Hunger Pains

This week I have pictures from the famous Spaghetti day!

The pots of spaghetti and tea.

 




She was kind enough to be my model for the day serving spaghetti with a smile.

 

Hunger:

Noun

1.      A compelling need of desire for food

2.      The painful sensation or state of weakness caused by the need of food: to collapse from hunger

3.      A shortage of food; famine

4.      A strong or compelling desire or craving: hunger  for power

Most of us have been lucky enough to have never experienced the excruciating hunger that the numerous homeless people in our community do. The embarrassing growl that our stomachs release during the school test or meeting with the boss is not the hunger that I am referring to. It is the hunger that leaves you weak and tired, the horrible pain that leaves you sitting or laying helpless waiting for the warning signal your brain and stomach are sending you. This pain I know I have never experienced, I have been “starving” at times because I had neglected to feed myself for a longer period of time than usual. But, I have never gone a day without food, let alone having to do that more days of the week than not. Hunger is an issue in so many people’s lives, one that can lead them to do almost anything to stop the ear shattering grumble of their stomachs.

This entry is from a volunteer who will stay anonymous, an entry that I feel is extremely deep and moving. It made me stop and think, and I hope it does for you as well. 

  

 

Hunger Pains

I pause to feel the emptiness of my stomach. The pain and movement of hunger will soon pass, I tell myself. With each wave, the body becomes smaller and more beautiful. Discipline.

The rotting hole in my stomach feels strong today. I brace myself for it to pass, focusing my mind on other things. Each shock of hunger that I can sustain, allows me to give the little food I have to my two babies. Discipline.

The belt wrapped around my waist needs another hole. Soon, I will need new clothes. My profile is straight, flat, thin. In control.

My jeans barely stay up anymore. I wonder if the mission can give me a belt. The children are cranky, poor things.

Breasts once were all you saw. Large. Shrunken down to nipples and flesh. Feels unfeminine. I once had curves.

Nourishment, sustenance once came from these breasts. I should have four more months of breast-feeding left. Nothing. Shriveled and dry. My baby’s nutrients gone. I could once provide for them.

My heart thumps loudly in my chest. Its strained efforts to keep me alive are frightening. I pause to walk up steps, afraid of the blackness that often enters my sight. Zooming in and carefully zooming out, the floor closer to my face than ever before. Will I survive this? How did this happen?

My heart aches in the hole of my chest. Panic, fear, loss, broken. My children have stopped screaming from their hunger. The silence of their emptiness is haughtily worse. There is no energy left for them to scream out their injustices. Will we survive? How did this happen?

Hunger.

Everyone Has A Story of Their Own to Tell

   

     Today as I was driving home from Las Vegas Catholic Worker’s Kitchen I saw one of the guys from the soup line. This man is always so polite and genuinely thankful; it can be seen in his eyes.  He has a bright shining smile that he shares with me every morning in the line, a smile that lights his face behind its mask of hair. I have never had a bad encounter or day with him, he always puts a smile on my face as he leave. We have only shared a few sentences, a simple hello, a good to see you, and the unspoken happiness that shines through his face. But as I was driving home I saw him standing by the road; I thought he was waving at me but as I got closer to him I realized he was talking to someone, there was no one around him. He was not angrily shouting at the passing wind, but looked as If her were having an ongoing conversation, as if someone were standing before him sharing their thoughts and ideas and listening to his in return. 

     A feeling began to gradually sink in and grab hold in my heart. Any day hundreds of cars pass by him, and I am sure they judge him and make assumptions as to why he is talking as if he is having a conversations. I am sure harsh words are thought and expressed, and it hurt to know so. I do not know this man, I don’t even know his name, but I know him enough to care about him. I would not want any one making assumptions and saying rude things to the ones I love, and this is what happens to him.

     I bet his story is a good one. I bet when he was young he had dreams like all of us do; I bet he was even happier than I know him to be today. It made me wonder what his story is. I wanted to know why he lives on the street and talks as if there is someone near him. When I see him on the line he does not talk to whatever or whoever it is he feels he is talking to. He does not seem like he is a ranting lunatic, and when he talked to what he does he seems to be fully engaged in the conversation.

     It is wrong for us to judge him and think we know what he has faced and what he is going through, because we are wrong if we do so. There is no way to know if the loss of a loved one, the hardships of a childhood, or hatred and criticism have led him to the path he stands on today. But I feel like I want to know, I want to know if he is talking to a long lost loved spouse, or a friend he made up a long time ago, or even a former version of himself. I want to be able to understand rather than feel like I should feel sorry for him, or judge him.

     I heard a quote a few days ago by Elbert Hubbard “To avoid criticism, do nothing, say nothing, and be nothing.” Many people feel this way about the homeless in our society, that they are nothing or that they choose to be nothing. But still they are criticized. So that must mean that they are something, they are someone, someone that matters to someone else. And that has to count for something; people should not treat the homeless and needy with disdain, rather put out a kind helping hand because we do not know their story. And I can only assume we would want others to know our own story before they make such harsh judgments.    

    

Lonely and feeling detested he stands unaided waiting

His balding hair knotted and soiled.

Pitifully he looks into the hundreds of cars passing

His dirty misshapen hands reaching for help.

Looks of disgust and hatred he bows his head from

Harsh words strewn out of the cold windows passing.

Words he has long ago grown accustom to.

His face burnt and full of worried weathered lines

Hardened to the world he looks to for kindness.

The flashing lights turn on as he is handed a simple piece of produce

Greedily his dirty hands and mouth work to devour it.

He is sent away once again rejected

To find another place to beg.

Somewhere else to seek a helping hand.

Slowly with a head weighed down

Shoulders slumped he limps away

Filled with hate, pain and rejection.

Slowly my once full, bright and hopeful heart

Disintegrates and darkens with the

Lack of love and kindness in the world.

Slowly I become the dejected.

A First Time Volunteer

Phi Theta Kappa members keeping their smiles after volunteering with Soup and a Smile for Pancake Day.

     This was an exciting week for Soup and a Smile. On Wednesday ribs were served to the twenty or so homeless men invited to the house to shower, do laundry, have a great lunch, and relax in a home with friendly company. On Thursday we had five special guests from Nebraska. I have forgotten the names of these five awesome people, but not their story. They came to Las Vegas to celebrate one of the woman’s birthday, when they arrived here the birthday girl got onto the computer to find somewhere in Vegas they could give back to. It was amazing to me that on her birthday trip to Las Vegas she went of her way to fins somewhere to volunteer, and to pick one that they would have to get up so early to do. They were extremely joyful and fun to be around. On that day we had about 10 people come back to the kitchen, so I asked if they wanted to help separate and make tea bags for the next morning’s tea. They happily obliged and I got to hear their fun conversation, and learned that they were here celebrating a birthday. I found their story extremely heartwarming, and knew it had to be shared.


     Saturday was the ever popular Pancake Day, the menu was huge. There were of course pancakes, sausage, and hash browns as the main dish. Along with those delicious mouth watering dishes there were Starbucks pastries, cakes, croissants, candies, milk, tea, and all the toppings; butter, syrup and salsa. The best part was the number of volunteers that were present, we estimated about thirty showing up and volunteering. The members of Phi Theta Kappa were there to serve with a smile, and had a great first time volunteering as a group. It was exciting to start a new project with Phi Theta Kappa and there was a healthy turn out, one we only expect will grow. There were so many people that a few of us got to walk around and talk with some of the many people that were there. It was a great experience seeing so many come to help those that are in need and do it with a smile on their faces, even if it was a little too early for some.

     This weeks entry is from Angie Robinson, my sister and hard working student at CSN. It was nice being able to get her involved in volunteering on a special event day. She works late nights, so waking up after only three hours of sleep was a little taxing on her, but I believe she is happy she did so.

     I volunteered for the “Peace of Cake” event for the organization Soup and a Smile on July 1st. It is a service provided to the homeless to give them a hearty meal to begin their day. It was the first time I had ever volunteered for a soup kitchen service. I had no idea what to expect. These people who were there to eat were unfortunate in their lives; somehow, somewhere they fell into this hardship. They were so grateful for the food provided as well as a nice “Good Morning!”



     They patiently wait for the tables to be set up and the food to be opened, uncovered and presented on the little white tables. They form into very neat conformed rows of what is most important to them. Some of them want a steaming cup of hot tea, or a refreshing cup of ice cold water, or even an old water bottle that needs a filling, while others want their first pick of a special doughnut or a particular type of muffin. They quietly move to the other lines after they give their grateful “thank you.” There are some that wait until others have eaten and stand in line again to get extras for themselves as well as their families who they left in “their comfortable place.” re


     Many of us take advantage of the fact that we have not just three but as many meals a day as we want. We have refrigerators full of food that half the time spoils because we don’t eat it fast enough. Las Vegas is one of the most obese cities in America because we over indulge in whatever foods we feel like eating; they are grateful to get any food they can into their stomachs. We take advantage of the fact that we have running water and can drink when we are thirsty any time of day or night we please; they do not have the same commodities and privileges.


     They do not have homes, or a place to call their own. They are harassed and shooed away from places that they are just trying to get comfortable in (as comfortable as one can be in 115 degrees.) They do not have places to wash themselves nor their clothing and are not able to use public restrooms without being criticized and watched. They cannot afford to buy something at convenience stores so they cannot use the store restrooms. They have no means of transportation to get to and from the little dirt parking lot where they receive their food, drinks, and occasional clothing so they must find shelter close by (within walking distance.)


     I believe that every volunteer that comes here feels sympathy for the homeless. I think that most realize how lucky or fortunate they are to have what they have: comfortable homes, with air conditioning and heating, warm beds, bathrooms, and kitchens, as well as transportation and the opportunity to eat whenever they feel like it.


     I encourage anyone who has the opportunity to serve others to take advantage of their free time and help someone in true need. The feelings you get alone from the experience is unexplainable. The truly grateful smiles you receive are more than enough to make you happy all day. It is a feel good service that I was privileged to be a part of.

Angie serving tea and a smile.

"The Rain"

     This week was an interesting one at the soup kitchen. Thursday was this month’s hot dog day, which is the first Thursday of every month. (Unless the first day of the month is a Thursday, then it’s the following one.) Hot dog day is a day that many volunteers are needed. We have the hot dog and bun lines, a macaroni salad line, watermelon line, tea line, pastry line (which includes the cakes, Starbucks, croissants, muffins, etc.) water line, chocolate milk line, and even pretzel line. Besides those who live in the Catholic Worker house and work with them, there were three volunteers. All of the work got done, and the food passed out, but it was a little sad to see how few volunteers we had.

     Friday was much better, it was spaghetti day. The cook gets rave reviews on Spaghetti day, it’s a crowd pleaser. There were about fifteen volunteers on the lot that morning, and it went so smooth and fast, it was wonderful. It left ample time to converse and exchange stories with the needy community (and fellow volunteers). To my surprise eight non-regular volunteers came back to the kitchen to help clean and do dishes. It was great to have so much help, on a normal day there are maybe three or four volunteers (including myself) that go back and help with the clean up. It seems to be the least fun job, but it’s when we get to hear more about the inner workings and thoughts of the volunteers and Catholic Worker regulars.
     Saturday there were again quite a few volunteers, and over at the pastry line (which is my favorite spot) it was cake day. We served about fifteen cakes. There were Triple chocolate cakes, caramel cakes, birthday cakes, Cheesecakes, and carrot cakes, just to name a few. I was elbow deep into cake and frosting by the time we were to go back to the house to wash the dishes. My clothes, and somehow my shoes were decorated with different flavors and colors of cake.
     Throughout the week I noticed how happy not only I was but all the volunteers, there was even a sense of joy among the many people lined up in waiting. I’m not implying that it’s normally a bitter sad thing, rarely have I ever seen a volunteer upset or having a bad day at the soup line, but it seemed the joy was showing a little more evident this week than others. I began to feel guilty because of the happiness I had, I think I began to forget the trials and criticisms that the many people that line up on the lot have to face daily. It’s not to say that every human being in the world has a perfect life but them, but I know my life is and probably has been better than theirs at that moment. Never have I had to worry about going hungry, watching my loved ones go hungry, not having a house to come home to (or a trailer), a warm bed to crawl into at the end of the day, or a place I knew I could go to and feel safe. I know there are some there who take what we do for granted, and come when they don’t necessarily have to, but many of them count on that meal, they depend on it. Just as many of us take all the wonderful things we have for granted.
     This week I have an entry from Robert Majors, a regular volunteer at the Catholic Worker. I don’t know if it is entirely important to give a little background on those who help me with my blog, but maybe it will help show the diversity in those who decide to set aside a little time in their life to help those they see need a friendly and hopeful hand. He is a 22 year old student attending classes both at CSN and UNLV; he works a full time job, and volunteers almost daily.



     "I love the rain; I smile at the sight of dark clouds and tears of joy almost fall at the sight and sound of lightning and thunder. Lately, I have been volunteering at the Catholic Worker where throughout the week they stand out at an empty lot with cake, tea, and up to six pots of food to feed around 150 people each day. Lately, I have been teased more and more by the weather, many clouds have appeared and no rain has fallen. I sat and looked at blue skies in depression and wished for it to rain. I wished the rain would last for weeks, as I thought about this wish I realized that the pouring rain would slow down if not completely halt the soup line that the Catholic Worker provides four times a week. Realizing the impact it would have on the many homeless, and how grateful they were to have that one meal out of the day, I rephrased my wish. I wished for it to rain from Sunday to Tuesday, since the Catholic Worker feeds the homeless Wednesday through Saturday. Deeper my thoughts sank into the consequences of such a wish, and the amount of people it would affect. I had a place to get out of the rain when I wanted to; I had dry clothes to change into but others whose pseudo homes would be flooded by rain and whose clothes on their back may be the only dry attire they possess would not have such comfort. Though some would enjoy a break from the heat, that joy would soon be over and as I once again continue on with my life they would struggle to rebuild the little they had accumulated. A task as minimal as finding dry clothes to wear could take days if enough motivation could be gathered. Needless to say I no longer wish for it to rain but a worthy note is the amount of consideration acquired in my personal thoughts towards the homeless, had it not been for the connection that the Catholic Worker provides between the community and the homeless this empathy would not have been obtained."