On every Thanksgiving since he became sober and accepted Jesus and God into his life Bob has donated his time every Thanksgiving feeding the homeless, dispossessed, and the poor. He does this to honor the family that in their own way, literally saved his life and offered him hope. He offers them hope, a warm meal and new socks or wool caps to help keep them warm. He feels his heart warm from the Holy Spirit.
Thanksgiving night 2002
Bob awoke at four in the afternoon in a back ally by a dumpster. The darkening Seattle sky appeared as bleak as his surroundings of discarded refuge. No one was around as he ventured out onto First Street and wondered north near Pike Place. His needs became apparent as his jones showed its ugly face. He scratched his left arm where the last syringe entered his vein four hours before. His sunken eyes looked longingly at the quiet street. No one was about.
He walked slowly uptown away from the heart of the city and ended up in the University District. Traffic was sparce and what few cars travelled, appeared to be families going to see their families or friends for a dinner he could only dream of having. He felt hunger pangs attack his stomach, but not so bad as the pangs that affected his need for a good fix.
He stumbled to the familiar apartment where his buddy lived. He made Bob feel good and temporarily abate the pain inside his heart. He pounded on the door, hearing laughter and comradery from inside. “Who is it?” Bob heard his friend’s voice ask with suspicion. Bob’s sixth sense told him he was probably packing his magnum.
“It’s Bob. I need a favor. Can you help?”
The door opened a crack, a single brown eye stared at Bob a moment. “Fifteen, you got?”
“No, man I’m short. Look I can pay you tomorrow I promise.”
He stared at Bob with both disgust and mistrust I that single brown eye. “Wait one minute.” The door slammed shut. He heard him declare to his friends, “It’s a fucking beggar wanting to fix his jones!”
“Oh my God!” A woman exclaimed, perhaps too loud for Bob’s liking. “Don’t they even know it’s a holiday? What a loser!”
The door opened and his buddy slipped him a cellophane packet. It was half an eight ball. “Happy Thanksgiving, Bob. Now get lost.” The door slammed shut resoundingly.
Bob retreated away from the apartment going down the icy staircase and out on the cold and dark street where his hope in life generally was gone. “I am a loser!” He shuffled his way to the back of a convenience store where he could make the medicine. He cooked up the concoction over a spoon and Bic lighter. He had a stolen bottle of water stashed inside his pack. He poured that and watched it bubble as he mixed it and then used his syringe to suck up the heroin. He wrapped the tubing around his arm, trying to locate a vein. But he couldn’t see that well in the dark. The mercury vapor lamp that was normally on, was out.
“God dammit!” He got up from behind the dumpster and went around the corner and back out onto the street in front of the convenience store. He found the vein and was ready to make this his last injection, ever, when a van pulled up, Christian inspirational music echoing out onto the outside of this Dodge Caravan. A group of young men and women, perhaps his age piled out from the van and smiled sweetly at him.
“YOU ARE LOVED!” They all exclaimed. The leader, who he assumed was a minister, then asked him, “Brother, Are you hungry? We have food. Turkey and stuffing and mashed potatoes and gravy! Come eat and be blessed by the Holy Spirit.”
“Brother,” a young woman went up to him. “You look cold. Here are socks, a cap and a blanket to warm you. Please take as a gift from the Holy Spirit!”
Bob felt a weight of his despair was lifted as he went to the opened van and he began eating the meal given to him, warmed by the blanket, and later from the woolen socks and the cap that he fitted on his head.
The preacher then pulled out from his coat the Holy Bible and he recited, “Jeremiah 29:11: For I know the plans I have for you, declares the LORD, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”
“Amen,” the group rejoiced. They pulled into an unbroken circle and prayed over him, touching his shoulders and his head.
The preacher prayed aloud, as he heard the others praying with him, “Bless this man dear Lord so that he will prosper and spread your word of hope and faith to all others like him. In Jesus name we pray, Amen.”
Bob felt this overwhelming urge to hug them, and he thanked the preacher and then they all piled back inside the van. Then they were gone. “They must’ve been angels to save me. I guess it’s not my time yet.”
The Present Day
He recalls that day with his church to everyone who wants to hear his testimonial. He’s been there and knows what these people feel. Bob doesn’t just talk about giving money to those homeless, dispossessed and broken, Bob puts himself back in the fold and gives them hope and faith for a tomorrow without despair, drugs and destitution.
Jerry Schellhammer 