On Wednesday mornings, the kids and I go to Community Bible Study. We take highway 26 at the latter part of rush hour to get there. Here in the Portland area many of the onramps have 2 lanes that control entrance with a signal during the busier times. These signals are a popular location for folks in need. As we approached this past week, I had nothing to offer and did the cowardly thing and selected the signal furthest from the homeless veteran on the other side. As we pulled away to enter the highway, Quincy pipes up with "Mommy, who was that man?" Before I could respond, he was answering himself (and totally guilting his mother). "He was sad and we didn't do anything for him. We're supposed to give him something. We should always try and help people."
You see, recently there were some just expired Clif/Luna/granola type bars at work that are perfectly fine to eat, but they have to be removed from the selling floor. These are written out of stock and usually end up in the breakroom for staff. Erik and I grabbed a bunch and just kept them in the car so we would have something to offer whenever we came upon anyone less fortunate when we were out and about. Clearly, this did not go unnoticed by the 4 year old in the back seat. Of course, we had also taken the opportunity to educate him on our responsibility to our fellow man whenever he did ask questions as to who that was and what did we just give them. But you're never really sure what all is truly sinking in. So just in case any parents out there think that their children don't hear a word they say or even moreso, don't notice what you do, I've got a console full of Clif bars, hand warmers, and lip balm that reminds me otherwise.
