“One day, I’ll be on the other side of the desk, right next to you.” 

The sudden earnesty of the sentence froze me mid-movement. I was handing out vouchers and bags of food to those who came into the pantry, when my customer-service smile faltered. It came back twice as strong, and I passed the bag of food and water to the client in front of me, about to reply, when he continued. 

“I mean it,” he told me and my twin sister, voice gravely and kind. “This isn’t going to be a forever kind of thing. I’m going to get back on my feet and be on the other side of the desk one day.” 

I didn’t know how much the memory would resurface in my mind, nor the fact that I would replay it at night and when I prayed, but I shook his outstretched hand and said, “We’d love to have you, sir.” 

Three years later, he no longer needs the food pantry’s service. I am nothing but glad that his visits aren’t weekly, and I can’t wait until he joins the family of volunteers we’ve made there. 

My community service may have bloomed at that food pantry — Christian Community Action (CCA) — but it was something I was raised with. My mom grew up in a small town just east of Oklahoma City, where she spent Friday nights helping my great-grandparents and Sunday mornings at the church. When my cousin needed a home decades later, my mom was the first one to open her door. My dad grew up a few hours north of my mom, a Kansas kid who fell in love with things he couldn’t have and worked part-time to afford a childhood. He put himself through medical school, and, now, I can’t walk outside without someone telling me that my dad saved someone they love. 

I grew up trying to be just like them. I spent Saturday mornings at different non-profits in our area and Sunday services volunteering to help with elementary schoolers. Back then, it was never about helping others or being kind — it was just something we did as kids. 

When I got older, I began to realize the impact I could have. Something I “just did” became something that could help others. The more I looked at it in that light, the more I wanted to continue volunteering. My dedication to community service became my own. 

I first began volunteering at CCA in early autumn, just over five years ago. My twin, older sister, mom and I were volunteering to earn hours for the National Charity League (NCL) and decided to try volunteering at a new place. There, we got face-to-face interactions with those we were helping and were welcomed immediately by staff members. 

We began to be regulars without realizing it. Soon, every Thursday was “CCA Day,” and we’d talk with the shoppers at the pantry when they came in. The food we pass out is important, but it was always more important to me that we made connections. I wanted each person that walked through the doors to know we were there for them. 

Those quick smiles and chats turned into deeper conversations. Now, the very people I get to help are some of the first I turn to when something new happens. Juanita makes sure to ask for updates on how my twin and I’s respective love lives are going. Sonya shares photos of her kids and gushes about how we “just have to meet them.” Georgina brings homemade tacos every week. 

Then, there are the volunteers I get to work side by side with. We’ve had holiday parties and barbecues with the Thursday regulars that have become a second family. Tom brings us snickerdoodles, always ready to tell us he’s proud of us at any given moment. He has become a second grandpa I didn’t know I needed — a rock I can lean on whenever I falter. Mary and Donna make sure to get an ice cream cone with their kids’ meals when we go to Chick-Fil-A after our shift, just like they’d do for their “real grandkids.” Bill always brings an extra energy drink when he knows we’re coming, because he “can’t have [us] drinking the bad ones.” 

Even though they’re too busy to ever be free, my supervisors always make sure to spend as much time as they can on the pantry floor. They are among the first people I turn to when I need life advice. Dan promised to teach me to drive a forklift. Leslie sends us home with cookies. We walk down to Haley’s office to visit for the 30 minutes of break she has. 

These people are my family, and they prove that love to me every time I see them. This month marked the fifth year that I began to volunteer at CCA. It was welcoming when I first began, but it’s become a second home now. Not only has it given me the chance to help others, but it’s given me people I can depend on for the rest of my life — a community of service.