Imagine

Imagine you spent twenty years strung out on drugs, many of those years homeless and hopeless.

Imagine that at the very bottom of despair, you found hope in Jesus. He lifted your burdens and set you free.

Imagine that instead of walking away from the people who are still caught in their addictions and their despair, that you decided to stay near them and help them out.

Imagine committing yourself to doing anything God asked you to do without any resources of your own.

Imagine God doing it, week after week after week.

Meet Gary. Gary is living this life. He was rescued by Jesus from drugs, from hate, from cold and hunger. And he has given his life back to helping others find Jesus, too.

Every Friday, Gary feeds the homeless, the poor, the downtrodden.

I showed up at 4:00, and he already had a crew passing out bags of bananas, tortillas, and coffee creamer. After a quick tour, I donned some latex gloves and went to work grilling garlic bread between a cook from a local golf course and a recent immigrant from Iran. Three or four hundred pieces of bread (and a health department inspection) later, I was slicing cake and stacking it on industrial sized trays. Then, off to the serving line to serve punch and milk beside an outgoing woman from the Catholic church and a youth group from a community church.

The line wound all the way around the outside edge of the gym and out the door. It took thirty minutes or to serve out all the scalloped ham and potatoes, salad, garlic bread and cake. People gave nods of thanks and found their places and long, cafeteria-style tables. As soon as the line had petered out, Gary stood up to preach. Just a short message, shouted through a microphone above the din, but a message of hope, of the difference Jesus can make.

I went through line and ate my dinner, then followed Gary and some others downstairs where the food distribution line was set up. A crew had already filled bags with dry goods-- macaroni and cheese, rice, tuna, peanut butter, chicken marinade. About a hundred grocery bags were stacked on and under tables, some for adults, some for kids. Ashley swung the counter window open and started yelling out names. As each person approached the window, Ashley asked, "how many?" "Four adults and five kids" or "two adults and one kid," they would answer. Grocery bags were passed up to the window, then topped off with frozen meat, mashed potatoes, chips, toilet paper, milk, and juice, according to what each one wanted.

Gary picks up about 6,000 pounds of food to distribute every Friday. We probably handed out enough food to feed 300 for several days.

"Where does it all come from?" I asked Gary.

"Here and there," he said. "The Lord provides. Honestly, I thought there was enough food here for two weeks, but..." His voice trailed off. I had just handed the last case of milk to the last woman in line.

One man, Andrew, came back to talk to Gary. "You know that this food makes all the difference," he said. "It gets me through, especially the meat. Thank you." Gary nodded and opened up the freezer. "You like pork? Here's some pork." He tossed a couple more packets onto Andrew's overflowing bag.

But by next week, the food will be stacked up again, people will be waiting for more food to get them through the week, and Gary will be there, offering a hand to anyone willing to take it.