We have to get the neglected to the needy, and the plan is that we do it as a team. They had to be lured in with promises of food and a movie. One of them kept yelling, "Prize!" from the backseat. I don't typically use such punctuation but she speaks in them. The needy is closed, and that was one-eighth a tank of gas. And it's raining. Exclamation is sweetly sleeping, and we're giving the neglected to the needy. Somehow. This stuff is not coming back with us.
Right hand girl searches and finds a sixth avenue location. The Australian gives us detailed instructions until we are parked 150 feet from the entrance. We've already seen people out front and through the glass. We know the door is unlocked. Right hand and I ask the now awake exclamation and brains if they feel comfortable protecting the vehicle. They both nod. Nobody wants out in that rain, but that stuff. Nope. Not happening.
Within five minutes we are told that no, it's not happening in this building. This is the shelter. The people who don't have a place are now having to help the people who have too much get all their junk back in what is a nice vehicle. This feels a little wrong but not really just thank you and they kept the backpack. That's when we decide that the first place didn't need what we had, and the second place just needed that backpack.
Right hand searches again, and this time the question is less about name and more about intention. An eighth street thrift store is only six miles away. The Australian informs us and gives us directions. It is there and filled with light and a smiling face and the only things she doesn't take are baby car seats and televisions. We celebrate by ringing the bell and having four huge boxes and three heavy bags full of everything but baby car seats and televisions delivered when he lifts the overhead door.
Victory is ours.
Today I am grateful for those who make life an adventure of peril and danger and triumph and victory.
May we always be challenged and tell nobody we forgot the tax receipt.
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