On Going to the Food Pantry
Building a Community
It’s one thing to go to the food pantry once a month for groceries, it’s quite another to admit to the world that you go. But then I thought, why should it be such a stigma? We all need help at some point, with different things, and in our own ways. And the amount of people who need help is growing. But with that need comes the people who can provide that help. It is our mutual need and abilities that brings us together. This is how we build our villages.
We were up so early that she kept giving anyone who looked at her the stink eye. The man in the hat is the one who organizes this pantry, and makes sure everything runs smoothly. We are all so grateful for his time and talent.
It does take a village to raise a child’ but more importantly, it takes a village to raise a family. The family unit is the basis of a society, and you cannot have a functioning society with the incessant and toxic individualism that has been pushed for generations. I’ve seen this, I’ve lived through it. That’s why there are so many mom-blogs about how hard it is to be a mom; we’re finally admitting that we can’t do it alone. We’re finally begging for our villages.
The food pantry we go to is a big thing. They get food donated from the FDA, and from most of the churches in the area. They regularly help approximately two to three hundred people a month, and with more than just the regular canned goods. A lot of people donate toiletries, soaps, and household items. One month someone had given a bunch of shirts with the price tags still on. The local stores give the breads, cakes and cookies, and seasonal candies that didn’t sell. And there is always meat, eggs, and fresh produce.
I’ve gotten to know some of the people who come; there’s a woman who brings her twin grandsons, there’s an elderly lady who comes with her sister, there’s a bald man who brings his little boy, and there’s a lady who runs a clothes closet across town. We look forward to seeing each other once a month, and if someone is missing we notice.
And then there are the volunteers. There are some elderly men and women who clean the carts and do the paperwork, there are some kids who help push the carts and load the food into the cars, and there’s one woman who is probably my age who has dreadlocks and always wears cargo pants and sandals (we see her around town sometimes too).
These people have seen me through most of my last pregnancy, they’ve encouraged me, laughed with me, groaned with me about the picky eaters, and prayed for me. These are the people who are part of my village, and while we could not have made it through without the food, I value their kindness and friendship more than the food.
