Second Prize

My first service project I ever completed did not turn out how I expected. During my freshman year of high school, my friend's mom asked if I would like to join their church in a service project. She explained that we would hand out a dinner to homeless families. My acceptance to this invitation was mostly due to my need of service hours for theology class. Little did I know, I would take a lot more out of this experience than a signed slip saying I performed service.

I have always been the person to participate in food drives and give clothes to the poor, but that would not prepare me for the one-on-one interaction with the homeless families which I was about to experience. I had always seen homeless people downtown, but I always walked past them due to fear or an uncomfortable feeling.

I spent the day helping prepare batches of lasagna, garlic bread, desserts and many other foods. The fragrance smelled wonderful. As we parked the car in front of the shelter, butterflies fluttered in my stomach. I became unsure of what I got myself into. I was 15 years old, helping people twice my age. This was new to me. I could not brace my mind around the concept that these adults had less than I did.

As we walked in, hungry people filled the tables. I became overwhelmed. I was informed that we were not allowed to go into one of the rooms because the people in there were addicted to drugs and alcohol. I peeked into that room before they closed the door, and the sight frightened my eyes. I saw people stumbling, yelling and twitching.

I quickly turned my head and began passing out the food with a smile on until no food remained. Shockingly, there was no "Thank you" or smiles returned. Ironically, the people yelled at me or stated I was going too slowly. The moment that affected me the most happened when a man called me over and said, "This is all we get?" My face flushed red with anger. At that moment, I looked at the man's child, who must have been 8 or 9 years old. His eyes were full of helplessness. He looked at me as though embarrassed of his father's question, or just being there in general. At this point, I found God.

The entire time when I was suppose to be practicing service, I only cared about my feelings. I asked myself, why are we helping people who are unappreciative and addicts? When I looked into the child's eyes, answers to all my questions popped into my head. God wants us to help people who need help. Sometimes the people who are the hardest to love and help, definitely need it the most. Jesus did not help all the upper class, but instead the addicts, lepers, and the outsiders of society. God wants us to do this also.

— By Ashley Broadfield, Mother McAuley Liberal Arts High School