Niceol Blue - The Sandwich Christian Christmas

 

 

It's Christmas Eve, and I'm sitting on the sidewalk in San Francisco with my back against a building, wrapped up in a sleeping bag, sniffling with a cold that just won't go away and asking strangers for spare change. San Francisco isn't very warm at Christmas, but it's also not the worst place to be a street kid. There are plenty of squats and couches to crash on, and there's a lot of outreach programs. There are the [unintelligible 00:42:16] Christians, there are the pizza Christians [audience laughter] and there are the sandwich Christians. There's also a lot of other street kids to hang out with. 

 

This Christmas, however, all of my friends had hopped the train east to Vegas, where it was a lot warmer. I was terrified of hopping trains and had chicken out at the last minute. So, there I was lonely, hungry, cold and tired on the sidewalk. I sat there feeling sorry for myself for a while, and then I noticed across the street the sandwich Christian van had pulled up. The thought of a warm toasted sub sandwich and a bowl of soup completely thrilled me. So, I gathered my sleeping bag around my shoulders and crossed the street over to where the sandwich Christians were. They smiled at me, recognized me. As they handed me my sub sandwich and poured me a bowl of soup, they invited me to join them the next day, Christmas Day, for celebrations at their church at their church. 

 

At the word, church, this cold sadness filled my heart. It was the same sadness that had covered me being raised in a very strict fundamentalist Christian family. The same sadness that filled my heart every day when I was told I was wrong, I was a sinner for being who I am. It was the same sadness that was the reason I wasn't home for Christmas. But these sandwich Christians were nice, they were friendly, they were smiling. I was hungry and cold and tired, and I didn't want to hurt their feelings, so I said yes. 

 

That night, I stayed up all night in the 24-hour fast-food joint, trying not to fall asleep over my bag of small fries. And the next morning, I was even hungrier, and more tired and colder as I pulled my sleeping bag around my shoulders and walked up the street to where the church was. When I got to the doors, I could hear voices inside and they were shut. I was suddenly embarrassed and ashamed and I could feel every inch of my dirty clothes, of my duct taped combat boots, of my scuff leather jacket and my flopping over Mohawk and I thought, I don't belong here. This isn't the place for me. 

 

I turned around and I was just about to go when the door opened and a young guy stepped out and he said, “Hey, why don't you come in and join us?” He was nice. I didn't want to hurt his feelings, so I went in. He led me inside to this big room that was warm and filled with people. Everybody was laughing and talking and sitting at big tables that were set for dinner. As the young guy led me to a place at the table, I sat down. And all of the sudden, all these volunteers came in and started serving us, serving me Christmas dinner. There was turkey, there was ham, there was roast beef, there was mashed potatoes, there was cranberry sauce, there was stuffing, there was gravy. 

 

And that's not all. There were three different kinds of dessert. There was pie, there was ice cream, there was cake. I had three servings of the dinner and all the desserts, [audience laughter] and I was so full stuffed and happy. When we were all finished, the volunteers came in and they cleared the tables away, and everybody sat down on couches and chairs around the room. I noticed that there was this big Christmas tree in one corner and in another corner, there was a radio spilling out Christmas songs. There was all these kids running around. I sat on the couch, I noticed that the grown-ups were gathering the kids and shushing them and I thought, oh, here comes the sermon. I steeled myself for it. 

 

But instead of a sermon, this little kid about seven or eight runs over to me with a present in his hands and he handed to me with a big grin. He says, “Merry Christmas.” I took the present and I looked around and I saw that everybody else was being handed presents by smiling kids. I opened up the present, and there was a green hand-knitted woolly cap and matching mittens. I couldn't stop smiling as I put them on and sat there on the couch grinning away and looking around the room at all these happy, happy people and laughter and songs. And the sadness in my heart melted away just a little bit, but something else melted too, it was that judgment that I had carried for protection. 

 

I realized people are people. And these people, these sandwich Christians, hadn't preached at me or judged me or told me I was wrong, but they had warmed my belly, and warmed my hands, and my head and my heart. And for that one night, they made me feel at home.