That Sunday morning I stared into our nearly empty refrigerator trying to imagine how I’d stretch our food to last us the rest of the week. My two kids and I had just moved from a shelter for abused women into a small, low-rent apartment. I wasn’t sure where lunch would come from, let alone Thanksgiving dinner on Thursday. I was tired of praying for miracles, tired of worrying about how we would get by.
“We’d better get going to church,” I told the kids.
“Wait!” cried my four-year-old son, P.J., climbing onto the counter to open a kitchen cabinet while three-year-old Amanda reached into the refrigerator. “Don’t you remember, Mommy? We’re supposed to bring something for the poor.”
Yes, that’s what the pastor at our new church had said. How could I tell my son we were the poor? “We don’t have anything to bring.” I said, closing the refrigerator door just as Amanda extracted a single droopy carrot. P.J. held up a dusty can of peas he’d found. “Sure we do!” he said.
It’s bad enough my children have to go to a new church dressed in old clothes, I thought. Now I’m letting them bring rotten food to the altar.
By the time we got to church and grabbed a pew in back, the altar was overflowing with offerings – turkeys, pies and loaves of bread. I knew that a fraction of that bounty could feed my family for a month. I whispered a familiar prayer: “Lord, help us get on our feet again.”
P.J. and Amanda picked up their offerings.
They walked toward the altar, P.J. in his little suit that was too short in the sleeves, Amanda holding her carrot in front of her like a candle. All heads tamed to watch. The pastor pointed to where they could leave their gifts. A murmur ran through the crowd and people smiled.
I felt a rush of pride. P.J. and Amanda had found something to give while I saw only empty shelves. As it turned out those shelves weren’t empty for long. Members of our church showed up on our doorstep with more than enough for a Thanksgiving feast. Looking at the bounty, I thought of others I knew who could use a little extra. “Come on,” I said to my kids, “let’s see if we can share some Thanksgiving.”
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Tina Fenech, Brampton, Ontario, Canada
Source: Guideposts, Copyright (c) November 2000, http://www.guideposts.org
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[Illustration at this number was a duplicate of HolwickID #9192]