"Liesel observed her foster Father's eyes. They were made of kindness, and silver. Like soft silver, melting. Liesel, upon seeing those eyes, understood that her father was worth a lot."
A few months ago I read those words in a story by Markus Zusak, The Book Thief.
This week, I sit across from a foster mother named Ann, and I saw it for myself. I see it in her eyes too - the kindness and the shining when she talks about those kids.
I put the phone up to my ear, the laughter of my friends echoing in the background over the familiar sounds of the musical White Christmas. It was my mom. She sounded cheerful, but I could tell something wasn't quite right. The rest of the conversation is a bit of a blur. Something about the doctor. Test results. Biopsy. Early stages. Cancer. No matter what qualifying words come before it, that word has a way of making your stomach drop...
I smile at a new picture of my niece and nephews on Facebook. They're with their mom at Chick-fil-A.
It seems normal to me. It's hard to admit, but if I'm honest? Most of the time I don't think about the fact that there are probably kids their age down the street... who will go to bed hungry tonight. While other kids are excited for the weekend, they will wonder what they're going to eat without the school lunch to count on. I can't imagine what it feels like to hear your precious 2 year old say she's hungry, and not be able to meet that need. There are a lot of people in Northwest Arkansas who don't have to imagine it. Because they're living it...
The day of my first visit to Loving Choices is an uncharacteristically cold day for Northwest Arkansas. Then again, that has been pretty normal this winter. I pull into the small parking lot behind the house, just a few blocks away from the campus of the University of Arkansas. I had heard a lot about this place, and I am anxious to see it for myself.
A volunteer is waiting for me at the door with a warm smile. She shows me a few of the rooms while I wait for the person I am meeting with. "You came in the back door, but this is where the clients would normally first come in." I look around at the entryway and waiting area, beautifully and thoughtfully decorated, and again I'm struck by the warmth. I can imagine what a relief it would be for a woman in crisis to walk through the door and be wrapped up in that warmth. To be reassured with every interaction, whether with a receptionist, a nurse, or a counselor… that this is a safe place.