Help Me, Marley

The other night I was watching A Muppet Christmas Carol with my daughter, the one with Michael Caine? At some point, maybe after I felt annoyed when Professor Honeydew and Beaker asked Ebenezer for a contribution, or when I rolled my eyes when the rats asked for more coal for the fire, or muttered, "please" when the caroler was at the door, well, at some point I realized that I had become a Scrooge.

I'm not sure when this happened. Maybe your heart hardens when you clean feces off the parking lot where you work. Maybe a seed of misanthropic fruit  was planted the first time I had to usher a drunk out of the store. Even now, my fingers type out "a drunk" rather than "a person" so low my esteem for someone who smells-like-something-out-of-a-mason-jar, has sank.

I'm disheartened that I am like this, Reader. Me, who sees an organization like Manna Meal as nothing more than rotting fruit in the sun that draws flies, rather than a means to feed people that are hungry. Me, who wears a mask of contempt for anyone who comes to my door with their hand out. Me, with my natural, burdensome distrust, my anger, my curled nose.

Me, who has never been cold, never been hungry, and have never wanted for anything. Me, who has plenty, who has new clothes, and a belly. Me, who can't put a can of greenbeans in a bag for the Boy Scouts.

This is how bad it's gotten: When people ask me for directions, I lie to them. I lie to them and have a secret thrill. I'll tell them they're almost there, just two more blocks, a left, then a right. And then I duck into a building.

Somewhere along the way I lost some bit of compassion, and in its place came impatience. Somewhere, hope, became a four letter word that I saw on Coke cans. Somewhere, I made an effigy of myself and started living in it. I came up with excuses in my mind that made me sound, to myself, incredibly clever. I couldn't ladle soup into a bowl for someone to eat because of this, and this, and this.

But it all just leaves me with an empty feeling. Because, not only have I not been filling bowls, I haven't been filling my spirit. Now, I'm hungry. Now, I'm starved. You can see the ribs of my intolerance, the sunken eyes of my bigotry, the swollen belly of my indifference.

Reader, I urge you, get out there. Fill the bowls, feed those that are hungry. Feed them with your food, and your love, and your laughter. Feed those that are hungry with whatever you have to give them. There is a need, and we have the means.

I'll do better.