Our first stop is a tidy house on a steep hill. Carefully I count the six meals we are to deliver here, stacking three of the styrofoam meal containers and three desserts in each bag. The lady of the house answers my knock, and her facial expression changes from semi-guarded to pleased.

How nice, she says, my husband just lost his job, I wonder who knew? She hasn't ordered any Thanksgiving Day meals from the Tamaqua Salvation Army.That's because we're at the wrong house. Same house number, one block wrong. I try to get her to take the meals anyway, but she tells me they're OK, they've got a turkey in the oven. Thank you anyway, she says, deliver the meals to someone who needs them more than we do.And as our day progresses, and we deliver 17 meals, we see that she is right. It can make you want to hit your knees, the need is so brutally real.We didn't know. The need is hidden behind holiday decorations and neatly shoveled walkways. Twice residents call "come in" because they are unable to walk and answer the door.I realize that with our 17 meals to deliver in three Schuylkill County towns, we're only seeing the tip of the iceberg. These are homes many of us probably drive past every day, with no thought to what it's like inside. People from this area, especially the elderly, keep their troubles private.They worked hard all their lives, and their towns changed around them. Their old friends passed away or moved, and they no longer know their neighbors. They are proud, sometimes too proud to ask for the help they need.I'll always remember something that happened the first winter after I'd moved back to the area. I'd bought a row house in Saint Clair. Across the street was a older man named Joe who drove an aged sedan that was as long as his house was wide.One night, after a big snowstorm, I thought I'd use the cover of darkness to shovel out Joe's car. I grabbed my shovel and walked across the street, and two of my neighbors were already there, doing that.Just for this day, we're knocking on doors and offering help in the form of prepared meals, but I wonder how things would be if we did that more often? How would it be if we knocked on a door, or called, and just said, "Do you need help with anything?" Or if we just made it a point to keep an eye on our neighbors, see what's needed, and do it without asking?On one of the last stops, my heart breaks for the woman surrounded with crocheting work she's got a lot to do before Chrismas, she says. The plastic pill box with compartments for the days of the week reminds me of my parents, both long gone.A wheeled walker is parked at the ready next to the couch, and as she struggles to rise I ask her to just stay where she is, I'll put the meal where she wants it. She tells me in the refrigerator, so it's impossible for me to miss that the only other things in the refrigerator are milk, butter and a cat food can with a plastic snap top.I hope that someone is coming to visit her today, but we are only delivering one meal. She takes out a black change purse and tries to give me a couple wrinkled dollar bills. There's a huge painting of Jesus over her couch, His eyes skyward, hands folded in prayer.