In our first year of marriage, the Incredible Mrs. Cadorette and I won a trip to Southern California.
At Knott’s Berry Farm we got in line for a parachute ride. We stepped into the …
This item is available in full to subscribers.
We have recently launched a new and improved website. To continue reading, you will need to either log into your subscriber account, or purchase a new subscription.
If you had an active account on our previous website, then you have an account here. Simply reset your password to regain access to your account.
If you did not have an account on our previous website, but are a current print subscriber, click here to set up your website account.
Otherwise, click here to view your options for subscribing.
* Having trouble? Call our circulation department at 360-385-2900, or email our support.
Please log in to continue |
|
In our first year of marriage, the Incredible Mrs. Cadorette and I won a trip to Southern California.
At Knott’s Berry Farm we got in line for a parachute ride. We stepped into the metal basket facing each other, chatting and laughing as the machine lifted us up and up into the air only to drop us without warning. As the Incredible Mrs. describes it, she watched me go from newlywed witty banter to abject white-faced terror in a millisecond.
That was the day I discovered I don’t like falling. I don’t like the sensation that the “bottom has dropped out” and I can’t do a thing about it.
Fast forward seven years. We’re parents of a couple kids with one on the way, living on my nonprofit salary and creatively juggling bills and payments to do so.
One month we “dropped a ball” and realized we had no money for groceries, and no food in the house and two weeks before the next paycheck.
It was no carnival ride, but the bottom dropped out just the same. What a terrible feeling: embarrassed, helpless, and panicked. And there was nothing I could do.
These months of the pandemic have had a lot of ups and downs. And those trying to survive have been trying to keep all the balls in the air as they juggle bills and payments. The extra unemployment helped, but that ended last month as did two other employment assistance programs. For many of our neighbors “the bottom has dropped out” … again.
Thankfully, our Jefferson County Food Banks have been a true safety net for our neighbors throughout this pandemic — catching them if they fall. And you can help keep that net taught and strong by giving to the WAVE food drive.
Initiated by local churches 36 years ago, this home-grown, neighbor-loving effort helps our four county food banks do what they do best: providing food to families in need, equitably, recognizing the dignity of everyone.
The WAVE (What A Valuable Experience) has two parts. First: Through October, participating churches gather in food and financial donations. (See list at wavefood
drive.wordpress.com.)
Second: Saturday, Oct. 23 is WAVE Food Drive Day! On that day donations can be made all day at QFC stores in Port Townsend and Port Hadlock, and from
10 a.m. to 2 p.m. at locations listed at
wavefooddrive.wordpress.com.
Checks can also be mailed to Jefferson County Food Bank Association,
PO Box 124, Port Hadlock, WA 98339 (payable to Jefferson County Food Bank Association, noted for WAVE).
Or, give on line at jeffersoncountyfoodbanks.org.
I couldn’t save myself from “no grocery money” any more than I could save myself from the parachute ride. I needed help from my neighbors.
In giving to the WAVE, you are helping yours — and what a valuable experience that is!
(Skip Cadorette is pastor of First Baptist Church, a Port Townsend native. He loves Jesus, his wife, this community, and the beach — in that order.)