I knew there would be three of them on Thursday morning. And at least three of us.
We regular volunteers were to tag up with a newbie volunteer and walk them through the halls, handing out free groceries together to each resident at the public housing complex.
The three new people wanted to experience it now for themselves, so they could later bring back a larger group in November and do it on their own.
Not being a risk-taker type, I always have a little fear in these situations. What if I’m paired with a strange one? A super quiet one? An overly loud one?
But as God would have it, he paired me up with the one I needed most.
That Thursday morning, it was with Patrick, the president of the Boys and Girls Clubs of North Alabama. I knew I’d hit the jackpot.
With my daughter Jenna teaching Kindergarten this year at a Title 1 school, I’ve met her students and have fallen in love with them. But their life experiences are so different than my own.
I knew Patrick would know about her kids.
And he did.
He had been one himself.
He grew up in the projects in our town. Until 8th grade, he lived right across the street from where we were volunteering that very morning. He knew poverty. He knew about being black in a white world.
And I didn’t. But I wanted to.
So as we knocked doors together and distributed groceries, I asked him. I began with the obvious, “I’m a white woman in a middle-class world. I want to make a difference but I don’t know how. I’d love your advice.”
Oh, my. Patrick lit up. He was very gracious. He told me stories. He shared his own history. He encouraged me with things I could encourage Jenna with, and could use myself.
He explained how lack of exposure hurts these kids.
- They can’t relate to “the sunset on the beach” when they’re questioned about it on a standardized test.
- They miss their own awards day when they can’t pay the fine on a book they lost during the year.
- They often don’t have someone asking them when they get home each afternoon, “Tell me about your day.”
So what do we do?
We plant seeds of learning, patiently, trusting they’ll make a difference.
We set high expectations for them, greater than what is set at home.
We give them hugs and love and consistency.
One child at a time.
Patrick’s mother did that for him. She expected him to make good grades. She eventually got him out of the projects. He went on to college and graduated.
When he was a senior in college and was asked, “What are you going to do next?” he knew his answer. “I have to go home. I have to go back and make a difference.”
And he has. For years. And he wants to continue making even more of a difference.
When we finished our time together passing out groceries, he had a question for me. What time did I usually volunteer during the week? Could he send over a few of the teens from the Boys and Girls Clubs to help? I told him I’d love that.
I rode home that afternoon in tears, thanking God for the way he puts people in our lives, people who know more than we do and who are willing to share their knowledge.
But unless and until we admit we don’t know, we really may never know.
All we have to do is ask.
* * *
Who have you asked recently about something you didn’t know? Or has someone asked you? Please share in the comments.
