Soul Food

Kindness is as easily nourishing as the sunshine that sinks into a leaf. It penetrates even the roots, which continue to grow and spread. It trickles into every crevice of our soul and ripples into those around us. Each act forms a thousand seeds that are carried in the wind. Each heart touched is the water that begins the cycle again. This story is just one instance of the impact of human compassion. It takes place over the course of a year. And it wasn’t until the end, when a cup of soup was given to a man named Matthew, that I truly understood the impact he had on my family. Not just my family, but all of the families we’ve been able to help through him.

If truth be told, I was apprehensive at the idea of going to food banks and accepting the charity of the non-profits in my area. I remembered being the kid in school who collected canned goods and brought them to class only to later find out that we were the family who was receiving them. It had been a long time since then. I grew up, moved out, got married and felt successful. I worked my way up to management in every restaurant I had worked at over the last decade, and I felt happy and content. But 2020 changed everything.

The impact of the pandemic has been insurmountable to the entire planet, myself included. My restaurant was one of the many businesses that Covid-19 took in its clutches and slowly squeezed the life from; and, in the mists of the first wave, I found myself unemployed.

Like many Americans, I tried to remain positive. I was certain this was a minor set back. At first, I even thought of it as a mandatory vacation. Surely the crisis would only last a few weeks and things would return to normal. The restaurants would be busy, and I would be raking it in. Summer would come, Red Rocks would be open, and we would all be free to live our lives as we pleased. Boy, was I wrong.

In a few months time, my business had permanently closed. Not just mine. Many of the businesses in downtown Denver had been boarded up, never to open their doors again. There were a few jobs available here and there. Mostly technical support, which I was not qualified for and nursing positions that I didn’t have the education for. It began to feel hopeless.

But slowly the number of cases in Colorado began to taper, and we started to reopen. I found a job as a waitress in Lakewood and things seemed to be looking up. The fact that we were still reduced to 50% capacity wasn’t much of an issue. It was summer, so people didn’t mind waiting well over an hour to get a table. Customers were grateful to be out, the weather was great, and tips were generally even higher than before the lockdowns. Surely we were towards the end of this nightmare, right? Wrong!

In the beginning of the second wave things started to take a turn for the worst. We were back down to 25% capacity, the weather was unpredictable, and due to an influx in demand, there were no heaters available to purchase for patio seating anywhere in the state. It wasn’t long before L.A county and Denver were the hotspots of the country, and the governor was forced to put us on lockdown once again. We were back to pick-up and take-out only. No servers necessary.

It was time to put my pride aside, if my husband and I were going to survive the year. After all, I was luckier than a lot of people. My home was safe from eviction, I had not lost anyone to the disease, and my husband was an essential worker. Who was I not to accept any and all help afforded to us?

I remembered that years before a regular of mine had run a non-profit in the area. They were partnered with local grocery stores who donated food that was close to it’s sale by date, and they distributed it throughout the city. He would even gift the girls with boxes of Girl Scout cookies at Christmas. I couldn’t recall the name of the company, but I knew who would.

Sometimes the internet truly is a marvelous thing! I constructed a letter on FB messenger and hit send. It took less than an hour for Matthew to get back to me. The name of the non-profit was called We Don’t Waste, and it was distributed at a high school that was less than a mile from my house. The best part was that the next event was being held in just three days. All I needed to do was bring my ID. In fact, because their organization was donation based, anyone in the state was eligible to sign up. He encouraged me to get my family involved, and he promised that there would be plenty of food for everybody.

That Tuesday, we drove to the high school in two cars. My mom and I in one, and my Aunt Donna and grandmother in the other. The event was a drive thru. We would remain in our cars and the boxes would be loaded inside. Then, we would rendezvous at my grandmother’s and help her carry everything inside

What we did not expect was the sheer volume of food that would be allotted to us. Both SUV’s were filled to the brim with boxes of non-perishables, fresh fruits and veggies, and even food for our pets. We were overwhelmed. Before we drove out, we caught a glimpse of Matt and fanned him down. I introduced him to my mom and we expressed how deeply grateful we were. We explained who was in the car behind us and Matt quickly walked over. He introduced himself and gave my grandmother his personal number. He told her to call him, if she needed anything, and he would be more than happy to personally drop off food to her doorstep. We waved goodbye one more time and headed out.

Matt wasn’t joking. There was more than enough food for everybody. In the end, we were able to sort out as many as 8 boxes for 8 different households that we were able to distribute. With each care package we delivered the sense of satisfaction grew within me and the embarrassment I had felt as a child turned into joy.

The second Tuesday of every month became an affair that we all looked forward to, and we’d settled into somewhat of a routine. We called it “Commodity Tuesdays!” The four of us would build a meal together, mostly made up of goods from the month before, and head down to the highschool. Our relationship with Matt grew stronger, and grandma began to joke that Matthew was “her boyfriend.” The two of them sounded like old pals. After a couple of months, I was certain I could see Matt blushing beneath his mask, whenever he spoke to her. He had always expressed how fulfilling his job was and how grateful he was to help so many families. Now, I understood why.

Three weeks ago was one of these, now familiar, Tuesdays. Aunt Donna had decided on soup for our meal. Which was perfect because it was snowing and windy outside. Now, normally we show up around noon. Sometimes the line of cars is a mile long, so we try to get there at least an hour early for the two hour event. Today something had clearly held Matt and his team up. It was after 1 by the time the trucks spilled in and started to unload. We didn’t get much time to speak with him, as they were still pretty far behind and the line was even longer than usual. But, we still managed to holler a thank you to him as he worked his way from car to car and hoped he could hear us.

Sorting out the boxes, back at grandma’s, my Aunt Donna posed a question.

“Do you guys think Matthew had a chance to eat lunch today?’

“I’m not sure,” my mom replied. “They’ve never been late before. He may not have.”

“Why Don’t you and Sara run him down some of that soup? I’ll help mom with the rest,” said my aunt.

Inside, grandma had some old jelly jars with handles that we sometimes used as drinking cups. I quickly grabbed one and poured the soup in. Then, turning to the door, I reached for a paper towel and wrapped it around the jar.

We arrived with about 10 minutes to spare and cars were still lined all the way around the block. We were worried that we wouldn’t be able to find him, and we couldn’t start at the end of the line. Most of the trucks would be emptied and headed off by then with Matt leading them. Fortunately, I caught a glimpse of his hat by one of the trucks in the rear.

“Drop me off here mom. I see him. Just go ahead and make a lap around the block, and I’ll see you in sec.”

She nodded and made her way around the corner. I called out ahead of me, “Matthew!”

He looked a bit surprised as I half walked and half jogged towards him. He was even more puzzled when he saw a jar in my hand.

“We didn’t know if you had eaten, so we wanted to drop off some soup. Aunt Donna made it, and she used the vegetables and stock from last month’s drive.

“What?” He said. “You guys didn’t have to do all that for me. I’m so grateful. Your family is the best. Can they adopt me?”

We both laughed, elbow bumped, and said goodbye. Mom’s car came around the corner, and we headed back to grandma’s and continued to sort food into various boxes for the families that we knew.

Later that night, I got an unexpected call. It was a Facebook messenger call from Matthew.

“Listen Sara, I just had to call and tell you just how touched I am by what you and your family did for me today. I was fighting back tears, when you left. I actually had to walk into the alley to call my mom about it. To see you share your food with me is the kindest thing that I’ve experienced in a very long time. It truly means the world to me. It reminds me of why I do what I do. Please tell your family that it truly means the world to me.”

“Matt what you do has changed our lives and the lives of so many families around us. You really have no idea how important your company is to the community. Thank you!”

Now I’m the one who found myself blushing. I continued,”besides, what you don’t know is that we’re all going to be competing to be your favorite chef. I guess you’ll just have to wait and see what we bring next.”

We both laughed and said goodnight.

The world is unrecognizable to what it was a year ago, and so am I. Through it I’ve learned that even when we struggle, this life is a gift. That we can better ourselves no matter the circumstances. And that a cup of soup can make a full grown man cry.