Lost in Service of Others

Selflessness was not something that came naturally to me as a child. I grew up in a rural area more poor than middle class. Selfless? There didn’t seem to be enough for me and my family. What did we have to give? I remembered the boxes with powdered milk and the donated Christmas gifts. Those Christmas gifts were a highlight though in all honesty even though along the way I was transformed into a proper grinch. When the gift receiving stopped, I stopped believing in the possible joy that could be felt during Christmas. I’d watch my mom making dishes and rationing out our food to give to people who were less fortunate, which at the time didn’t feel like a possibility. Homeless, drug addicted, abandoned folks all received the meals I felt we deserved to eat for tomorrow. It would bring me so much anger and impetuousness at the time. “Why are you helping these people who don’t want to help themselves?” It’s sobering to recall these words I’d muttered more than once throughout my childhood but I do believe in allowing ourselves some grace. I mean, that still was my macaroni and cheese.

It wasn’t until I was about 25 when my perspective flipped on its head. By this point I had been through a whirlwind of experiences. I’d gone to university, got a respectable degree, gotten an inexplicable job, traveled through Europe and other things you bring up at an underwhelming dinner party. This was the perspective from the outside. I was simultaneously living in a 200 sq ft box, broke, and freshly dumped. My car was even on its last leg. The amount of despair I’d been feeling during this time period felt insurmountable. You realize you’re in rock bottom when you can’t fathom going any lower. However, I recalled that someone once said that one of the best things that you can do is to get lost in the service of others. I told myself that I need to give myself. I didn’t have anything to give but myself. I searched out for a place to be of service one one of the days where people either feel the most loved or the most forgotten. I found that there was a soup kitchen in my area that offered packaged food and hot meals to those who are elderly and impoverished. I found myself in this space, working with strangers, doing the smallest tasks like scooping cranberry sauce, and feeling gratitude. There is something that takes over your soul in service. It’s this connection to the purest form of human nature, service, that can shift your entire world. I knew that this was a space that I needed to return to. It has become my favorite tradition.

2020 was a difficult year for many people. The disheartening part is that the difficulty of the past year hit people in ways in which we may not see and may not be able to quantify. I was viscerally afraid that due to covid-19 restrictions, I would be able to partake in Christmas morning service at the soup kitchen. This has become my favorite time of the year. The day I had begun dreading for over 10 years; the day that I had come to spend alone had transformed into the singular most fulfilling day of the year for me. I called the organizer to be sure that they would be offering hot meals to those who really need them. It was a go. Like a child, I woke up the morning of Christmas 2020 teeming with whimsical joy. I got to the soup kitchen. It was empty. I was greeted by a family I’d become quite familiar with serving on this day. I wondered. “Where was everybody?”. Due to the covid-19 pandemic, volunteer numbers were down considerably. Where there were typically 150 volunteers it was now whittled down to maybe 30. However, the demand for food had risen. Hungry homes would be depending on a depleted volunteer force. I was only daunted for a second but after it passed, I brought intention into everything I touched. I felt the weight of my community with every pie slice, and every to-go plate packaged. The concentration and precision I had in helping to get out over 530 plates of food was a reminder that we always have ourselves to give. It was the most exhausted I’d ever been volunteering on Christmas day but the byproduct of that was an intoxicating joy high that could not be replicated. There’s something to be said about doing even the smallest things because the impact of a collective of small selfless acts can amount to life-altering moments for the giver and the receiver as blurred as those lines become. Mama, I understand now.