As the rain fell last Thursday morning, I was just hoping it would let up enough for me to help my dear friend, Sims Wright, deliver food to the poor and needy around the Columbia, Va., community. My prayer was answered.
Shortly after 10 a.m. my dear friend and mentor arrived in his Ford truck loaded to the gills with perishable and nonperishable items from the local food pantries that are supported and run out of the Effort Baptist Church community.
I hopped in the truck, and off we went. Our first couple of deliveries were to an area off Route 250. After nearly running over a large landscape timber that had obviously been moved due to the rain and erosion caused by it in this driveway, we were able to successfully deliver these food boxes.
My personal experience having had to be a good box recipient has been a blessing, to say the least. I mean, groceries are expensive enough if one has a decent, middle-of-the-road job, but if you’re employed part time like me, still have rent and utilities, and children to care for, needless to say it is an ongoing challenge.
These boxes all contained a frozen chicken, beans, soups, fresh corn on the cob (unshucked), a gallon of water, some cheeses, nuts, and other goodies.
Of the nearly dozen deliveries we made last week, my heart was moved by how grateful the people I spoke with were. Now, I’m a pretty big guy (6’5″ and about 265lbs.), in fairly good physical shape, but I could stand to improve that as well.
From the man in a chair leaning on crutches with a dozen cats prowling around his porch (probably closer to 20), to the building in Columbia, the poorest part of Fluvanna County, which I’m sure didn’t have indoor plumbing, to the structures that looked uninhabitable and destitute with funny chemical-burning smells emanating from the doorways (anyone that knows anything about poverty and addiction doesn’t have to think too hard to have a clue what this may have meant), but I digress.
Point is, I grew up the son of a father who had blue-collar jobs most of his professional life, and moonlighted as a radio disc jockey. Back in the days where you could call a radio station and make a request and dedication. Those were the days.
My mom was a schoolteacher, and still to this day wears the mantel of lifelong educator. She’s a terrific grandmother to my kids, and as close to me as a mom can be to a son. I’m truly grateful for her.
I have provided a glimpse into my background for context. We were poor by today’s standards, and probably then, too. But we never went without. I felt loved and supported. My parents came to my baseball games as a little guy, and later regularly attended my tennis matches and basketball games.
But seeing the overall good attitude of the lady with five-gallon buckets catching rain in her house because she needs a new roof with little if any means to fix it, or the couple holding the door open slightly a jar to keep the happy pit bull from chasing me, I couldn’t help but wonder, Man, and I complain about my hardships, I’ve got it really good.
And no, having it really good isn’t about having stuff. Having lots of stuff means lots of responsibility for that stuff. Then that stuff gets old and dusty, and guess what, we gotta buy new stuff.
I hope I will have more opportunities to shine some light in a dark world moving forward. My heart was moved with empathy and compassion for total strangers. The church being the catalyst for collecting donations and thus distribution of the food is only a small part.
Service to our fellow people, regardless of who they are, where they are from, the color of their skin, their socioeconomic status is irrelevant. What’s relevant is, they are relevant. They matter to someone. I heard it once said that even the person who lives a simple life, maybe somewhat in a bubble, still has an impact on 50 lives. That’s a lot of lives to impact, when maybe we don’t think we impact people like that.
I wish I could do what me and Mr. Wright did all day every day. There’s something contagious about serving people. There’s a peace it brings. And sometimes it takes acts of service to our most needy folks to help us (me) realize how good I have it.
Many thanks to all who read. I hope this has blessed or encouraged you.
Letter from B.P. Hagen
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