First of all, I volunteer at the Food Bank Market because my husband and I genuinely believe in the mission of the Food Bank. Secondly, we have volunteered with food banks for the past 25+ years because we feel that we have been blessed in life and that we, in turn, are called to bless others.
So when the new Food Bank Market opened, we decided that we would try to volunteer once a week when we are in town, a decision that has been most rewarding! We like to volunteer as “checkers”, as that is the position that has direct contact with the clients.
I strongly believe that we have three things we do at the Food Bank Market that actually have little to do with food itself – we enable the clients to 1) be “seen”, 2) be valued, and 3) be cared for.
Tim, my husband, is a task-oriented person, and I’m more a people person. So, while he is diligently making sure that the shoppers have the things that they need in their cart, I am usually talking with the clients as I unload the cart – asking about their day and listening to their story.
I strongly believe that we have three things we do at The Food Bank Market that actually have little to do with food itself – we enable the clients to 1) be “seen”, 2) be valued, and 3) be cared for.
One afternoon, a young woman in her twenties came to our checkout table. It wasn’t long before she asked me why I volunteer at a place like this. I told her about our mission and about our sense of wanting to share life’s blessings with others. She seemed satisfied with my answer. Then, she shared that she doesn’t come for assistance every month. But, she said, “Sometimes life just doesn’t go like you thought it would, and I find I can’t pay my bills and have anything left to buy any food.” I validated her feelings and shared that my own daughter had had times in her life when she would have been in that very same situation had it not been for parents, who helped her get through the moment.
We finished checking her out and she started to push the cart away and get out the door. For reasons that only God can explain, I found myself saying, “Pardon me, Miss, I didn’t get your name.” She looked back at me and said “Shannon.” I walked toward her and said, “That is my daughter’s name.” At that moment, we both had tears in our eyes, and I took her in my arms, hugged her, and kissed her cheek.
She held me close and said, “Thank you. That meant more to me than you can ever know.” Then she turned and left. Shannon had been “seen”, valued and cared for that day. And that’s why I volunteer.