“Josiah, come quickly.” Nancy, a volunteer who was in the back of the Relief Bus distributing hygiene kits and socks, was gesturing for my attention. I stopped playing my famous “Soup Song” and followed her up the steps into the Relief Bus. An athletic, 40 something, Hispanic man was in the back of the bus telling Kevin, the other volunteer who was back there, what his most urgent prayer request was.
“I’ve been using for so long and I need a program so badly!” His voice was quivering. His body language was desperate. “Please, please pray that God would save me!”
“Hey man, my name is Josiah. I work here, bro, and I want you to know that God led you to the right place.” I told him we had an office in the front of the bus and that I would love to hear his story. I thanked Nancy for doing exactly what we train volunteers to do, and we walked around to the front of the bus.
As soon as we sat down, his story came fast and heavy. He was a man who needed someone to understand. His name was Joe. He was from Puerto Rico. He started using opiates at a young age and had been using ever since. He fell in love with a woman who challenged him to stop using. She was a drug counselor with 11 years clean. She loved him. One day they were arguing because he wanted to get high and she told him, “maybe someone has to die for you to realize what’s at stake.” She left the building they were staying in and was hit by a car.
Joe, like many other people we serve in the street, has Medicaid. But it is restricted to a certain hospital, which means he can only get treatment at that specific location. The problem is that this hospital doesn’t offer any medical detox. So to get into a detox he needs a letter from said hospital to be approved somewhere else. Joe had been in 3 different detoxes over the last 7 days. Each time he failed to either stay because people were actively using in the detox, he wasn’t receiving enough medicine to counteract the withdrawal, or he ended up not getting approved by the insurance company. He was at the end of himself.
“I know what’s at stake, I can’t keep going on like this!” He showed me the puncture marks in his forearms where he had stuck himself with needles, shooting heroin into his system. He told me that he shoplifts items like shampoo and soap to buy just enough dope to get through another day. Like many heroin addicts, he doesn’t even use to get high anymore. He uses to get “straight.” He uses to stave off the agony of withdrawal.
As I listened to him, I realized there really wasn’t much I could do. I couldn’t fix his Medicaid restriction. I could probably get him into a detox but he wanted a 28 day program which would make it challenging. Then he said this: “I don’t know if the next batch will be my last. I don’t know if God gave me all the chances I have and now I’m on my own. But now, I’m going to be quiet and listen to what you have to say.”
I looked him in the eye and said, “no matter what you’ve done, are doing, or will ever do, I need you to hear me when I tell you that God does not give up on his children. God does not give up on his children. Do you hear me? God does not give up on his children.”
I said it three times. In that moment, I didn’t have any answers, all I had to offer him was hope. It was Saturday, he was determined to get into a detox and rehab that he had already been accepted into, he just needed the letter from the hospital his insurance was restricted to and that wouldn’t happen until Monday. He needed 48 hours. Someone had given him their dose of methadone that morning before coming to the Relief Bus, so he was probably ok until later that day, but after that who knows?
I said it again, “God does not give up on his children.” We walked through a couple different scenarios, but we landed right where we took off, he needed to make it to Monday.
“Do you have a Bible?” I asked.
“No. I told you, I sold everything.”
“Well, let me give you this.” I gave him a gospel of John and a booklet with verses specifically chosen to encourage people struggling with addiction. “When you start to feel that pull, open this up, and call out to God. He’s going to get you through to Monday.”
I prayed for him. I prayed a candid, honest, raw, and desperate prayer because no other prayer would have been appropriate in that setting. When I said “amen,” he looked at me with tears in his eyes.
“I’m going to make it to Monday.”
Grace and Peace,
Josiah
