They didn’t need me.
I had come to peel potatoes or shuck corn or cut out biscuits. I had come to stir pots. I had come to eat with forgotten children. But on this particular Saturday night, adult volunteers crowded the kitchen and outnumbered the children.
The children came from broken homes, collected by CPS and deposited at this halfway house until they return to their parents or are placed in foster care. Before this night, I had baked a chocolate cake, iced it with more chocolate goodness, and dropped it off.
Safe serving, I call it.
Then I discovered that a group from my church makes meals for the kids once a month. Mostly, I stayed out of the way. At dinner, I sat with a couple of kids and a swarm of adults. I asked the woman in charge to add me to her email list, but she never did. They didn’t need me.
That is, that particular group on their particular Saturday nights didn’t need me. But the kids? Two years have gone by, and periodically I think, I’d like to do something with those kids. On their website, they say they need after-school tutors. I printed out the paperwork. It sat on my office desk for a year before disappearing into oblivion. At Christmas time, I think about these kids, who so easily get lost, who need to know they’re not forgotten, that they’re loved. I could knit some fun scarves for them, I think. Look at all these crazy yarns I’ve collected over the years! Perfect for a pre-teen, flashy, girly scarf. But inevitably, other knitting Christmas projects overwhelm me, and the scarves remain balls of yarn.
Now I have a four month old, and I think, how could I do this? What would I do with Keegan? I know very well that my mother-in-law would love to watch him for an hour each week while I reach out to kids who need to know that someone thinks about them.
Still, I hesitate. I procrastinate. I think, this year, I’ll start the Christmas scarves early.

