What an odd request! a panicked Carol thought. Are they going to fire me and ask me to haul away all of my things? The separated mother of two was already depressed as the Christmas season approached and had thrown herself into her work as a way of filling the void. What would she do now? Obediently, she backed the car up to the front door and was told to open up the trunk.

What happened next was something she will never forget.

Heartbreak
Carol had been working in the social-service sector ever since she had graduated with a degree in sociology and anthropology in 1989. For three years, though, she had been the sole breadwinner to put her husband through college. She thought they were living a middle-class dream.

In short order, however, her marriage broke up and she lost custody of her daughter and newborn son.

“Whenever I talk about that time, I say that heartache came to visit,” smiles Carol through her tears. “It was very traumatic for me. I’d taken sick leave—my son was a twin and I had lost his brother in pregnancy—and losing custody of the children broke my heart.”

A Trunkful of Hope
Alone and despondent, Carol still felt a desire to be useful. But what to do?
Carol contacted the Dundas, Ont., branch of The Salvation Army’s family services office in late December and offered her services. With her background, she was engaged to do a research study on shelters.

But with next to no income, limited access to her children and Christmas coming, Carol was at one of the lowest points in her life. “My life as I knew it had ended and I seemed to be marking time, with no hope and no future,” she says now.

That’s when her Salvation Army supervisor asked her to back her car up to the church door.

The pastor signalled inside and, one by one, staff and co-workers came out with bag upon bag of groceries and piled them into her Volkswagen— enough food for her to get through the holidays, and then some.

“It’s hard to receive that kind of love,” Carol admits. “But at that time, there wasn’t much in the cupboard, so I couldn’t decline it. I was immensely blessed by that act of kindness.”

Later at home, a grateful Carol thanked God.

“If you can help me clean up the mess I’ve made of my life,” she prayed, “I’ll serve You and The Salvation Army all the days of my life.”

A Family Reunited
Carol eventually went back to work full-time. Not long after, work colleagues approached her to see if
she could develop a family shelter program for the Oakville, Ont., Salvation Army.

“It was the opportunity of a lifetime for me,” she says, “and the answer to prayer. God used that work to heal me and be a blessing to others in the midst of my losses and trauma. Thanks to God and the Army, I put my life back together again.”

Carol is now a member of the Army and is the director of two Salvation Army shelters in Oakville. Her daughter is pursuing her university studies, and her son will soon join his sister when he completes high school.

“God’s love never fails,” says Carol. “Helping hurting families and journeying with them through their brokenness was something I could relate to. I could understand their circumstances because I myself had been impoverished.”

Willing Hearts, Helping Hands
When asked for a story of someone helped during the holidays, as she had been, Carol thinks of Marie, “a spectacular lady with two boys to look after.”

Despite limited mobility and income, Marie was determined to stay in the community where her children had been raised. Her hope was to have a home for Christmas, but Carol was unable to find affordable housing for her and her family as Christmas loomed.

After another fruitless day of searching, though, Carol told Marie, “Don’t worry. I don’t know how, I don’t know when, but God will provide.”

“I can’t say what prompted me to promise that,” continues Carol, “but the next day, a housing provider stepped up and made a dwelling available for the family, and Marie was granted the housing subsidy they needed.

“It was a miracle,” smiles Carol, “but this is just one of the many miracles I’ve seen since I started working with The Salvation Army.”

But miracles don’t happen on their own. It also takes contributions from caring, committed people all over Canada, especially at Christmastime.

“God uses willing hearts and hands,” says Carol, “and everybody has an opportunity to give. However much or little you put in the Salvation Army Christmas kettle makes a huge difference in the lives of those we help. The Salvation Army is a voice for those who have none, and each and every donor plays a part in the good work that we do.”

Before I could answer, my son replied, “The sign says, ‘Will work for food.’ That means he’s hungry but he doesn’t have any money, so he wants to do some jobs for people to get some money.”

“Can he do a job for us, Mommy?”

“We don’t really need any jobs done, Honey,” I said.

“But he’s hungry, Mommy,” she insisted. “And aren’t we on our way to lunch?”

“We could pick up an extra burger and give it to him,” my other daughter added.

“That’s a great idea,” I agreed.

When we got closer to the man, I rolled down my window and said, “My children and I are going to lunch. We’d like to get something for you.”

The man grinned widely. “Oh, wow, ma’am, that would be great!”

“We’ll be back in half an hour,” I promised.

“I’ll be here,” he said.

Missing Person
I drove to the fast-food restaurant and ordered our food, including a couple of sandwiches, a drink and a dessert for the man. The kids and I ate quickly, excited to return the food to him.

But when we drove back to the intersection where he’d been, he was gone.

“Where is he, Mom?” the kids asked.

“I don’t know,” I said. We drove around for a few minutes, hoping to see him, but we didn’t find him at any of the neighbouring intersections either.

“It doesn’t make sense,” one of the kids said. “His sign said, ‘Will work for food,’ but we were just going to give him some food. Why wouldn’t he wait a few minutes for it?”

“I don’t know,” I said again.

“If he was really hungry, and we were offering to give him food for free, I would think he’d be here to get it,” my son said.

“I know,” I replied, “but people turn down free gifts all the time.”

“Well, that’s dumb,” the kids said. “Why would someone not want a free gift?”

When we arrived home, the extra sandwiches went into the trash—along with my attitude.

Time for a Change
Over the next few months, every time I saw a person standing on a street corner holding a sign, I remembered the wasted food and the rejection of our kindness. When faced with their need, I’d avert my eyes and pretend that I didn’t see them. They would probably use the money for drugs or something to drink, I reasoned. My heart had become hardened.

One day, the kids and I were running errands and they pointed out a woman on a corner, holding a sign. I refused to look, but the kids read her sign out loud: “Have three young kids. Homeless and hungry. Please help.” And at the bottom of the sign was a Bible reference: Matthew 25:40.

“Hey, I know that verse,” my youngest daughter said. “It was our memory verse in Sunday school last week.” It says, “The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of Mine, you did for Me.’ ”

I remembered the passage well. In it, Jesus was separating the sheep from the goats. In other words, He was separating those who followed His command by feeding and clothing people in need from those who didn’t. To those who cared for others, Jesus offers an inheritance, an entire Kingdom.

I felt tears spring to my eyes as I was forced to face my own self-righteousness. In Matthew 25:40, Jesus offers us the chance to do something for Him. As a Christian, don’t I pray and ask Him to show me more ways to serve Him? And yet, I drove past the many opportunities He’d given me, often without giving them a second thought.

I felt ashamed. I was being offered the privilege of serving God by helping others. Sometimes I knew the people—neighbours or fellow parishioners—but sometimes, they were standing on street corners, holding signs.

It was time to make a change.

Gratitude and Tears
I pulled the car over and opened the trunk.

“What are you doing, Mom?” the kids wanted to know.

“I’m going to give some of the groceries we just bought to that lady over there,” I said. “Will you help me?”

As the kids and I handed the food to the woman, she smiled and thanked me.

But I shook my head. “No, thank you.”

The woman’s smile grew bigger.

I nodded and continued. “I stopped because my daughter quoted the Bible verse on your sign. It reminded me that helping you is the same thing as helping God.”

“Well, we both appreciate it,” she smiled.

We talked for a few more minutes. She told me her children’s ages and I offered to bring some of my kids’ outgrown clothes to the women’s shelter where they were staying. Her gratitude brought tears to my eyes.

The next day, I took the clothes to the shelter. When the woman showed her four-year-old daughter her “new” clothes, the little girl was so excited that she hugged me.

And that’s when I knew that I’d helped myself as much as I did the woman with the sign.

Something to Offer
Norm was born just outside of Prince Albert, Sask.

“I’m a farm boy,” he smiles, “and growing up on a farm was instrumental in my decision to become a healer. I was connected at a young age and in a tangible way to the rhythms of life, death and nature.”

When Norm was young, his father suffered a back injury that left him housebound for a significant period of time. When traditional care did not suffice, he sought the services of a chiropractor, who helped alleviate his pain and increase his mobility. Watching the chiropractor work on his father and seeing the effect was enormously influential for Norm.

“As I looked at what I wanted to do with my life,” he recalls, “I was less attracted to the diagnostic side of the medical equation—ORs and ERs, traumas and dramas—than I was to helping reconnect people to their own bodies, as my father had been helped. Becoming a chiropractor seemed to be a natural fit.”

While pursuing his studies at Toronto’s prestigious Canadian Memorial Chiropractic College, Norm realized that he wanted to do more for the people in his community.

“When I was approached by people asking for a handout,” recalls Norm, “my initial reflex would be to reach into my wallet, but I soon realized I might have something more valuable to offer them eventually: my skills and my time.”

Open Arms, Helping Hands
Norm held on to that dream after graduation, and after a move to Nanaimo and establishing his practice, he felt ready to act.

“Once I had that solid foundation under me,” says Norm, “I started to look outside my practice at ways I could benefit the community. My first thought was, I need to talk to The Salvation Army. I’d seen how the Army was involved in so many facets of the community. Everywhere I looked, at any time of the year, I saw the wonderful work they were doing, how well-established and well-organized they were.”

Norm approached Rob Anderson, the Army’s community services director, with a proposal to start a chiropractic service for his clients.

“I was greeted with respect and trust, which is essential in establishing any new program. It was almost like turning the switch to the ignition of a well-tuned engine,” Norm marvels. “Room was made, a receptionist provided and within that first month, we’d established a booming practice.”

Lives Changed
“Dr. Norm,” as he is called, volunteers once a week for two hours and looks after as many as 20 people in that time. Many of Norm’s clients already use the Army’s facilities, such as the hostel
and the soup kitchen, and range in age from as young as three to as old as 88.

“We’re busy,” Norm laughs. “It’s a nice flow. We have a lot of regulars, and they know the routine. I have two tables set up and there’s no waiting.”

Many of the regulars have become friends. “We’ve become a little support group all of our own,” Norm smiles. “I’m constantly running into them downtown and I’m always thrilled with how well they are doing.”

Because of the Army’s support and Norm’s ministrations, many of his clients have kicked addictions, made life transitions, left abusive relationships, and found the inner courage to rebuild their lives now that they have been freed of years and sometimes decades of debilitating pain.

“One fellow had polio as a child and was in a full body cast right up to his hip,” says Norm. “Despite the best efforts of his doctors, the polio had gone through his hip, affecting the leg’s growth and development to the extent that his right leg was almost a foot shorter than his left. I’d never seen such a severe spinal misalignment. It’s a wonder that this man was still alive.”

The hip itself was completely fused, Norm goes on to say. He was locked in place and his life mirrored what had happened to his body. He’d become a recluse.

“I’ll never forget that first adjustment,” Norm continues. “I was the first person in decades that he’d allowed to work with him. I was able to literally ‘walk’ his spine back into place and transform a six to seven inch gap between the length of his legs into less than an inch in one visit. It was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.”

Norm has continued to work with him. Not only has his mobility improved but his life has blossomed as well. He has made friends with fellow clients and is looking at becoming a more productive part of society again.

“People’s spines very often mirror their lives,” observes Norm. “When we can change their spines, their lives start to change, too.”

“Miracles Truly Happen”
Norm hopes that other Salvation Army churches will set up similar operations to Nanaimo. But to do that, people need to step up and volunteer.

“There’s a lot of good in our communities,” he says. “What I see in theory and in practice, both with The Salvation Army and in my professional duties here, is that once people get connected to the potential that lies within them, miracles truly happen.”

Rory was an alcoholic in denial when his marriage of 15 years disintegrated. After the mother of his two sons divorced him, he was lonely, depressed and regretful. A functional addict, he hid his problem with alcohol and continued to operate his business as a journeyman mechanic, building custom-made vehicles for clients.

The Accident
Late one rainy night, after drinking several bottles of beer, Rory’s truck veered off a country road and struck a 30-metre-tall spruce tree. He was on the brink of death as the air ambulance transported him to the University of Alberta Hospital in Edmonton from the small town of Lacombe, Alta.

“The doctors told my family I might not live through the night,” says Rory. “I was in a coma, and a tracheotomy opened an airway to prevent suffocation. Tubes in my rib cage kept my collapsed lungs inflated. I had 10 broken ribs, my left cheek required 120 stitches and all my teeth on the left side were knocked out.”

To the doctors’ amazement, Rory woke four days after the crash. He had no recollection of the accident. Nine days later, he went home to his apartment.

Substance Abuse
“For months I was unable to work,” says Rory. “I received disability payments from various sources. I had time and money, which was my downfall. Although alcohol was my drug of choice for more than 20 years, I started using crack cocaine. It was mind-numbing and allowed me to temporarily forget my problems.

“But the drug progressively took over my life,” continues Rory. “At the height of my addiction, I spent $1,000 a day on crack and used for as many days as I could stay awake. Sometimes this would go on for two weeks at a time. At first, money wasn’t a factor. Then my bills started piling up.

“I didn’t care about anything but the drug. I soon lost my home, my business and custody of my teenage sons. When I moved into my parents’ basement, I carried unbearable feelings of shame and embarrassment.”

Rory was raised in a Christian home with supportive parents. They wanted nothing more than to see him sober up and make better choices. His father approached him about The Salvation Army’s six-month residential drug-treatment program in Edmonton, known as the Anchorage. Rory laughed and shrugged it off. “I denied I had an issue,” says Rory. Weeks later, a broken-down Rory called his father and said, “Let’s look at going to Edmonton.”

Although he knew he needed help, the thought of committing to something long-term and leaving his friends was overwhelming and frightening. Rory hopped in his truck and disappeared, trying to run away. He was more than 500 kilometres from home when his cellphone rang.

“It was The Salvation Army,” says Rory. “I chose to give recovery a chance.”

Recovery
“Moving beyond fear and addiction isn’t easy,” says Rory. “Over time, the Anchorage taught me how to manage my anger and sadness. It changed my thought patterns and taught me how to deal with issues. I underwent a major transformation—personally, emotionally, spiritually and behaviourally.”

Rory has been clean and sober since June 2009. He works full-time in food services at the Anchorage addictions centre and has a healthy relationship with his sons.

“Coming to The Salvation Army, cleaning up and learning how to stay clean, has made me feel worthwhile,” says Rory. “I walk down the street with my head held high. Hopelessness is not part of my vocabulary any more.”

In the years following his 1984 Olympic gold medal win in figure skating, however, Scott had many reasons to lose that smile.

“Life has given me money and taken it away,” he explains, “stricken me with disease and blessed me with health, given me victories and losses, good coaches and bad coaches.” But through it all, Scott learned to trust God and be content no matter what the circumstances.

A Mother’s Love
One subject that makes Scott smile is his parents. Scott was adopted at six weeks of age by Ernest and Dorothy Hamilton.

“They were great,” Scott remembers. “I couldn’t have been more blessed. My parents were school teachers and very nurturing. They understood the different transitions in life and how to help kids through them. I was told I was adopted as soon as I could understand what it meant, and at the same time I was told I was wanted and loved by them.”

Being adopted didn’t bother him, but being the smallest kid in the class did. A childhood illness prevented him from growing for three years. A doctor recommended the Hamiltons get Scott into skating. Being under-developed, he found self-esteem for the first time on the ice, where his size didn’t matter.

“My balance got better. I started getting muscle development. I began to literally skate circles around my classmates,” he says. “My mother sacrificed so much to keep me in skating because she knew what it did for my health.”

Sadly, Scott lost his mother to cancer when she was 49. That proved to be a turning point in his life, and he vowed to never be less than she had thought he could be.

“From then on I became more successful in skating,” he says. “I carried her memory with me each step of the way and it pushed me forward. Now that I’m a little older than my mother was, I deal with the loss of every person who has crossed my path by living for them. I bring the love I had for them with me every single day.”

Ups, Downs and Ups
After his success, not only at the Olympics but also as reigning world champion from 1981 to 1984, Scott skated with the Ice Capades and then teamed up with sports agency IMG to form Stars on Ice. In 1990, he was inducted into the U.S. Olympic Hall of Fame.

But things took a bad turn for Scott when, in 1997, he had a much-publicized battle with testicular cancer.

“I had gotten to a point where I was obsessed with my career, and cancer took it away from me for a while,” Scott says. “After the diagnosis there was this carrot dangling in front of me, to perform one last time and inspire other cancer patients that they could get back to their lives. I wanted to win, not let cancer win. Thankfully, Mom had shown me how to maintain my dignity and remain positive throughout the treatments.”

Scott Hamilton, pictured with wife, Tracie, and sons Aidan and Maxx

Scott did perform again and continued skating until he retired in 2001. The following year he married Tracie Robinson and they had a son, Aidan. Those highs were followed by yet another low.

“I had a new marriage and a 14-month old child, and out of nowhere I had to break it to my wife that I had a brain tumor,” he says. “Tracie just grabbed both of my hands, bowed her head and prayed with me. This changed my perspective and showed me that everything I had endured was a God-given challenge. I wanted to focus my efforts on finding my relationship with God, and it changed my life.”

Scott underwent successful treatment at the Cleveland Clinic with the support of his family and Ken Durham, a minister at Pepperdine University’s Church of Christ. “Only our faith and our God got us through our trials,” believes Scott.

In 2008, the Hamiltons welcomed another son, Maxx. At the end of every day, Scott thanks God for his family and puts them in His hands.

“God, I want my boys to live by You, through You, with You,” he prays.

Scott now focuses on his dream of helping to find a cure for cancer in his lifetime. His website, www.scottcares.com, has raised more than $10 million to support cancer research and education, and to assist cancer patients.

Creating Beauty
Scott is also on the board for the Special Olympics and has participated with the Make a Wish foundation, which grants wishes to children with life-threatening illnesses.

“My heart goes out to those kids,” he says. “I just want to make their day and their parents’ day as memorable as possible. Make a Wish is an extraordinary organization. As a dad, I’m shaken at what could possibly happen to my own children and I embrace those times when I can help others.”

One girl in particular, Krystal Williams, got to spend more than just a day with Scott. They kept in touch, and he invited her to his shows whenever he was in her area.

“Krystal had a walker and other physical and intellectual disabilities,” he remembers. “To see her put on skates and to help her push her walker with her skates was amazing. She was a part of my life until she passed away years later. When you fall in love with someone like that, they touch your heart. I admired her tenacity—everything about Krystal was love and courage. She was filled with a light that drew people to her.”

Scott believes that, with a little determination and God’s help, people can cope with whatever life throws at them. We can find a way to deal with challenges in a healthy way that will make us and everyone around us a little stronger.

“We need to adjust our point of view,” he says. “Glass shattered will never do what it did before, but if you hold it up to the light it can make rainbows. It can create beauty that it couldn’t before.”

In March 2009, Agata arrived at Toronto’s Pearson International Airport with only a suitcase full of court documents, a change of clothes and $81.

“My entire world had collapsed,” she says.

A World in Ruin
Originally from Poland, Agata, her husband and six-year-old daughter immigrated to London, Ont., in 1993. They settled in quickly. “My husband taught engineering at the University of Western Ontario and I studied at Fanshawe College to become certified in interior design,” says the 45-year-old. “We were a normal, hard-working, Christian family.”

After several years at the university, Agata’s husband secured employment in the automotive industry. In 2006, he was offered a high-profile career opportunity as the chief of his company’s European engineering department, along with a significant salary increase. “It was a fantastic opportunity for us to live in the United Kingdom and travel throughout Europe,” says Agata.

Agata Wroblewski feels blessed by The Salvation Army’s assistance

With their future seemingly bright, Agata resigned from her interior decorating job, rented out their home in Canada and moved the family to England.

Three years in England flashed by as the Wroblewskis built memories, shared experiences and dreamt of their future. Then one day, in an instant, Agata’s world turned to ruin.

“I’m having an affair,” Agata’s husband announced. “I’m in love with our best friend’s daughter. Our marriage is done and, to me, you simply don’t exist.”

From London, England, to London, Ontario
Her husband’s bombshell left Agata homeless, friendless and penniless. He refused to provide any financial assistance or give her access to their house in Canada, and her lawyer’s repeated attempts to receive aid from his company were ignored.

Then, to add to her already desperate situation, Agata started growing weak and tired. She attributed it to
her struggles but when excessive sweating and tremors started to occur, she sought medical attention. The
doctor diagnosed a hyperactive thyroid, a result of immense stress, which would later develop into cancer.

“Because my social status had changed, my ‘friends’ abandoned me,” continues Agata. “I was sick and alone.” Even her pleas to local churches in England were turned down.

“I couldn’t find any support,” she continues. “I kept asking God, ‘Why?’ I had always been a faithful wife, mother and friend.”

Devastated and with no one to turn to, Agata chose to return to Canada where she had taken up citizenship. Her former employer offered to pay for her plane fare, but she had to leave her daughter, who stayed in England to work and study.

When she’d lived in London, Ont., Agata had often read about The Salvation Army and their services, so she wrote to the Army’s Centre of Hope explaining her need for temporary shelter. The centre’s director, Major Neil Lewis, immediately responded to say that their doors were open and they had a bed for her.

“What little money I had paid for a bus ticket from the airport in Toronto to London, where I went directly to The Salvation Army,” says Agata. “There was no question they were there to help. I felt blessed.”

Newfound Joy
Agata soon found out that her husband, his girlfriend and their new child came to Canada shortly before she did, and her lawyers appeared at his office demanding financial aid and permission for her to enter the house. Within days, her husband quit his job, closed all his accounts and fled Canada.

Agata continuously fought for financial support and a court order to gain access to her home. By law she was not allowed to enter her home without her husband’s approval, and he refused to give it to her.

To make matters worse, radiation treatments for her cancer resulted in nausea, vomiting and fatigue, and Agata was unable to work.

My God, I am alone, without family, despaired Agata. How will I make it?
Fortunately, when her insurance didn’t cover her needed medication, The Salvation Army assisted with the costs.

“Their help was unconditional and overwhelming,” she states.

Agata and her lawyers refused to give up and, after 162 days at The Salvation Army shelter, she moved home, court order in hand. She had $60 in her pocket. Once again, The Salvation Army provided—with blankets, pillows, dishes, food, some furniture—everything to start over. This ongoing support restored her faith in humanity.

Since then, Agata has completed radiation, reunited with her daughter, who lives with her, and found employment. Now divorced, she is also a motivational speaker and volunteers at the centre.

“When you fall into poverty, everything looks different,” says Agata. “Through the Army’s compassion and practical assistance I have a newfound joy, self-worth and confidence in myself. Life is finally getting back to normal.”

As he enters, Syrian soldiers dressed in short togas yank themselves and their spears erect and stare straight ahead. The floor on which they stand is a mosaic of broad, brown, smooth rocks. On the floor are carved the games the soldiers play while awaiting the sentencing of the prisoner.

But in the presence of the procurator, they don’t play.

A regal chair is placed on a landing five steps up from the floor. The magistrate ascends and takes his seat. The accused is brought into the room and placed below him. A covey of robed religious leaders follow, walk over to one side of the room and stand.

Pilate looks at the lone figure.

“Are you the king of the Jews?”

For the first time, Jesus lifts His eyes. He doesn’t raise His head, but He lifts His eyes. He peers at the procurator from beneath His brow. Pilate is surprised at the tone in Jesus’ voice.

“Those are your words.”

Before Pilate can respond, the knot of Jewish leaders mock the accused from the side of the courtroom.

He’s not angry with me. He’s not afraid. He seems to understand.

Pilate is correct in his observation. Jesus is not afraid. He is not angry. He is not on the verge of panic. For He is not surprised. Jesus knows His hour and the hour has come.

Pilate is correct in his curiosity. Where, if Jesus is a leader, are His followers? What, if He is the Messiah, does He intend to do? Why, if He is a teacher, are the religious leaders so angry at Him?

Pilate is also correct in his question. “What shall I do, then, with Jesus who is called the Messiah?” (See Matthew 27:22.)

Accept or Reject
Perhaps you, like Pilate, are curious about this One called Jesus. You, like Pilate, are puzzled by His claims and stirred by His passions. What do you do with a man who calls Himself the Saviour, yet condemns systems? What do you do with a man who knows the place and time of His death, yet goes there anyway?

Pilate’s question is yours. “What will I do with this man, Jesus?”

You have two choices.

You can reject Him. That is an option. You can, as have many, decide that the idea of God’s becoming a carpenter is too bizarre—and walk away.

Or you can accept Him. You can journey with Him. You can listen for His voice amid the hundreds of voices and follow Him.

Illustration: Ecce Homo (Here is the Man) by Antonio Ciseri (1821-91). The title of the painting refers to the Latin words used by Pontius Pilate when he presented Jesus to the hostile crowd shortly before His Crucifixion (see John 19:5)

“It took our painters forever to get this room right,” says Wayne. “It must have about eight coats of paint in some spots, but we had to show them how to do the job properly.”

It wasn’t just painting, but sanding, prepping and priming a room that was used for everything from floor hockey to meetings and buffet dinners.

The eight-person painting crew is called the Holy Rollers and the group was started last year when David wanted to combine the Army’s needs with its mandate to help the people it serves.

“We deal with a lot of people looking for jobs or a chance to turn their lives around,” he says. “And we definitely needed a paint job.”

So David put two and two together and obtained Salvation Army approval to spend $60,000 on painting the church facilities.

Top-Notch Team
Instead of farming the work out, David asked Doug, the centre’s community ministries co-ordinator, to put together a team of enthusiastic people who could be trained to not only paint the building but also acquire enough skills so that they could bid on other jobs in the community.

“The first thing I had to do was find a team leader,” says David. “I knew Wayne from when he worked in Burnaby, B.C., and I knew he was in Nanaimo, B.C., so I literally dragged him back here to help.”

“It wasn’t that hard to get me back,” says Wayne, the Holy Rollers team leader, responsible for training the seven men and one woman how to paint professionally. “I like training and working with people, showing them skills they can use.”

Doug received more than 30 applications for the eight jobs that pay $10 per
hour to start and go up as the painters gain experience. “We could easily have put a team of 12 or 14 together,” he continues. “Of the eight we picked, we have a variety of ages and backgrounds.”

Top: Captain David MacPherson, Doug Fynn and Wayne Tugwood are pleased with the success of the Holy Rollers; Above: Top coat: Angie Webster is the only woman on the eight-person Holy Rollers team

Trained and Prepped
Angie Webster may be the only female member of the Holy Rollers, but she is used to working with men. She worked as a carpenter and a roofer in the construction industry for a decade before being laid off.

“The recession happened,” she says. “I wanted to work, but there wasn’t much out there. Plus, I wanted something a bit more spiritual.”

Angie grew tired of working with co-workers who swore incessantly, but she didn’t have anywhere to turn after being laid off.

“I went to church, and that’s where I heard about this program,” she says. “I hadn’t painted professionally before, so it seemed like a good idea to learn something new.”

What Angie had going for her was a good work ethic and the desire to contribute to society, both physically and spiritually. She remembers how hard it was to finish that first room.

“It looks so nice now,” says David. “What took them a month-and-a-half at first, they can do in less than a week. Slowly, but surely, we’ve trained them to industry level.”

Confidence and Success
Proud as she is of the team’s accomplishments, Angie knows the true test is upon them.

“We’re trying to get contracts to paint places outside the church,” she explains. “I’m excited because that means we’ll have the skills to paint anything. I know we can do this, and it’s exciting to have a new trade that keeps me off welfare.”

Wayne says that next step is important, because now that the $60,000 has been spent, he has to earn enough money from outside contracts to pay his workers.

“If that means the church has to take a back seat while the team is out on other jobs, that’s OK,” says David. “Wayne’s got a lot of pressure on him. He has to generate enough work to keep the team employed. But we’re confident that he and the Holy Rollers will succeed.”

With Faith and a Paintbrush

Pious Mangong’s path to Canada was arduous, but he’s learned to roll with the punches both at home and on the job

Pious Mangong loves cleaning. For the refugee who came from southern Sudan in 2005, having a clean workplace was almost as important as the work itself. Problem was, he was part of the Holy Rollers program at the New Westminster, B.C., Salvation Army, and he was being paid to paint.

“Pious loves cleaning so much that we had to constantly remind him his job was to paint,” said Holy Rollers team leader Wayne Tugwood. “Now, I think he realizes he’s a painter first.”

Pious admits he took some time to focus on his new job, but you can never accuse him of not working hard.

“We first met Pious when he came to volunteer at the church,” says Captain David MacPherson, the pastor. “He helped out a lot, and when he applied for the program, we thought he might be a good fit.

“He doesn’t talk much about what happened back in Sudan, but I imagine it must have been very tough for him to be a Christian there.”

For Pious, learning a trade is important, but he’s survived so much more.

A Painter First
Since 1996, he had been trying to leave a homeland ravaged by civil war. He spent two years in Egypt, waiting for a visa to come to Canada.

By the time he got to New Westminster five years ago, all he could find were two manual-labour jobs, one in a wood factory and the second in a chicken-processing plant.

Pious hit a stretch of bad luck when he fell and tore some knee ligaments. After surgery, he soon found himself jobless but not hopeless.

“Because of my faith, I would wake up every morning thinking today was the day I would find work,” he says. “It was hard, but I had my faith.”

Pious didn’t like collecting welfare, but he needed the money to survive. Now that he’s earning a wage, he feels like he can contribute to his new country. And with a confidence born out of surviving everything thrown his way, he can even laugh at his initial painting struggles.

“This room we took six weeks to do. I think we can do it now in two days,” he states. “That’s how far I’ve come, and that’s how far everyone’s come.”

“It might take longer than that,” cautions Wayne. “But it’s great to see how confident Pious is.”

Pious knows that confidence is something he’ll need now that the Holy Rollers are working on contracts outside the church.

“I’m excited, very excited,” he says. “Scared, no, never scared. I wasn’t scared when I was waiting to come to Canada, and I wasn’t scared when I got hurt. It took me a while, but I think of myself as a painter now.”

But then I went to a Sunday morning service at The Salvation Army Bloor Central church in Toronto. I was 53 years old and attending my first church service ever.

No sooner had I walked through the doors when panic overtook me. My chest felt as if it was in a vice, and my breathing became laboured and choppy. My hands were shaking, I was bathed in sweat and I felt sick to my stomach. Why am I here?

Missing Link
Why indeed? I was raised in an angry and dysfunctional family. For my parents, trips to the liquor store were as frequent as trips to the grocery store, and probably more important. I took my first drink at the age of 13, and I was hooked. I spent 40 years trying to quit on my own, but nothing worked. Something was missing.

At 15, I was diagnosed as manic depressive, now called bipolar disorder, and I spent the next few decades in and out of psychiatric facilities, on and off countless medications and therapy up to and including shock treatment. Again, nothing worked. Again, something was missing.

On October 2, 2008, I checked into The Salvation Army’s Homestead treatment centre. It was my first attempt at rehab, and I chose the Homestead for a reason. I was raised to believe that there was no God and that the Bible was a book of fiction. But I’d come to realize that I had been fed a lie and that what I was missing was a relationship with God. I couldn’t stop drinking by my own strength; I needed Someone stronger than me. The Homestead boasted a spiritually-based program, and that’s exactly what had been missing in my life.

Three days later, I attended my first church service.

Another Chance
As I sat in the pew, I was wracked by waves of nausea. My Salvation Army friend who had accompanied me thought I was going to bolt. I was shaking, sweating and quietly sobbing. I can’t do this, my mind screamed.

But in less than 30 seconds, as the pastor started to speak, my fear and anxiety started to dissipate. Major Douglas Hammond’s sermon was on the atheist and the agnostic, which showed how perfect God’s timing was. I felt the pastor’s words were directed only at me.

As the sermon went on, I started to calm down. My breathing changed, becoming measured, slower and deeper. By the end of the sermon, I was drained but I felt amazing. I inhaled the first deep, cleansing breath that I had taken in years. I felt reborn, renewed.

Most important, I felt that God had given me a second chance at life.

A New Life
From that day on, I faithfully attended the Sunday services. Each week, something said in the sermon seemed to refer directly to my life. My sense of calm continued to grow.

I soon began to pray for the first time in my life. At first, the prayers were long lists of things I needed. After a while, though, I recognized how arrogant I was to think I could tell God what I needed. He knew what I needed long before I did, and He’d provided for me all along.

From being someone who’d had an aversion to people, I am now the receptionist for The Salvation Army’s community and family services at Bloor Central. I also volunteer at the “Coffee Corner” at a Salvation Army thrift store and spend time with a group of women at Evangeline Residence to share the benefits of journaling. I’m dealing with the public on a daily basis. And I love it! I’m surrounded by people who care for me and support me, who give me a sense of value and worth, and in whom I trust.
I am growing in my faith and every day is full of blessings.

Today, I see life as a collection of opportunities from God, and it is through these opportunities that I learn
and grow. He provides me with everything I need. My commitment to Him brings me unconditional love, trust and forgiveness. I have peace, contentment and joy. These are my daily gifts.

And I can breathe again.

Dressed in a fashionable chef’s black hat, jacket and slacks, Vipushan Karunanithi prepares five-to-10-course dinners for $75 and up per person in chic neighbourhood haunts in Windsor, Ont. The 41-year-old, whose father was also a chef, loves simple dishes with essential flavours that stand out—jalapeno peppers, cumin and cilantro are part of the preparation—and thinks fresh, local flavours are best.

Still, his latest effort in food—directing the kitchen at The Salvation Army’s Community and Rehabilitation Centre in downtown Windsor—has become the most fulfilling of all.

Photo: Jason Kryk, The Windsor Star. Chef Vipushan Karunanithi serves fresh spinach salad with strawberries at The Salvation Army’s Community and Rehabilitation Centre in downtown Windsor, Ont.

Originally from Sri Lanka, Vipushan has worked in catering for several years. Business has been so good, in fact, that he’d been thinking about giving back. So he talked with Linda Wilson, who directs the Windsor Salvation Army community and family services, when she recently visited the church Vipushan attends.

“This is what I do,” he told her. “How can I help?”

Within days, Vipushan was teaching life-skill cooking classes, showing how to stock a pantry and prepare wholesome meals on a budget. Encouraged to work full-time, he began in earnest, helping prepare 150 meals daily for residents, staff and volunteers.

“I like everything,” a co-worker commented of his cuisine. “It’s the taste. It’s the quality. It’s the look. It’s good.”

Residents think so, too. The hash browns spiced with cardamom are a hit, as is the spinach salad, with strawberries, red onion, olive oil, a little lime and black pepper.

No menu is posted ahead of time—to add curiosity and perhaps a dash of intrigue.

Good food accomplishes good things, Vipushan explains. “If people say they don’t like food, they’re lying. Food is important.”

Life may not give people many choices, but Vipushan believes at least food can be a good experience.
“People are people. It doesn’t matter what you have. It’s what’s inside.”

—Ted Whipp in The Windsor Star

Filling Hungry Hearts and Stomachs

It’s Friday evening in the parking lot of Edmonton’s South Side Memorial Chapel. The night is dark and quiet, populated only by a few figures waiting in the shadows, watching the clock on the chapel’s sign creep to 7:30.

Then, a white van rolls into the parking lot, spilling bright light and a half-dozen yellow-jacketed volunteers from its doors. Folding chairs and tables are set up, and paper cups are stacked next to a carafe of hot chocolate.

It’s suppertime for a group that otherwise might not eat at all tonight.

“It’s heartwarming to pull into the parking lot and see people waiting for us, especially on cold nights,” says Sharon Stam, tending three huge pots of vegetable-beef stew. Sharon is one of more than two dozen volunteers with The Salvation Army’s street ministry program, which hits the streets three nights a week in a rolling kitchen, serving up hearty meals to the neighbourhood’s needy.

The program has been going strong for five years and is still expanding.

Photo: John Lucas, The Edmonton Journal. Tanya Mercredi gets a hot chocolate from Janet Petersen during The Salvation Army’s street ministry to feed homeless people

Janet Petersen, a longtime volunteer who now leads the ministry, credits the growth partly to The Salvation Army’s reputation.

“Over the last five years, we’ve made relationships with the people, and they’ve come to trust us and rely on us,” she says.

Lorne is a recovering drug addict who has lived on the streets for seven years. He’s started to turn his life around by securing a full-time job, but until he starts work he still eats at the mobile kitchen, as he has for the past three years. “They’ve been a big help keeping me alive,” he says. “They’ve kept my hopes up, knowing there’s people out there supporting me, backing me.”

“We try to meet more than just the hunger—if there are other needs, we try to accommodate them,” says Sharon.

So, along with hot meals and bags of sandwiches and granola bars to take away, the ministry provides clothes and items such as toothbrushes and lip balm, as well as a sympathetic ear for people who are often lonely.

Not all of the people the ministry helps are homeless.

“There are lots of people who are working, but don’t have much left over after they pay their rent,” says Janet.

Wayne, a homeless drug addict and one of the ministry’s occasional guests, finds staying in shelters draining and prefers to support himself with panhandling, occasional work and—when he can’t afford meals—a bit of help from The Salvation Army.

“Living on the street is hard work,” he says as he digs into a bowl of vegetable-beef stew. “I needed this. I’m hungry.”

It’s another typical night for Wayne—and for Dave Stam, a lawyer and longtime ministry volunteer. He’s glad to carry on The Salvation Army’s goal of supporting the less fortunate. “This is part of a deeper commitment to our faith,” he says. “Our denomination’s historical roots are in helping our fellow man, and though times have changed, this is an extension of that.”

—Taylor Bendig in The Edmonton Journal