MLK Jr. Day

As I'm leaving the B.A.S.I.C. office after registering (a day late) for my classes, I happen to grab a sheet of paper with the Spring '11 semester schedule. I scan through the important dates AKA the day's where class is canceled, and I find that Monday, January 17th there is already a holiday. "Yes! A week into school and we already have our first day off," I think to myself. It is Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.'s birthday, which is actually on Saturday, January 15th, but it is celebrated on Monday. Throughout ALL of my years of schooling that is exactly how I thought of MLK Jr.'s birthday, just another day off of going to class, kicking back at home and relaxing. I obviously knew who Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. was, being one of, or thee most influential leaders of the civil rights movement of the 1960's and recognized with a number of achievements throughout his grandiose life. But, I never took it all in. I never fully understood the struggle and hardship that African-Americans lived with here in the U.S. for hundreds of years. I did not comprehend how powerful his "I have a dream..." speech truly was. Until a couple of days ago, on Monday, January 17th, where I finally felt empowered by Mr. King's persona and with the help of my St. Thomas University SWER colleagues, we gave back to the community.
So, Thursday night, first week of class, I check my email and I am surprised to read a message attached with a flyer from our STU SWER Advisor, Eby Kurian. Surprised, I read carefully through it, and I realize that we, the core leaders of SWER at St. Thomas are scheduled to attend a day of service at the Missionaries of Charity center in Overtown on Monday, January 17th. The "day off" that I so joyfully looked forward to. At the bottom of the flyer it reads "Be there at 8:00 AM." What? Do I seriously have to wake up at 6:00 AM on a national holiday where some regular day Americans do not even have to go to work? I take a deep breath and I sigh, "It's for a good cause..." A few minutes pass by as I catch myself having an inner conversation, playing devil's advocate as I convince myself that in the long run I will reflect and appreciate the occasion.
The alarm blares off at 6:15 AM that cold, rainy Monday morning as I reluctantly get out of bed and get ready for my day of service. As I sit half asleep on the metro on my way to Allapattah, I get lost in the sounds of Coldplay reverberating through my ears. The trip becomes short as I exit the Allapattah station to find a good place for Aryanne and Jones to pick me up. I rush into the backseat of their little red car and we reach the Missionaries of Charity house in a heartbeat. Aryanne and I exit the car in the midst of a light drizzle to find Diego, Facundo, and Monica already inside talking to the resident nuns. And, were off to work.
"Sister, where can we help?" we all ask in a unified form and we are all sent to complete different tasks. Diego and I help sort out the clothes for the homeless, Monica and Aryanne are dragged off to the second floor to mop and sweep the floors, and Facundo finds himself with his hands under hot water cleaning off various pots, pans, trays, you name it. There are several other helpers as well, most of them underage, high school students it seems. They are preparing the food, slicing sandwiches, peeling onions, dicing tomatoes, etc. It is a bustling New York City-like atmosphere inside this nunnery with all different peoples running around in preparation for the feeding of the homeless.
Finally, one by one, the homeless are directed to the lunch room. Everything is ready. Astonishingly, Aryanne decides to volunteer to read a scripture from the Bible and as she reads, all eyes are on her. She controls the room with the clarity of her words as she finishes with "The word of the lord." In sequential order, we, the volunteers create an assembly line in preparation of the meals. With the final piece of dessert placed on the plate, we deliver the feast to the hungry, sitting homeless people. With widened eyes, and grinning mouths of gratitude they receive this gift and let out a "Thank you!" of appreciation. In a few minutes, all one hundred individuals finish chowing down their last piece of apple pie as they begin to exit the lunch room to let the next group in. The routine is repeated three times, and each and every time, you can feel the thankfulness in the eyes of these less fortunate individuals. As I stand there, I also give thanks.
I thank God for the life I live and realize that there are people in this world, in this room, that have many more difficult struggles and hardships than I do. These men and women live on the street. Most of the time they do not even know when their next meal will be. They do not know where their families are. They do not even have daily access to cleaning facilities. That is what that morning taught me. On the day of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.'s birthday I gave back to the community by lending a hand in feeding the homeless. But, these less fortuitous people make you realize that all of the supposed "bad" days that anyone can have, can always be worse. That there are less fortunate people out there and that you must be thankful for the roof over your head, and the hot food placed in front of you everyday.
As I sat on the metro on my way back home, listening to "Clocks" play on my iPhone, I thought to myself, "Wow, SWER did it again." Tired with my sweater damp from the raindrops, I shrunk back in my seat and felt that feeling of accomplishment. I no longer felt the drowsiness I woke up with, but instead gratified with the opportunity to be a catalyst of change in a person's life.