Apparently, I need to work on my Tonka truck skills.
I had no idea I was lacking in this area, but my second interview placed me exactly where I didn't expect to be ... crawling on the floor in a women's shelter hunting down plastic trucks amongst a couch's resident dust bunnies.
The shelter's director, Edith wasn’t there when I knocked on the door. The residents at the house kindly let me in, then disappeared. I sat alone in the living room with Oprah blaring in the background, reporter's notebook in hand. I thought through my interview questions, and mentally made a list of the things I needed to do that day.
After a few moments, I felt someone staring at me. I turned to my right to find a pair of brown eyes giving me a pleading look. The little boy stood there quietly for a second, then grabbed my hand and pulled me towards the floor, his pile of Tonka trucks waiting.
For the next 20 minutes, my senior project research was entirely connected to my ability to roll a tiny plastic car over a ramp/heating vent.
My five year old friend was not satisfied with my abilities. I did not line up the cars correctly (although I did beat him through the race course) and I did not make appropriate crashing noises. He grew bored with the game and gave me a look when he saw my electric pink rainboots. "Why are you here?" he asked.
My reason for being at the center, Edith, showed up moments later.
Everyone wanted her attention. As we talked, women from the center came into speak with her every few minutes. They asked questions about everyday things, how she was doing, if they could help, and if she could help them.
She answered every question with patience and love.
Edith told me how much she loved her work ... how she knew she was called to help women and how God had uniquely designed her to be a part of the family that had developed at the center.
She told me about the long hours, the fact that she always gave out her cell phone number to the residents and the disappointments she carried when the women she loved left the center because they didn't make the right choices.
The way she talked about each situation was same: love, tempered with incredible hope and belief in redemption.
In the story of Marion, Edith is just one case study of fierce dedication to people. With her soft bun and simple clothes, she might not have looked like a fighter, but I left convinced that Edith would do anything to protect and take care of the people she loved.
In some sense, I think it's attitudes like this, mindsets of dedication, that will make a difference in Marion ... perhaps more than any organization, grant or plan anyone comes up with.
Maybe it takes one person giving out their cell phone number, offering help when they don't have to. Maybe it takes one person volunteering to make chicken and dumplings to feed women looking to start new lives. Maybe it takes getting down in the dust bunnies and telling a five-year-old he's valuable by paying attention, investing time.
In changing a community, individuals matter.
