There's Hope in Jacob

The morning was on the horizon, and I knew today would be particularly tough. We were down three volunteers at the shelter, and tonight would be especially cold. Our average visits were up 200 percent over the last week, mainly because of an unusual cold snap. It was almost 7 am so I tapped on the girl's door so they could get up to prepare for a day of virtual classes. Emmy was 12, and Alex 16. Both of them great students; although Zoom was wearing thin on them, they were ready to get back to school, and so was I. Emmy poked her head out the bedroom and reminded me that she needed some colored pencils. I nodded and smiled to acknowledge her and quickly jotted it down in my Moleskine, which I keep in my breast pocket. My mind immediately switched to my drive into work as the girl's mom arrived home from her 3rd shift. The temperature flirted with 0 degrees Fahrenheit, so I was dressed relatively dense, pea coat, tweed hat, and boots.

I made my usual stop at the Starbucks on Fairbanks and began my daily plea to Mr. Roland. Today Roland was dressed in an older-looking yet warm team jacket and earmuffs. I was concerned that I didn't see the blanket that usually accompanied him, but he looked comfortable. I grabbed my hot coffee and the same for Roland, bid him goodbye, and made my way into Jacobs Hope. Before I could pull into my parking spot, my phone explodes. Our guests at the homeless shelter couldn't be adequately fed because we were running out of food. I thought unbelievable, but I knew what needed to be done. I headed off to the grocery store and picked up enough food for the day until our grant money could post later. No sooner than I pay for the groceries, my text messages began to blow up from Leslie, the girl's mom. We shared a credit card for emergency uses, and to me, this was an emergency. To her, confirmation of why we weren't a couple. After being scolded by text for 10 minutes, I drove back to the shelter. The look of astonishment when my coworkers opened the trunk to my jeep and saw boxes of pasta, noodles, hot cereal, and more. One of our program directors asked, "man, how did you pay for all this?" I replied, "Bank of Leslie." Automatically understanding that metaphor, He exclaimed, "Oh shit, I hate to put you in that situation; how can we run a shelter with no food!"

The lack of funding was always part of the issue; the city had budget constraints, which didn't point funds in the homeless's direction. Nor did you see many councilmembers advocating for the homeless, as it was seen as self-inflicted until it happens to someone they know. But regardless of the politics, the mission needed to be met, feeding our community. As we broke down boxes, mixed ingredients, and began to cook the food -thanks to Leslie, I took a moment as I usually do to write a poem, which relaxes my mind. The poetic writing is an exercise I utilized for many years and through traumatic times, from being molested to experiencing homelessness myself. I can understand the weight of not knowing where food is coming from or how sleep can be accomplished on the street full of strangers. I figured I would write a poem about trust, the same confidence I breached with Leslie.

It goes...

It occurred to me - with little provocation.

Sitting low in my feelings.

Distrust - masks intimidation

Black polish, my bootstraps

Slippery and seen

My failure revealed

cut on the scene

Life is a play

opening night

No practice or notes

No shouts of delight

Break a leg

Do great

Your destiny awaits

I cannot yield

I cannot stop

for life delights.

After my poetry session, I generally feel better, so back to work, I go. As the day progresses into the evening, our numbers jump; rightfully so, it's freezing out. I need to run and see the girls before dinner and talk to Leslie really quickly. As soon I see Emmy, I can tell she is expecting those colored pencils; lucky for me, I remembered them on my store run. I give them to her, and she hugs me and proceeds to tell me about her day. Meanwhile, like most teens, Alex types away on her cellphone, so all looks normal. I go to the back and find Leslie folding clothes; she initially doesn't acknowledge me and then looks up with a sense of relief.

"I am sorry I got so upset, but I didn't understand why you couldn't have just asked me first?" In my mind asking would be an invitation to say no. But I played it cool and agreed to do so if and when it was needed.

Driving back to the shelter, I called ahead to make sure the cookies I had picked up reached the kids. Dana, our head cook, told me they did, with plenty left over for the adults as well.

As I walked into the building, I remembered I hadn't checked my mail, email, or anything. I grabbed the stack of mail on my desk and began to look through it quite sheepishly. The amount of bills we receive is enormous, and I believe I am developing an avoidance syndrome. However, the third letter I reached inside a blue envelope appeared strange. The return label said Dell Estates, LLC. Weird. I opened the envelope, and to my surprise, I found a check for $20,000 and a letter. Ok, where is the scam, why, who? As I read the letter standing on my desk, I realized the check was from a Starbucks customer that watches me buy coffee for Mr. Roland every morning. It turns out she owns a software company and is impressed with our efforts. Floored, I immediately call and thank her for the generosity. Also, she mentioned that money was solely for me, and she would be making a separate donation to the cause. All I could think of was Jacobs Hope, our shelter. I gathered the staff and told them about the windfall, and almost collectively, they told me to take a vacation. The work didn't allow for a break, and the water heater needed replacement.

That night as I laid on the couch, satisfied with the decisions that I had made. I pulled my Moleskine out to jot down the places to get cheap porcelain cups so that our guests can have hot coffee out of a mug and feel like they are at home because they were.

Leslie, always a great supporter, refused the money I offered for the food I purchased on the credit card, instead encouraged me to pay it forward. It shouldn't be a problem, babe.