I have this extraordinary privilege to not only be the County Children's Services Director, but to hold those duties along side committed and compassionate community partners. Clergy, school administrators, community Non Profit executives, parents of the children we serve, and a host of other partners help our team serve our young people in what is widely acknowledged as one of the most effective Children's services models in the western U.S. It's a great place to live out my occupational fantasies. But all the professionals, for all the good we do, often don't reach those most affected by the tragedy of mental illness.
Placer is also a great place to live, and sometimes the living and the working bump into each other in subtle and wondrous ways. A few days past, I was having a breakfast meeting with some of my terrific partners from the County Office of Education. We were planning and scheming as we always do when we get together to figure out our shared professional worlds. We were one of two parties in the little Cafe in old Auburn...Marybelles. Good food, quiet atmosphere.
Toward the end of our meal and our meeting, in comes a rain soaked woman. Middle aged, but hard to tell really. What was obvious was the wear and burden of years of living life at war with a variety of demons. Nearly toothless, damp from the rain, or from having slept in the persistent waters that have soaked the north state the past few weeks, as she passed us to sit at an adjoining table, and next to the other party, the odor that accompanied her was overpowering. This was not the usual and expected smell of the homeless. It was unbearable. Bless my education associates, who know and understand the nature of what we do in the mental health world--they didn't bat an eye. But the other party, a young couple, could be heard to remark of their unhappiness that this woman had chosen this morning to join our parties for breakfast. Before I could turn my chair and engage the couple in a gentle lesson about what it means to be ill and impoverished, I got to witness a quiet and remarkable act. The kind that go on every day, all over the world...the type of behaviors that remind one that every single human being is worthy, every single person is a gift.
The proprietor, a woman of about 60 years, perhaps Mary Belle herself, working from behind the counter at the other end of the cafe, motions to the homeless guest. Up she rises from her seat, and they meet partway across the room, where the owner whispers to her softly, and gently takes her by the elbow. She leads her down the hallway to another room, a staff room perhaps, outside of view, and away from where her presence might create ill will for other patrons.
Returning, Marybelle speaks softly to the chef. A few minutes later, I notice her pick up the order;full plate of eggs, muffin, coffee, and fruit. She disappears into the back room. This cafe owner was not obligated to serve breakfast to this beautiful homeless child of God. Yet she did. Could have gotten away with a cup of coffee and a bagel. Nope. Not today anyway.
I don't know if my associates noticed all of this, as they were seated with their backs toward the center of the room. Perhaps it was just my gift today, to witness this grand act. In leaving, it was easy for me to include a little note, thanking Marybelle for her three gifts that morning....to the homeless woman, and to me, and to the community who owns its ill and unwanted.
I won't forget my breakfast at Marybelle's. But I will go back, soon as I can.
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