We at Loaves and Fishes recently served our 1 millionth meal of the year. An incredible milestone, certainly, but as we neared ever closer to it, the question was raised time and again: Is it a good thing or a bad thing to serve so many meals in just one year?
Well, one thing is certain — it is a reflection of our community, of still-unmet need in our neighborhoods and in our state.
We served a record-breaking number of meals in 2018 because we decided to grow innovatively and meet hunger wherever it lives. Honestly, it wasn't difficult to find. Today, our meals are on the streets, in shelters, at dining sites — feeding young and old alike. Our doors are open, our programs are growing, and we are providing comfort to Minnesotans facing obstacles to self-sufficiency — like unemployment, underemployment, estrangement, abuse, addiction, homelessness, disability, loneliness, aging. The refuge we offer is a delicious, healthy meal.
A million of them, as it turns out.
Cathy Maes, Minneapolis
The writer is executive director of Loaves and Fishes Minnesota.
CHRISTMAS
A Vietnam memory: A mailed evergreen — sight, scent of home
With our country so divided, I would like to relate a fond war memory. It was 1967, and I was working as a civilian, volunteer nurse for our Department of State (USAID) in Da Nang, Vietnam. I was assigned to a primitive, overcrowded, understaffed and undersupplied hospital caring for wounded Vietnamese civilians, mainly women, children and old men. We also occasionally cared for enemy soldiers; if you were bleeding, you were a patient.
We survived by rationing everything from IV fluids and penicillin to oxygen, and by begging from American military hospitals in the region. The atmosphere at our hospital was grim. It was raining every day, making the stench from soiled dressings, dirty plaster casts, old blood, human waste and death almost unbearable. Christmas was coming, and our small staff of mainly American women was feeling overwhelmed by the large number of incoming casualties.
On a break from the operating room, I found a small crate addressed to me. Mystified, I took it into our cramped lounge and began prying it open. Soon, a heavenly scent filled the air. It was a tiny decorated evergreen tree from our farm in Minnesota, where each year we cut our Christmas tree. Word quickly spread, and staff poured into the small room to see and smell the magic of Christmas and home.