So we're home, and it's warm and cozy. Katie's baking a cake. The rain hitting the skylights is a pleasant sound, with only the hum of electronics to compete with. It's likely to clear up in the afternoon, so we can procrastinate about unloading the car and going out to buy supplies for tomorrow's baking session. There's hot coffee. Life is good.
Of course, my mind turns to the people on the street. I'm doing a hot meal for them next Saturday, but today I know they're cold, damp, and uncomfortable, as well as hungry. I've been imagining this week how I can improve my soup program, and I envision a small cart, like a hot dog cart, that will keep soup warm and allow me to move from camp to camp to reach hungry people where they are. I often run into handicapped folks, amputees, and people so depressed that they can't drag themselves up to go search for food or shelter.
So many people out there say they wish they could just die quicker, instead of living in a long, drawn-out misery. I have so much comfort, and they have none, and I can't live with myself if I don't help in some way.
The west coast needs rain, and our cluttered, comfortable house is a blessing. I will only fully enjoy it, though, when we end homelessness here, and no one is hungry, wet, cold, and hopeless.