxiety; only joy, calm, and love radiate. And the hard work started by the can opener continues.
It’s hard to look at myself and see that I can derail all my altruistic intentions or divine calling with my unconscious biases and beliefs. I had assumed mistakenly that my churchy role granted me authority or knowledge that actually did not translate to the real world meaning of the word church. I watch in awe as people who have nothing give from scarcity to those who have less. Those who have arrived earlier save some of their meager meals to give to late-comers.
I watch true love in action, marveling at the willingness, the desire to give, to share, to sacrifice for others. I ask myself then and continue asking myself the same question: “Can I love others like that?”
We never saw that woman again, but I continued cooking and feeding the needy, the poor, the wanting, who frequented the park for a few more years. I’m sure she never suspected that she was instrumental in teaching me a great life lesson or that José’s words would ring in my ears at appropriate times.
“Brother, that’s all she has to give.”
A new life rule would go into effect for me that day.
The rule: Love others the way they need and want to be loved.
Learning to love others unconditionally without judgment or pretense is still the hardest thing I have ever aspired to do. Past events and the lessons learned from them have steered me in the path of the rule, but I will never stop learning.
Thank you for the restack @KentPeterson!
Steve, your piece is exquisite. I really appreciate you sending it to me. I read it and listened to your audio. Loved hearing your voice speak your truth. These passages/lines resonated: “There is no air to breathe when truth strikes you so deep in your soul. It empties the air in your false self, forcing it out of you. You must will yourself to inhale again.” “I watch true love in action, marveling at the willingness, the desire to give, to share, to sacrifice for others. I ask myself then and continue asking myself the same question: “Can I love others like that?”
“I will never stop learning.” Teachers and lessons of life are everywhere as long as we are awake enough and introspective enough to learn them. And it sounds like you are wide awake! 😊 Thank you for the work you have done and/or are still doing for the homeless, not helpless. Helping those with home and food scarcity concerns is personally important to me. I make donations money and materials (not time, yet). I am inspired by your honesty and transparency.