The Thanksgiving blessing started when I was suddenly released from work, so my family with three college students sought to find a “soup kitchen” to help out.

We found instead, through a local motorcycle group, a lone “handy man,” who had converted a panel van into a mobile kitchen.

Every week Rusty Whitney cooks enough to serve 100-plus people, and he is assisted by his family and his friend, Danny Phillips, to help serve folk who don’t have food. Or a table to put it on. Or even a roof over their heads.

Rusty said my call was an answer to a prayer, as his wife was going to be gone celebrating Thanksgiving with her family, and he was down to Danny and his daughter and son-in-law to serve everyone.

Our first parking lot was near a park in Little Five Points. It was the “family” of homeless at Little Five Points that lost their dear friend, Dean, who was drowned seeking shelter in a culvert five days prior.

Rusty led the eulogy and mourning, as Dean was a genuine friend who had given Rusty a teakettle and pictures over the years, articles that Rusty used to help their “family” focus and deal with their grief.

I was in awe as I watched Rusty’s and my daughters comfort the grief stricken.

After the Little Five Points stop, we followed Rusty’s van to the Blood and Fire homeless shelter. The shelter’s population has been reduced to just a few of the most desperate families because the water has been shut off for months because of lack of funds. The vital building and ministry is led by a handful of selfless volunteers.

Fonda Watson explained the building was saved three weeks prior because a church in Morrow donated enough money to get electrical power restored.

Because there were less than expected numbers at Blood and Fire, Rusty decided to add a stop in South Atlanta, so he would not return home with his Thanksgiving feast.

Beneath a large billboard, we set up the tables and stood behind the containers of turkey, ham, and dressing that Rusty had spent the week cooking. I thought we had made a mistake. The parking lot was empty, but Rusty said, “Build it and they will come.”

Within a few minutes the trickle of men and women had become a steady stream, and within 45 minutes we had served more than 50 people and run out of food. Obviously, the homeless communication network is sound.

At this last “no-notice” stop I was surprised at the additional requests for shoes and coats. Normally Rusty has a closet in his truck of extra clothes, but his supplies are low and he had none. Were my size 13 shoes a size 14, I would have given them to the man staring at them. My three additional pair of tennis shoes in my closet suddenly became superfluous.

Our entire family had the same feelings, and despite “cleaning out” for Katrina victims, we promised to empty our closets of coats, blankets, gloves, and give them to Rusty.

We came home with blessings that exceeded the many satiated homeless served that day. Their invisibility gained faces, voices, and stories. And their safety net was not the government, but a single modest handy man with strong Christian convictions to make a difference.

I wish I had room to write about the impact this selfless man of very modest means has had in making our community humane. But I don’t. You can find out about his InnerMission by writing him at roywhitney@hotmail.com, or calling 404-502-1976.

Stalker Reed
Peachtree City, Ga.

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