sister, can you spare a ride?

i was coming out of domino's pizza, and there he was. jerry. a former classmate of mine. i almost didn't recognize him ~ his hair is very long and, like mine, is starting to gray. he's so thin, but then again, he always was wiry. i made eye contact with him and put up my hand to wave. he stared at me, intently, and asked, "smitty?".

yes, jerry, it's me.

jerry was drunk. not fall-down drunk, but he was pretty wasted. he was trying to maneuver a rickety old bicycle and simultaneously carry the case of beer that he had just bought at the speedway gas station. i asked him if he was okay, and he said he needed two dollars.

"i only have a five, jerry. it's yours if you need it."

he takes the money and says that what he really needs is a ride ~ his buddies are drinking about a block away and he has been sent on the latest beer run.

"smitty, if the cops catch me drunk on this bike, with this beer, i'm in big trouble."

"get in the car, jerry."

now, i have to admit, at this point, part of me is wondering what the heck i'm doing. but i silently throw up a quick prayer and tell god to be my co-pilot for the next couple of minutes.

you see, jerry has been in prison...several times. he is also HIV positive (although some maintain that he has full-blown AIDS). whether this is the result of his intensive drug use or devastating events that happened to him in prison is anybody's guess. and while we shouldn't judge someone by his outward appearance, jerry definitely looks the part of a junkie ~ a poor soul whose body has been ravaged by drugs, alcohol, and life circumstances too horrific to imagine.

so, jerry loads himself and his case of beer into the back seat of my car. he leaves the bike by a lamp post in the speedway parking lot.

"smitty, we used to play in your back yard together, didn't we?"

"yes, we did jerry. those were some good times."

"i really need to talk to you, smitty. can i have your phone number?"

"call the church, jerry. they will put you in touch with someone who can help."

"but i want to talk to you."

"i'm sorry, jerry, i can't give you my home phone number."

i feel bad about this, but common sense says that there is no way i can give him my home phone number. in all honesty, it's a safety issue.

within no time, we reach his destination.

"just pull up the alley here, smitty. those are my buddies."

so up the alley i go, and there they are ~ about ten very inebriated shirtless and tattooed men.

"don't worry smitty, they won't hurt you."

now, this statement throws me. i'm not scared at all. his friends could care less that i'm there. they just want their beer, i'm sure. it's not like i'm getting out of the car...i'm just dropping off the guy they sent on a run. but there's something almost protective in jerry's voice. like he genuinely appreciates me giving him a ride, and he would never let anything happen to me.

then he said something that broke my heart:

"jodi, hurry and get out of here. i wouldn't want anyone to see you in this alley with ME."

oh jerry.

"just call the church, jerry. please. here's the number."

this whole scenario didn't last more than three minutes, but it has left me thinking about hope. is jerry beyond hope? i mean, really...it would take an ABSOLUTE MIRACLE for him to 'make it'. is it possible that he could have ever had a moment of sincere interaction with christ and known him, even if it was only for a second? is he doomed to hell? do miracles still happen? how am i, or anyone else for that matter, supposed to help him? 'cause i don't think i can help him.

what do we do about all of the jerry's in the world?