Folks that Make Me Smile in the City Where I Live.
There are big Saints and little saints and some right under your nose. You might think that they just, for example, check your purse at the Smithsonian natural history museum, or
pass by you in the metro as you scurry to work. They might be sitting in the cubicle next to you or on the bus with you. They might be behind the pizza counter. You never know their story. You never know what they do, unless you ask or are privileged to see something so amazingly sweet you thank the good Lord these people exist and you got to meet them. They are incredible examples in these trying times of what life is really supposed to be about in the humblest of ways-in a St. Therese of Lisieux sort of little way. It makes you smile.
Angel No. 1: There is a guy named Jim who is an old Washington lawyer, quasi-retired you might say. He now works for the Smithsonian. He stands at the door and most of the time checks bags. More often, however, he whips out a large white round roll full of dinausaur and butterfly stickers. He keeps his eye open for any kiddies who enter and gives them stickers. It's not a boy-girl thing, sometimes the girls want dinausars, sometimes the boys want the butterflies, he explains. He tears off the stickers and looks for the bright-eyed smile. It makes his day. He orders the rolls from California. There are 500 stickers to a roll he calculates, and sometimes he can go through a whole roll in a day. It costs him a few hundred out of pocket every month, but he figures he has made a few thousand "friends of the Smithsonian" in the process. Small price for a friend of the Smithsonian. Jim fell and broke his shoulder. It was in a sling as he sat at a table at coffee hour at his local church. He didn't complain that it hurt, but wondered if it would heal well given his age. The biggest drawback, he noted as he chased down a few toddlers that darted by him, is that it is harder now to tear off the stickers.
Angel No. 2: Last fall GW hospital discharged a penniless young woman in a rather fancy part of DC called Foggy Bottom who was an immigrant from El Salvador, full of medication (drugs) who did not speak a full sentence in English. She was directed by hospital staff to a schmotel down the street that was known to take in and take care of quasi-homeless people. The hospital couldn't keep her there. She wandered down the street in a dazed glaze with a tattered purse and a plastic bag of clothes. At the schmotel she met a Mexican-American Angel named Rafael who spoke spanish. He arranged for her to stay the night for free (channelling the Good Samaritan) and advised her of the Spanish Catholic Center, part of Catholic Charities in DC that could take care of her. Last Friday, at the "simple lenten meal" at Saint Matthews, a volunteer of the Spanish Catholic Center discussed that they rely on the benificence and kindness of parishes to provide food and all the necessities of life for such penniless people who find themselves in great need without familial support torn by the trauma of new immigrant life. She told how they were down to literally their last meal, and they received a donation of food from a parish who had a food bank drive. Their clients survived off this food. It mattered. It meant eating or not. Makes you want to throw in a few cans the next time the church runs a food drive, doesn't it. Angels are really named Rafael.
Angel No.3:
Tony is retired military medical personnel who had a career with the Navy. He is tall Navy man with a shock of white hair looking distinguished but worn for the wear around the puffy eyes that haven't seen enough sleep. Tony does hospice work mostly now. Senior Staff at Saint Joseph's hospice will tell you that Tony is the guy you rely on to bring you the daily bread. He just has an uncanny knack to know where to get the stuff that people need. He works deals out. Patisserie Poupon in Georgetown donates bread, croissants, brioche and other goodies that he arranges to be delivered. A woman who volunteers for Saint Josephs explained that she can work with any day old croissants, brioche or pastries to turn it into the most tasty bread pudding- nothing goes to waste. It's easy, just cube all the bread, mix it in a bowl with eggs, milk, cinnamon, nutmeg, and if you want to get real creative, a tablespoon of vanilla yogurt and heat at 350 for 20 minutes or until the top gets golden brown. Tony took his best buddy Joe to Lourdes with the Knights of Malta last May because he had terminal cancer that looked like it was on its last legs after a decade long fight. Joe died recently, and Tony is holding up OK- and Saint Josephs still gets a daily delivery of croissants and brioche. Tony didn't miss a beat.
Angel No. 4:
Joe is a girl. Her day job is at the US State Department. Her other day job is doing whatever her church needs her to do and she regularly attends the noon Mass down the street. She has developed a sort of "movie ministry" where after the 11:00 am Sunday Mass once a month she plays a DVD/video in the church big-screen in the basement "Gallery" where they usually serve the donuts and coffee. It is usually a fascinating interesting DVD on a part of church history or lives of Saints you would otherwise never learn about. But, she doesn't just put a DVD in the big-screen. She shows up with an enormous bag full of lunch- for everyone. This one State Department worker spends a Sunday every month feeding an entire church basement room lunch- on her. The table is usually full of a thoughtfully balanced meal of protein, salad and deserts. Sometimes people bring things to help. Today there was Popeyes chicken, egg salad and a pancake typical of the region that Padre Pio comes from, because the DVD was on Padre Pio. Last month her signature salad which featured nuts and blueberries delighted the room. She is a one woman restaurant in a church basement that feeds an extended family of friends, priests and anyone straggling in.
None of these people have fancy titles. They don't wear clerical robes or collars. They don't write blogs, or even read them much. They don't seek recognition, they don't put their names on credit lists on fliers. They just do what feels right, usually without the slightest notion of how loved they are and how important their "work" is- it doesn't feel like work to them- because it just makes them happy making everyone else happy.
Life in Washington would be a much meaner place without them.
Life is going to get meaner as the economy gets scarier. These unhailed heros are beacons of light and Hope that the human spirit will triumph even in these times that try men's souls. What an achievement if we all could be a day like them. What if we could all restore faith in human nature like this?
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