Fancy that

This afternoon I delivered two bags and a box of groceries to my neighborhood food pantry. (My movers are coming tomorrow and I really don't want them sending all my unopened food to sit in a storage container for four months.) When I called the church to ask if I could bring the food over in the first place, I was worried they might not want the food I had because, frankly, food pantries and soup kitchens can be picky. Having volunteered at soup kitchens and food pantries before, I fully understand why they are picky; I often was the one sorting the keepers from the trash.

Imagine my delight, then, when the lady on the other end of the phone, who later turned out to be the Pastor, said she had just gotten a phone call from a family saying they were in desperate need of food. (Note, I was not delighted that a family needed food so badly they had to call a food pantry.) Instead my delight stemmed from the fact that even in my bedraggled, sweaty, mopey state, I still could be of use to somebody. That somehow, things had worked out just in the nick of time for the family.

Fancy that.