tales of grace: in feast or {in this case} famine

Oh, geez, the banana and handful of raw almonds I ate for breakfast was long gone.  The growls bellowing from my stomach were so loud, I was pretty sure the hoopty to my right could hear it over my blaring Patty Griffin album. Luckily, however, I was less than a mile from work and the first thing on my agenda for the morning was a staff meeting. Memories of past A + P staff meetings from my intern days me so strongly, I could almost taste the buttery, flaky layers of those to-die-for croissants. Recollections of flirting with the coffee cart guy kept me occupies until I finally found an empty parking spot.

I wandered down the hall toward the room Mrs. Peoples had gestured towards when telling me about the staff meeting last week.  I couldn’t help but notice how quiet things were. It was two minutes until the meeting was supposed to start and there was no hustle and bustle. No clanking coffee cups.  No tittering of office gossip.  Nothing, nothing but the hum of fluorescent lighting.  Glancing in the door, I saw a handful of people, five at most, sitting around a table that could comfortably seat fifteen.  There were, only seven chairs.  There were no projectors or computers for video announcements.  There wasn’t a croissant in sight. Maybe the time got changed?  Maybe the meeting got cancelled?  As if sent from heaven to answer my questions, Charity appeared from around the corner.  “Hey girl, you ready for the meeting?” she asked with a kind smile on her face.
 

Charity and I sat in the last two rolling chairs and, before I could inquire about the missing breakfasts treats, her cell phone rang. Because there were no more empty chairs, each staff person entering the room was physically dragging in four-legged chairs along with them.  Internally grateful that I had chosen a rolly chair closest to the only window in the room, I scooted my seat closer to the wall to give people room.  Before Charity could finish her phone call there were about thirty people in the room.  The availability of personal space was dropping just as rapidly as my blood sugar.

A woman I didn’t know from Adam entered the room with a commanding, yet welcoming, presence. After being on the receiving end of the puzzled look on my face, Charity mouthed “CEO.” The woman thanked us for our attendance and explained that she was going to begin our meeting by reading an excerpt from a letter she received in the mail from a former client of Non-Profit’s:

“From the moment I crossed the threshold at Non-Profit, I felt like a worthwhile and valuable human being, a feeling that I have rarely been afforded in the past. In the months I spent coming to Non-Profit, I learned that the traumatic events of my past, while they shaped the person I am today, no longer define me. Each time I look into the eyes of my son, I am reminded that this moment would not be possible without the care, compassion, and counseling that I received at your agency. I am eternally grateful.”

The woman swiftly laid the letter off to the side and began discussing the agenda for the remaining time, but I couldn’t even begin to discern the words spilling out of her mouth.  Tears were already welling up and the pains of hunger so dominant moments before were quickly swallowed up by a sense of pride in the work being done at Non-Profit.

Yes, Chloe is right.  I could make more money at Corporation. I could eat fancy lunches and wear pencil skirts.  My ego could be stroked by the mobile office barista. But lives are changed every day at Non-Profit and, today, I think it was mine.