The Stewpot Patrons

Older folks shuffle slowly behind their metal walkers. Younger adults enter with headphone wires snaking down their necks and disappearing beneath clothing. Others carry garbage bags filled with their only possessions.

My task this day is to ladle a spoonful of beans on these clients’ plates. Within forty-five minutes, three vats that once held the steaming lentils are empty, taken away and replaced by a staff member.

Twice a week at lunchtime in downtown Dallas, I help out at the Second Chance Café located in a homeless assistance center and run by The Stewpot. Those without a roof over their head are guaranteed a hot meal two times a day, seven days a week here. For an hour and a half on both days, I get to serve others instead of dwelling on my current situation—searching for a job.

“Thank you for coming,” a raspy-voiced woman says to the food servers. “We appreciate it.”

And they really do.

Several people coming through the doors are whom many Americans expect to see in such a place: the senior citizen with unkempt hair and sunken lips; the patron with bloodshot eyes placing one foot in front of the other as if trying to pass a sobriety test; and the person scoffing when a helper tries to hand a food tray to her—a sure sign of some mental disorder.

A man small in stature pulls down the bill of his ball cap as if trying to hide the massive abrasion now scabbed over on the side of his face. Another enters the building with a shiner below his cracked eyeglass lens and a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. The situations they face each day in their dog-eat-dog world rip my heart wide open.

Then there are the clients that surprise me: the twenty-something with a computer satchel slung over his shoulder; the lady with beautiful ebony skin and manicured nails; and the silver-haired gentleman who looks as though he should be sitting in a plush leather chair in a corner office instead of a plastic seat in a soup kitchen.

These are the faces of the homeless. With their bellies filled, they make their way out of the building and back to the streets.

The Bible makes it clear Jesus wants us to help the poor and feed the hungry. As a youngster, compassion for the downtrodden tugged at my heart. Now, serving the homeless satisfies that deep desire to do something for the less fortunate—it just took me decades to figure that out.

My life feels in balance just knowing I’ve touched others with the love of Christ one meal at a time.

“Then the righteous will answer Him, saying, ‘Lord, when did we see You hungry and feed You, or thirsty and give You drink? When did we see You a stranger and take You in, or naked and clothe You? Or when did we see You sick, or in prison, and come to You?’ And the King will answer and say to them, ‘Assuredly, I say to you, inasmuch as you did it to one of the least of these My brethren, you did it to Me.’”  – Matthew 25:37-40 NKJV