Yesterday’s potholder distribution at the Franciscan Center brought something into focus: dignity, community, and care show up in small gestures, conversations, and the seemingly simple act of sharing food and space.
Adding the gift of a handwoven potholder, made by weavers from across the U.S., really pulls it all together.
Last year, when the Thanksgiving Potholder Project (THXGPP) visited this dining room, we displayed potholders from a large table near the exit. Everyone could see the display, pick a potholder after their meal, and stay to chat if they wanted.
This year, we were nestled into a small space near a busy kitchen door — easy to miss unless you sat at the table beside us. This turned out to be the best seat in the house!
It was awkward at first, but it quickly turned into the best way to observe, connect with, and become part of the energy in the room.
With the help of volunteers, word traveled: “Free handwoven potholders — take one for yourself, or give it to someone you care about.” Every so often, I’d walk through the dining room to greet people, let them know the table existed, and invite them to choose a little piece of handmade love and care.
What happened next was more powerful than the typical distribution where families pick up boxes of food to cook at home. Many of the people here don’t have a kitchen, or simply aren’t able to cook — so this shared meal becomes the heart of their Thanksgiving experience.
I couldn’t help but notice that people chose their seats with intention — a quiet corner alone or a place beside someone familiar. Personal space and dignity matter here, just as they do in any other dining room. The reality in this room sharply contrasts with the stereotypes that mainstream society often assigns to this community — stereotypes that try to diminish dignity and reduce people to false assumptions. Many diners live with physical or mental impairments or barriers that the outside world overlooks, yet what happens in this space is awareness, acceptance, and that informal dance that occurs when people look out for one another, even if only for the duration of a meal. There were brief moments of tension, but they passed quickly, and the room’s energy stayed warm and steady. Diners, volunteers, and staff all knew how to care for one another — holding individual dignity and community connectedness at the center of every interaction.
What happens in this space is awareness, acceptance, and that informal dance that occurs when people look out for one another, even if only for the duration of a meal … holding dignity and community connectedness at the center of every interaction.
A person in a wheelchair arrived, and someone quietly helped them settle at a table. At another table, someone saved a seat for a friend who “always arrives a little late but never misses lunch.”
People checked on each other, shared updates, compared notes on neighborhood goings-on, and settled into the warmth of a meal prepared by the Franciscan Center’s Culinary Academy — a rigorous, career-centered skill-building program providing fresh food that is both nourishing and genuinely delicious. The meal was abundant and offered a choice of protein: ham or turkey.
When people came by to choose a potholder, the stories they shared lingered. Memories of childhood weaving. Families who once quilted, knitted, or crocheted. Several people chose one for someone else. One person said they were taking one “for a neighbor who could use a little kindness.” Moments like these reflect exactly what THXGPP is about: connection and care.
THXGPP’s table was just the right size of small, and the location might not have been highly visible in a physical sense, but it was highly visible and accessible in all the right ways. Being in the room where it happens embodied what this project stands for — connection through caring and sharing. I’m thinking of asking for the same space next year.
In the end, distributing at the Franciscan Center was the best way to close our season. Across all of this year’s distributions, one truth kept rising to the surface: humanity is not lost. And when it feels out of reach, it’s usually because the systems around us fall short — not because of anything lacking in the person who’s being treated as less than.
What I witnessed again and again this season were moments of care that cut through systemic gaps — people showing up for one another in sincere, practical, and deeply human ways. THXGPP potholders simply offered a bridge for that connection, but the dignity and generosity were already there, alive in every space we entered.
Kindness exists everywhere; we just have to notice it, encourage it, and participate in it. Every weaver who contributed to this year’s project represents that kindness and care.
As the first shift ended, I also enjoyed a meal with the community — freshly made, deeply satisfying, and prepared with the same care that filled the room.
For all the weavers who make this project possible, THANK YOU for all you do locally, and for what you offer beyond your own borders.
