Breakfast

Every weekday we have breakfast at the church parish hall after Morning Prayer. A couple of nice ladies from the Presbyterian church next door provide us with breakfast casseroles each week (these range from regular eggs and sausage to grits and chili and cheese and they are always a surprise). The purpose of this was originally to create a time each day when we would hang out with our homeless and poor friends, and not just co-exist in the same space with them.

There are usually at least two of us from the MP congregation that stay and eat. At least half the time one of the men brings his three year old son. The lad was originally shy of the homeless but once last month he expressed his displeasure when no one had yet come in to the table. Sometimes we are joined by a catechumen from the church who is required to serve the poor once a week. 

The number of people that actually come in off the street varies from morning to morning, depending on a number of variables like temperature and how much they had to drink last night. This morning we had four poor friends (two of which are also catechumens and have recently moved into a room together but they make a point to come the two miles across town to eat), one catechumen, and four members of the congregation. 

Y was particularly happy this morning to have passed her state exam to be a Certified Nursing Assistant. She printed out her resume on the computer so she could go over to Duke Hospital and apply for a job. W came in to eat, having been happier to sleep on his cardboard in the walkway than to stay at the hotel his friends had offered him. He didn't have his hat on and his graying hair reminded me that being on the street is harder for him than his casual, placid, if slurred, speech would let on. 

As usual, breakfast lasted about 45 minutes and all were full and caffeinated and ready to move onto whatever the day held for them.