Give and Receive

"Cast your bread upon the water’s edge
And you will find the bread of life
Break your bread and pass with open hands
And you will find the bread of life"
 - Cast Your Bread, by Cool Hand Luke


About every three weeks I visit a safe house for girls rescued from trafficking, who can't go home or are too young (under 18) to come to Casa Adalia. When I first started going there was about fifteen girls, but now there are only two. There are other girls who could probably be admitted into that particular safe house, but the directors decided to take girls in groups, meaning that they won't take another group until the current girls have been placed in another safe environment. Because there are only two girls right now, our team has been going one by one instead of several of us, like before.

I boarded the bus for the half-hour ride to the safe house. Honestly, that day I didn't really feel like going. Other days, Rachel had gone too, the two of us teaming up well, me with a devotion and her with a craft/art project. That day I had to come up with it all on my own since she was out of town. I could have canceled because of the headache that wore me down that morning, but it was gone after lunch and coffee and more water, as I suspected it would be. So I got on the bus, hoping the girls would respond to the short devotion which I always seem to feel a little uncertain about, and the game of Farkle I would teach them how to play.

When the girls found out it was my birthday, they immediately hugged me. While I read the story of the prodigal son, and talked about having compassion for the oldest son, one of the girls held a notebook on her lap, obscured from my sight by the table. Eventually she handed me a page on which she had written Happy Birthday in careful, swirling script. She smiled shyly as I thanked her with genuine surprise and delight.

While playing Farkle, one of the women who worked there brought in large wedges of watermelon for us to snack on. Instantly, with a kind of glad ache, I was pulled back to summers in Texas, summers as a child when my dad would buy huge watermelons from roadside vendors. Specifically, I thought of the house my dad built when my mom was pregnant with me, the one we lived in until I was nine. Memories of that house will always hold magic for me, probably for the simple reason that it was were I was born and lived before turning an age which contained two digits. There is before ten, and there is after: some ages are just like that. I remember my parents cutting up slices of watermelon and passing them to my siblings and I while out on the huge wooden deck which overlooked the back yard and was shaded by a grand red oak tree. We would lean against the railings and eat the sweet, juicy watermelon, spitting the seeds as far as possible.

The girls and I wiped the melon juice from our mouths and grinned at each other. They enjoyed the game and the time we spent. I don't know why I sometimes still feel like a gangly girl who is clumsy and not to be taken seriously. I am clumsy, from time to time, but I think I'm graceful too. I think I'm capable and worthy of time. I may get nervous and sometimes stumble while reading and speaking in Spanish, but it's okay. When I left, I thought about how those girls gave me more than I brought them. I think they get a lonely, those two dear girls who may not have sweet memories of family summers. They asked me about the rest of the team, asked me who was coming to visit next. It's hard to believe I thought about not going. I would have missed so much. Give and receive. Hold our hands out to the world and feel the sun and the rain. Plant the seeds in the earth. Tell someone something beautiful and true, just to make them smile. Open you arms to give and be given a loving embrace. Give and receive.