PADS

They came, 20 of them, mostly men, but some women. They walked in out of the rain, some from jobs, some from who-knows-where, but all without anywhere else to go.

In the small kitchen, we scurried around slapping tomorrow's pb and j on wheat bread, bagging butter cookies and pretzels. Great-smelling meat loaf, steamy hot mashed potatoes piled up like clouds and sun-yellow corn casserole were pulled from the oven and waited to be devoured by the small, hungry mass. One lady requested her pad be by an outlet so she could plug in her CPAP machine to help her through her sleep apnea. Some came back for seconds, one big guy for thirds. Maddie was in charge of meat loaf - she did a great job helping to greet, set up and serve, then her kid-ness got the best of her and she and another girl played a rousing game of catch with a blown up latex glove.

If I think about it too much, I cry. So I just concentrate on the task on hand. But I recognize some of the same people from two years ago. Church to church, they go. A dished out dinner on a styrofoam plate, clean sheets on a thin pad on the floor, a Costco breakfast and a white-bagged lunch on the way out the door - 6:00 a.m.

One man told me that he hasn't had to see a doctor in 34 years because of his vegetarianism and otherwise healthy lifestyle. The others don't say much to us, though. I want to sit and talk to them all, ask them how it is that they are here, why they have been here for all these years. What went wrong? How did they fail or were failed?

PADS is a secular organization, so we are not to expect them to pray with us. But they need our prayers. All of us do.