the face of hunger

Thank you!

It’s been a week since I spoke about The Face of Hunger at Second Harvest Orange County’s “No Lunch” Lunch. It was an incredible experience, and I felt your presence beside me when I spoke. I’ve wanted so much to reach out to each of you personally, to say thanks for your support; but in truth, the experience was so powerful that I needed time to digest it all.

I shared a portion of my own story, as you know, for the very first time in public (save for "Luz," my essay in DEAR BULLY). I talked also about the faces of hunger all around me, now and in my past. Neighbors in need, about whom we’ve all heard whispers down the lane. The faces of hunger—invisible until and unless your eyes grow accustomed to the dark.

Tears fell, not all of them mine. I reached for my water glass, swallowed hard until I regained my composure. The audience (about 350 people or so) waited patiently, leaned forward in their seats as if to encourage me. And when I headed back to my table at the end of my speech, they rose to their feet. I just about burst in tears again, what with all that smiling and clapping.

I don’t remember much that happened after that, save for a few snippets of conversation—some of it more personal than I feel comfortable sharing. But here’s a brief snapshot:

One well-heeled woman cupped my hands in hers, and she peered into my eyes with what seemed to me a mixture of curiosity and pity. “Just keep on doing what you’re doing, honey,” she said.

“This is your Esther Moment,” another woman said. “I know, because I’ve been up on that stage, same as you.”

An elderly person approached me, eyes twinkling. “Your father would be so proud…You’ve got the preacher genes in your blood, just like he did."

People will hear what they will…will see what they choose…will say whatever they want, whenever. It’s not up to me to evaluate their perceptions. I'm still exploring my own truths. But I will say that I was humbled by this experience, and by the outpouring of support. And, yes, I feel some measure of pride for having done what I set out to do. I made a joyful (if sometimes blubbering) noise! And the tears we shared that afternoon? I suspect they were transformed into “showers of blessings” — for Second Harvest, and for the faces of hunger they serve.

What words can I add, of any measurable worth? Only this: I'm deeply grateful. xoxo 

Site Meter

The Face of Hunger

“Why don't you be my guest at the Harvesters' Luncheon and Fashion Show?” Pamela asks me one day. “It’s a charity event, in support of the Second Harvest Food Bank.” And that's how I, the daughter of an itinerant preacher, find myself seated in a lavishly decorated tent in Newport Beach, surrounded by some of Orange County’s most affluent women.

I stare in wide-eyed wonderment at the $500.00 per-ticket meal in front of me. Minnow-sized filet of Chilean Sea Bass, perched on slivers of au gratin potatoes. A side dish of asparagus—three pencil-thin spears, to be exact. My stomach growls, and I’m embarrassed. No doubt, my cheeks are as red as the discount stickers on the bottoms of my new shoes.

The chandelier dims, and a waifish little girl appears on the projection screen, alongside the caption: Do You Know The Face of Hunger? Her clothes are torn, and she stares into the distance with vacant eyes, as if clinging to the hollow safety of her thoughts.

I recognize instantly the world-weary look in her liquid brown eyes, and when she dabs tinted foundation on her brother’s chickenpox blisters so he can take advantage of the school lunch program, my stomach twists with remembered pain. The silk-draped walls disappear, replaced in that moment by sawdust and canvas. I know this girl, I say to myself, I know her story.

I’m writing that story now. Or polishing it, to be more precise, which is why I wheeled my roadster to Second Harvest Food Bank a few weeks back.  An abandoned Navy facility, the warehouse has been updated, expanded and refurbished, thanks to charitable individuals and corporations. I am here to watch the video again, and to verify my notes. But I come away with so much more.

As one of the staff members leads me around the warehouse, I am awestruck by the outpouring of generosity represented there. So much nutritious, delicious food in one place…I swear, the little girl in me feels as if her knees might buckle.

I describe for Meredith the hunger I experienced growing up. We relied on government subsidies, I say, like bulgur and cheese. Free lunch tickets and food stamps, which extracted a price we couldn’t always pay. We ate the crumbs off other people’s tables: stale cornflakes and limp vegetables; leftover cornbread, drowned in a sea of powdered milk. Church suppers were wonderful—we feasted on noodle casseroles and layered Jello salads until we fell into a satisfied stupor. And when the occasional Good Samaritan stopped by, we gorged ourselves on preacher’s cake and ‘nana pudding. Feast and famine, that was my story.

Truth be told, I say, the face of hunger haunts me even now. I squirrel away food for a rainy day, eat more than I sometimes should; and though I'm now blessed with abundance, I can’t seem to shake that niggling fear that this next meal might be my last. I see her reflection every single day, mirrored in the faces of my neighbors. Immigrants who huddle near the hardware store, hoping for work; the Vietnam vet who sells oranges near the freeway on-ramp; an entire family, spirited away in the middle of the night because they couldn’t afford their mortgage. I ache for them, and I’m glad Second Harvest makes food available to anyone and everyone–no strings attached, save for the ties that bind us all together.

Funny, isn’t it, how life sometimes brings us full circle? When Meredith asked me to tell my story at Second Harvest’s “No Lunch” Lunch today, I instantly agreed. I'm deeply honored, but truth be told, I'm also a bit frightened. It’s the first time I’ve spoken about all this in public. I’m praying my hands won’t shake, that my voice won't tremble. I want so much to be invisible, to allow “the face of hunger” to take center stage. It's an awareness event, but it's also a fund-raiser. High stakes. I see it as an opportunity to give back to everyone who fed that hungry little girl, a chance to break bread with those who recognize that hunger lives next door, still and always. An outpouring of my heart…from “the least of them,” in gratitude.

Site Meter