The Food Bank

The Food Bank

by Doreen Frick I used to have a very good job, reliable paycheck, and an office in my home. I grew accustomed to my comfortable lifestyle with its many perks and pay raises. What many people would consider luxuries, I thought were genuine needs. I spent and charged as I pleased, ignoring that nagging feeling in the back of my mind telling me to get on a budget. No matter how much I made, it never seemed to be enough.

But one day that all changed when I lost my job.

Sitting at a gas station waiting for a fill-up, I watched a homeless guy standing in the rain, bumming change off customers, and wondered if that could be me someday. I shivered.

After making all the cutbacks I could, I moved to a cheaper place and began looking for jobs. Eventually I found two: one at McDonald’s and one at a call-in center for a phone company. I was retrained on the computer, learned a cash register, and took a crash course in public relations and french fries. That first week, sleep and a comfortable pair of shoes became my number-one luxury. My body kept telling me it wasn’t young anymore.

But my brain was; it thrived on all the input—the challenge of just being able to keep up was invigorating, and the paychecks meant I would eat that week. Both my supervisors were young enough to be my children—in fact, they were younger than my children— maybe that’s why I loved them. We made a good team, I brought them candy and treats, and they gave me my self-respect and confidence back. But even with working two jobs I was having real trouble making ends meet.

I moved again, in the hope of getting a better job, then lost that one four months later.

Things were looking bad until I noticed a sign for free food at a place called The Food Bank. I’d never been to a food bank before, though I vaguely remembered donating to one back in the day when money was a given. My first experience with needing food was the day that opened the door to a whole world of people with good hearts—kindhearted people who gave of their time so that others would not go hungry. Nutritious food, a smile, alternative ways to stretch my food budget, and even pumpkin pie and turkey for the holidays made me look forward to becoming a part of this operation.

But I had to sneak over there, because I didn’t think my husband would approve of charity (would it make us look poor if we had to get our food there?), and my part-time job prevented me from helping on the day they were open. I only had enough time to drop in and leave with boxes of food. We weren’t used to being so needy; sometimes, though, even those in need need to find a way to pay it back—or forward.

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I lost a lot of weight during the stress of my situation, my clothes were all becoming too big for me, but at the food bank I found tables of well-sorted used clothes I could take home to replenish my wardrobe. On a future trip, I donated most of my too-big clothes to the food bank. It was a small thing, but a start. And it made me feel good.

The next breakthrough came when my husband caught on to my little “deception” and began accompanying me to the food bank. For the first few months he stayed in the car while I went in and did my “shopping” and visiting. But eventually he wandered in, met a few of the men who carry boxes of groceries, and, within a year, he became one of the volunteers. I think he enjoys it. I’m glad he took his time to ease into it, to come to terms with this new season of life, and move on. With his own unemployment looming large in his mind, he’s stepped into my role and has begun to cook meals, do the dishes, start my car in the morning, price-shop at the supermarket. Thanks to the food bank, we’ve learned to cook more simply; when I think of all the food we consumed when we both had the big paychecks, I’m a bit taken back. I’m just as happy now (maybe even more so) with our own unusual concoctions. A cup of homemade stew made with a thankful heart is a feast. We open a few cans, find a few onions and potatoes, throw in everything handy, and, when all else fails, add tomato juice and stir.

The food bank has introduced me to a wide variety of people—my community. I’ve made some new friends, and run into old ones there. I’ve met people much needier than we are—young families, older folks, people with debilitating disease, widows, old men who are lonely. My heart is broken for those who suffer—for when one suffers, we all do.

One of the biggest challenges we’ve faced is not the loss of the job, but the self-respect that comes from earning your own keep. And for that reason we’re both grateful for the opportunity to give back. Going to the food bank is the highlight of our week. Maybe losing that cushy job wasn’t the end of our life after all; maybe it was just the beginning of the next one.

Life consists not of holding good cards, but in playing well those you do hold.

- Josh Billings Doreen Frick is a PRISM reader and a freelance writer from Valley, WA.

EvangelicalsforSocialAction.org/ePistle