Charity

Story

Posted on by Lauren

It’s been five months since I started meeting my students for 15-30 min daily. 

Piece-by-piece I unravel their stories. 

Sleeping in cars, hotels or disappearing one day. 

Sometimes for a month, sometimes for . . . .

That is their life. 

Unknown. 

And I meet them where they are. 

Together, we read. 

Piece-by-piece. 

At first a sound, then a syllable and next, a word. 

Piece-by-piece we make sentences. 

“We spend just xx minutes together. The rest is up to you. Do you want to read? People like me will come and go, but you’ll always have you.”

I look them in the face and remind them that ultimately, 

It’s their story. 

I’m just a chapter. 

Give

Posted on by Lauren

Gray stone surrounded the window pane I peeked through, as I noticed their breath that December night. 

At nine years old, I was a greeter; welcoming the homeless into our old church.

The line was long and I knew the inevitable was upon us; the moment we had to shut the door, ending the promise of a warm meal and pew.  

It broke my heart. 

I was introduced to a life of service at a very young age. 

My grandparents always brought me along to help serve “Meals on Wheels”, delivering hot meals to the elderly all over town.

I felt proud, knocking on the door and helping place the tray, all while noting my surroundings. 

We didn’t have a lot, I thought, but we had more than this. 

My parents always provided to those in need, even when it meant they went months without paychecks to provide for their small-business employees.

It was instilled in me that there were always those who had a greater need than our own.

At 17, I served in two orphanages for a month in Ghana.  

I’ve never forgotten it. 

The moment we shut the door. The moment I left and they stayed.

As we enter this season of giving,

I remember. 

I open my heart.

And I give.