CHERYL'S LIST BLOG #4

APRIL 14, 2016 LEAVE A COMMENT

Shuttling furniture from giver to receiver it is easy to imagine society as some kind of fabric. In that simile, community is formed as lives and story lines intersect. How this happens is a bit of a mystery. Sharing household items and gently used furniture with those in need weaves us all together in a way that words alone and good intentions cannot. This became evident in a recent series of events and began as the Cheryl’s List team began partnering with Operation Stand Down (OSD), an organization dedicated to helping our honorably discharged veterans. OSD is like most of the other organizations we partner with (Department of Child Services, Nashville Mental Health Coop, and Open Table Nashville to name a few) in that they are bigger, busier, and more experienced than Cheryl’s List. All their referrals keep us busy and send us, happily, all over town.

Before I tell that story I need to point out a couple of things you may not realize. First, Cheryl’s List is a growing team of volunteers. Just last Wednesday night, after picking up a donation that required four vehicles, Eddie said to each of us standing in his driveway, “We couldn’t have done this without you.” It was almost nine o’clock and he was showing his appreciation and trying to be encouraging, but he was also telling the truth. Our little after-work caravan had just brought a large donation to the two-car garage that serves as our main “warehouse.” We all knew the late night was worth it because that one family’s generosity would soon benefit three or four other families. We also knew other team members had made phone calls, sent emails, attended meetings, met with people, organized the inventory, purchased new sheets, and donated funds.

The second thing you might not realize is that doing the work of Cheryl’s List is that normally the individuals we visit never meet. Driving furniture across town means that we, who do the picking up and delivering, shake hands, make new acquaintances, and hear “thank you.” The people who give know the anonymous blessing of paying it forward. The people who receive may learn that their headboard came from the so and so family or that a friend from church made the blanket, or that we have worked with others from their same group. We think sharing such information spotlights an alternative, Golden Rule, big picture. Smiles happen. When our visit means someone sleeps in a clean bed or sits on a cushioned couch, the gratitude is real and somehow our county-sized town seems a little smaller. Still, the connections between people are sort of abstract.

There is one other thing you should realize: doing the work of Cheryl’s List is full of surprises.

A few weeks back, we were delivering to a veteran named Tom who had just gotten his life back together. He had a new apartment and was very grateful that we would help him with some furniture. Tom is doing well and is very gregarious, but he lives alone and used to work in Illinois. Across the hall was another new resident, a man of similar age also living alone—a veteran from Long Island. We soon realized Derrick was also on our list. Eddie introduced them. The next week, when we returned with some items for Derrick we learned the two men had shared hours of stories, watched a movie together, and become friends. They were both being helped by OSD, both starting all over, both lived in the same building, but it was Cheryl’s List that made the connection.

Last month, we watched Tom and Derrick become friends. Shuttling gently used furniture across town did the trick. Last week, a love for sewing was the needle and thread. Charity, the woman you met in my last blog, had said she loved to sew and asked if we had a sewing machine. At the time we did not; however, we have learned to expect the unexpected. Lynn, the Cheryl’s List chaplain, made it happen. She connected Charity with a man named Carl in our Sunday school class. Carl used to rep for the Singer sewing machine company and still enjoys refurbishing them. He had two in the trunk of his car and gave one to Charity. See the photo. Pretty cool, huh?

When connections come full circle, you know community is happening. I leave you with this one from July 5th. At NFCN we have a walking and running group named High Road Runners that meets every Saturday morning. On a run through downtown, Cindy, one of the group’s leaders, met someone who recognized our church logo on their running shirts. They said, “Your church brought me furniture.” They meant Cheryl’s List, but the way they said it showed they had tied the knot.

CHERYL’S LIST BLOG #7

APRIL 14, 2016 LEAVE A COMMENT

I imagine a lot of wooden tables are made in China, some in North Carolina. Last week, Cheryl’s List received about twenty such tables, all unassembled, still in their boxes, each one accompanied by two chairs. Originally, the government bought them to help Nashville’s flood victims. Some of the unused extras were entrusted to the Matthew 25 ministry who donated what they could. As I write this, some four years after the flood, we have about 18 of them. We gave away the first one in less than thirty minutes. The second was delivered the next day. Almost as originally intended, both of those tables went to survivors—one to a relocated victim of domestic violence, the other to a veteran needing to be near treatment at Nashville’s VA Hospital. Cheryl’s List became the happy go-between.

Tables are pretty basic. You might even call them commodities. They are made, boxed, shipped, and warehoused. Delivery is straightforward. Assembly is pretty easy: unwrap the pieces, attach the legs, re-cycle the cardboard. Once in place, they quickly become a catchall, a bonus workspace, a desk, even a surface to unload groceries. Every now and again meals are shared around them. All homes and most apartments designate floor space for them. Dining rooms and kitchen nooks celebrate the role of the table. When tables are absent, rooms seem empty, voices bounce off walls a little more, and our feet steer clear of the void. It is hard to explain the transition from vacant space to living place unless you’ve experienced it.

Such was the magic of a Cheryl’s List follow-up visit a couple of weeks ago. We were to deliver a donated, sturdy, oak table and four chairs as part of a second visit to a south Nashville couple. Upon our arrival, the smell of frying fish greeted us at the sidewalk. Carrying the furniture inside, it was plain to see a meal would soon be ready. A bowl of coleslaw, bottle of hot sauce, and a pan of spaghetti waited patiently for the fish to be brown and crisp. Fried fish is meant for gatherings of two or more. Lucky for me, I was part of the welcomed “more.”

“It sure smells good,” I announced as we brought in the table and chairs.

“Do you like catfish or tilapia?” they asked.

I said, with a laugh, “Yes.”

“Have some then.”

“Oh no, I am supposed to eat when I get home.”

“Just one piece.”

“Well…uhm…Ok.”

“Which one?”

“Uh…”

“Well, here you go. Try both.”

At that, I was presented with a plate and encouraged to sample a little of everything. We all sat down at the table that had just arrived. The spaghetti, slaw, fish, bread, and hot sauce were placed in the middle. Before I knew it we were holding hands with heads bowed as our host and new table owner said grace. Together, we thanked God for the bounty of that day. The table and chairs fit so well, they were almost forgotten. Napkins and compliments were passed. Joyfully, pieces of bread and fish were broken. The three of us dined together as family and, for a few moments, forgot to be distracted by our differences and our struggles. We nestled into the curved backs and seats of those wooden chairs. We licked our fingers and wiped the corners of our mouths unashamed—no longer strangers standing awkwardly in an empty room as them and him.