A couple of weeks ago I decided to go down to skid row with a group of people to feed the homeless. Before I went, I had to pick up a friend who lived in Bel Aire. In one day I saw two extremes - opulent living and living on the street with nothing but the clothes on your back. How odd that was. When we got to the mission, people were already lined up around the block for the food. We walked from where we parked and you could smell the urine on the street. Those that werent lined up for food were laying on the street, there were so many people. I felt like I was in a different world.
We put out the food and were able to feed a good amount of people but at some point, the food ran out. We had to turn the rest away. I felt horrible. Driving home all I could think about is where are these people getting their next meal? What about tomorrow and the day after? I felt so ineffective in my effort to try to make a difference. Did I go down there for myself? To feel better about me and feel like a do-gooder?
Funny how we complain about so much like sitting in traffic or how long the microwave takes to cook something or if the tv is on the fritz. I think about my own life and how much I really have. I'm a spoiled brat. And I complain. Lots of people would argue that people are on skid row because of drugs and they got themselves there but I dont think that makes it right. I could have gotten into drugs and ended up there. We all could have.
What's the answer? I have no idea. Maybe our goal should be to try and find one.
