As I cycled across Lancaster along the canal, he sat and waited with my car so that I didn't get fined, or have my purse or phone stolen should the central locking decide to relinquish it's unflinchingly locked status. It was a little large, but easy to handle. One of the asylum seeker men lent me his bike. She tried to use the internet to find The Olive Branch's number. A lovely lady (whose car I was blocking in) invited me into her home. The lads had no mobile credit and I had no numbers for The Olive Branch at hand. We tried to physically move the car out of the cul-de-sac and into a parking bay. Knocking on the door again the lads came out to help me. The few phone numbers I could remember were all for family far away. Despondently, I realised I couldn't phone anyone my phone was inside on the dashboard. I tugged on the door handle, bounced on the bonnet, then the tail gate, but the usually capricious locks remained firmly shut. I stared at my keys through the closed window. It had been playing up for a while and the garage hadn't found an easy fix for it yet. I had just delivered to 7 asylum seekers, slammed the boot shut and as I did so, I heard the definite click of the central locking of my car coming into play. It came in the form of an unexpected crisis. Why did I take it as a personal snub? Where was that sunny volunteering glow that you you were supposed to get? I knew I needed to change and asked God for His help. When I started volunteering, I struggled with disappointment: an unanswered door meant carting food back to the car again. The image displayed is unrelated to this story. For safeguarding and confidentiality reasons, the volunteer’s name, and identity of the recipients, is undisclosed.
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