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Our Turnaround Thanksgiving
Ivy Olson
from Chicken Soup from the Soul of Hawaii

Who was the grandmotherly stranger that fed us on Thanksgiving--and changed our lives?


On Thanksgiving Day, I awoke on the mattress that I shared with my two young children and tumbled into despair. At the time I was 25 and recently divorced. It was three days to pay day and there was no money left. I had a job but was only making $300 a month, and that month's entire paycheck had already gone to pay for the apartment and food for my little boys. I had swallowed my pride and applied for food stamps, but had been turned down because I made two dollars over the monthly limit.

On that Thanksgiving Day, there was nothing left to eat in the house but three hot dogs. Perhaps hardest of all was my feeling of isolation. There were no friends to help. No one had invited us to share the holiday dinner. The loneliness was worse than the ever-present hunger. But it was Thanksgiving, and for the sake of the children I knew I had to make the best of the day.

"Come on, boys," I said. "Today's a special day. We're having a picnic!"

Together the three of us went to the park and cooked the hot dogs on the grill. We played happily together until late in the afternoon.

But on the way home, the boys asked for more food. The single hot dog they had eaten did not come close to being a decent meal. I knew they were hungrier even than they let on.

I tried to joke about it with them, but inside, I was very, very scared. I didn't know where our next meal was going to come from. I'd reached the end of my rope.

Nothing Beats "Grandma's" Cooking
As we entered our apartment building, an old woman I'd never seen before stepped directly into our path. She was a tiny thing wearing a simple print dress, her wispy white hair pulled up in a bun. With her smile of greeting, she looked like a kind-hearted tutu, an island grandmother. "Oh, honey," the old lady said as the boys and I started to walk past. "I've been waiting for you. You left this morning before I could catch you. I've got Thanksgiving dinner ready for your family."

Nonplused, I thought that I shouldn't accept such an offer from a complete stranger. With a word of thanks, I started to brush past.

I looked at my boys. Their hunger tore at me. Even though it was against my better judgment, I accepted.

The old lady's apartment was on the ground floor. When she opened the door we saw a beautiful table set for four. It was the perfect Thanksgiving meal with all the traditional trimmings. The candles were lit and it was obvious that guests were expected. We were expected.

Gradually I began to relax. We all sat down together to enjoy the meal. Somehow, I found myself talking freely of my loneliness, the difficulty of raising two small boys by myself, and of the challenges I was facing. The grandmotherly woman listened with compassion and understanding. I remember I felt that for that time, at least, we were home.

As the evening ended, I wondered how could I possibly express my thanks for such incredible kindness. Eyes brimming, I simply said, "Thank you, I know that now I can go on." A complete stranger had reached out and given our little family such an important gift. The boys were grinning from ear to ear as the elderly lady loaded them down with Tupperware bowls full of leftovers.

We left her apartment that evening bubbling with joy, the boys joking and laughing. For the first time in a long time, I felt certain that I could face what had to be faced. I was a different person from the scared girl I had been that morning. I'd somehow been transformed. We all had.

A Temporary Tenant?
Early the next day, in a happy mood, I went back to visit my new friend and to return the borrowed bowls. I knocked, but there was no answer. I looked through an open window. What I saw shocked me. The apartment was completely empty. There wasn't a stick of furniture. There wasn't anything.

I hurried down to the manager's apartment. "What happened to the elderly lady in apartment three?" I asked.

He gave me a look and said, "What lady? That apartment's been vacant for the past 10 or 12 weeks.

"But I had Thanksgiving dinner last night with the lady who lives there," I told the manager. "Here are her bowls."

The manager gave me a strange look and turned away.

For many years, I didn't tell anyone the story of that special Thanksgiving. Finally, in 1989, I felt compelled to speak out. By then, I had become the wife of the Kahu Doug Olson, Pastor of Calvary by the Sea Church on O'ahu.

I went before the congregation and told them of my dream: to establish a program to help women in Hawai'i who find themselves in a situation similar to the one I had faced so many years ago.

Creating a 'Network' of Angels
Now, over a decade later, the Network has helped over 1400 homeless, single mothers and their children to get back on their feet. After "graduation," a remarkable 93 percent of the families continue to support themselves. Last year's budget, which is funded by state, church and private monies, was $700,000. I really surprised myself by telling the congregation my entire story that day, but I think it was meant to be. In the end helping the homeless with money and food is only secondary.

What I learned on that Thanksgiving Day, is that an hour of being loved unconditionally can truly change a life. In the end, it is all that we can give.

And the name of the organization? Angel Network Charities, of course.

Mrs. B's Thanksgiving Surprise
By Suzanne L. Helminski
from Chicken Soup for the Christian Soul

Help carry one another's burdens
and in this way you will obey the law of Christ. -- Gal. 6:2


Todd Zimmerman was not altogether happy to be working on Thanksgiving Day. As one of a skeleton staff of five manning the State of Maryland's EBT Help Desk (the state's alternative to food stamps), the morning seemed to stretch on. As lunchtime approached, it was hard not to fantasize about the feast his family was preparing, and the laughter and stories that would be told. Before his lunch break, a call came in from an elderly woman who was obviously distressed.

"I was at the grocery store buying food, but my purchase didn't go through!" she said. "The clerk said the transaction was denied."

Todd knew the questions to ask, and it wasn't long before he diagnosed the problem: the woman's temporary card had expired. Apparently she hadn't understood that she needed to obtain a permanent card.

"Oh, but...but I hadn't collected my $10 from October either! I purposefully left it on account to put together with this $10 for a Thanksgiving dinner."

"I'm sorry," Todd said sympathetically. "Do you have any food in the house?"

"No...not really, I was saving up for today, you see. My family thought they were going to be able to come, and I wanted to have a nice meal for them. But something came up, and they can't make it." There was a catch in her voice. "I guess it's just as well."

After she hung up, Todd couldn't get her off his mind. He realized that because of the error this woman, whom he knew only as "Mrs. B," would not only be alone, she'd also go hungry on Thanksgiving Day, all for want of $20. Determinedly, Todd called the grocery store where the woman's transaction had been denied, his own credit card at the ready.

Sorry, they said, no phone orders. And they didn't deliver, and couldn't make an exception today of all days. They also had a skeleton crew and more customers than they could handle.

Lunchtime came. Todd suddenly didn't care that he was eating cafeteria food. Two of his coworkers, Kim Twito and I, took lunch with him, and together we vowed to do whatever we could to solve Mrs. B's problem.

Back at the help desk, we let our compatriots, Julie Simon and Mark Liessmann, in on the dilemma. Working together, we felt we could surely staff the phones while finding a Thanksgiving dinner for Mrs. B.

Unfortunately, by then, virtually every grocery store in Mrs. B's county was closed or closing. None would deliver.

Exhausting the Yellow Pages, one of our coworkers thought of Chesapeake Beef, a grocery store with which EBT had a high volume of business and a good relationship.

Chesapeake Beef was closed for Thanksgiving.

"The owners, Stas and Mary Witezak, are very nice people," I said. "They might know of a local store that's open. I bet they wouldn't mind if I called them at home, even if it is a holiday."

"I'm sorry," said Mary, "I can't think of any open stores. But you know what? I have a better idea. It sounds like Mrs. B lives about 15 miles from here. We've finished our dinner, but we still have plenty left! Let us bring Thanksgiving to her. I'll put the kids to work making a special card while Stas and I get together a meal. Oh - but please let her know someone is coming. We're unexpected strangers, and we don't want to frighten her."

This was easier asked than accomplished. EBT didn't have Mrs. B's phone number, which was unlisted. However, the telephone operator was willing to call Mrs. B and ask her to return a call to Todd at the Helpline.

When a confused Mrs. B called back, Todd simply told her that friends were coming with a surprise.

Several hours later, Stas Witezak called in. "Thanks so much for giving our family the opportunity to make a difference in someone's life," he said. "Mrs. B very much appreciated the food, but what really touched her were the cards the children made. She nearly cried when she read them. Her response was to ask if she could hug them - and they happily let her."

Mrs. B called back, too. She thanked everyone involved in her Thanksgiving surprise.

When our shift ended, the five of us who had reluctantly come to work that Thanksgiving bade each other farewell with a smile. Though we didn't say it, we were all recalling Mrs. B's words: "I've always been a Christian - but now I know for sure there is a God!"

"Happy Thanksgiving!" said Todd as we parted ways. And in fact, it had been the happiest Thanksgiving of all.