The Mother and Her Baby

The president of one of the local bread companies had invited me to meet him for lunch. This meeting was important, and I was rushing out the front door of our office at the church when a sigh drew my attention. It was a young woman with her infant daughter.

I recognized her. Previously, she had visited the church to pick up some items from the food bank. This woman was no more than 19 or 20, and her daughter was less than a year old. The church secretary had told me the woman’s husband recently had an operation to remove a brain tumor and that her daughter was born hydrocephalic. The world had crashed down on this young woman.

She was apologetic and wanted to know if the secretary was going to be back soon, because she needed food for her baby. I went to the church office and found a note on the door saying the secretary was on an errand. The woman panicked because there was no milk at their home and her daughter hadn’t had anything to eat in the past 24 hours. She wondered if I could give her a ride to another nearby church, where she was hopeful of finding help.

I looked at my watch. I could not afford to be late for the luncheon meeting. Yet I knew my urgency was insignificant compared to the needs of the hungry infant she held in her arms. I could have told the mother I would take her following my appointment, but how could I ever explain that to the baby? I wished there was someone else in the building to help me out and give this woman a ride. 

Perhaps I could quickly get some milk for the little one. But I realized I had left my billfold on the dresser that morning—not an unusual thing for me to do. We drove quickly to a church which was five minutes away. There was a brown cardboard sign outside saying, “Sorry, we are out of food. No more food expected till next month.” This was only the second week of the month.

We drove to a third church where the doors were fortunately open. Inside was a table set for four. The white linen on the table provided a stark contrast to the four nuns in black sitting around the table. They had just started their fried chicken dinner. I apologized and quickly tried to tell them the plight of the young mother. I was out of breath, feeling rushed, and seemingly made a mess of my presentation.

“Hey! Wait outside. Can’t you see we are eating?” one of the nuns reprimanded me sternly as she got up to see us out. “We will see what we can do after we finish eating.” She literally closed the door in my face.

Nervously, I looked at my watch. I was already 15 minutes late. I shuddered at the thought of the consequences of such a delay. Too much was riding on this meeting and such a delay could be disastrous. My agony was compounded by the fact that the nuns mistakenly thought I was the woman’s husband. I was experiencing the humiliation of a beggar, and it was not an enviable feeling. All my pride and ego had been shattered. I hoped that no one I knew would see me in this situation. The food on the table inside seemed as distant and foggy as a dream. I did not care if I ever ate again. The sun was shining in all its glory, but the rays felt piercing. There was a cool breeze in the air, but it felt frigid.

The young mother seemed to know what I was thinking. She apologized for putting me in this predicament and nervously kept talking before she began to cry. I also understood what she was going through. There were no words in my vocabulary to console her. Never before had I experienced that feeling.

After 30 minutes, another nun came out with a sack full of food. The person with the key to the storeroom had been out for lunch. The nun apologized in a loving and kind way. 

That half hour had seemed like eternity. This experience led me to understand that we must help people so they don’t have to beg. To give, after someone is forced to ask, is not giving. For a loaf of bread, must someone have to strip themselves of all their pride and dignity? True charity must come before—not after.

I understood why the initiates in monasteries in earlier times were made to beg. Even Buddha begged for his meals and made begging a tenet for his followers. Those of us who are blessed with jobs and careers cannot even comprehend the pain and suffering of the poor and hungry. 

I had missed my luncheon appointment, so I went back to my office to call and offer my apologies. There was a message on my answering machine from someone at the bread company, telling me they had to reschedule the luncheon meeting because something urgent had come up.

A smile crossed my face. I should have known.