When I started contributing, I didn’t realize I would end up actually talking to people. Each Sunday morning before church I have been stopping by the grocery store to buy peanut butter, cans of tuna, cans of beans, pasta and sauce, other healthy non-perishable foods plus sometimes diapers and tampons. I unload my canvas bag into the pretty blue cabinet doors of the food pantry built behind my church during covid quarantine days. It feels good to do this; so easy, so immediate. Anyone who feels a need can come and take anything from this pantry, there is no judging.

Ah, except of course there is always judging. And the food pantry empties so quickly. When I check on it after church to see what items are popular and what remain, nearly everything is gone. The man hopping on his bike, trying awkwardly to sling a red grocery bag’s two skinny straps over his shoulder like a backpack, stops to complain. “Those kids just came and took it all. Those two teenagers got here before me.”

“I’m so sorry, I guess they need it,” I said, peering into the cupboard. “Do you want this can of sauce?” “No,” he said. “I can’t use that, I’m homeless. I need this stuff more than them.”

Lightbulbs began going off for me. My pasta was helpful to some, but of what use was it to this man? Did he have a can-opener, I wondered, for a can of tuna? I told him I would remember what he said.

“I just got here late, today,” he said, more gently. “Sometimes its good.” His face brightened. “Once there were chips.”

I can’t stop thinking about the chips. My first mental reaction was that I would never buy potato chips for a food pantry. I would provide healthy choices. Then I remembered buying hot chocolate packages, imagining a mom able to give her children a treat on a cold winter morning. Why not chips for a man living in a tent? Food is necessary for survival but as an expression of love and caring, perhaps we all need the sweet and the salty as well.