Vivian Gives Everything for Salvation

By: TMax

First version published on StoriesOnline.net

Second and expanded version published on zbookstore.com

Copyright © by TMax - tmax02610@gmail.com

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permission requests, contact Max Thomasson at tmax02610@gmail.com.

The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred. Although, would love it if this actually happened :)

Book Cover by TMax

Second Version edition 2025

Vivian Gives Everything for Salvation

I love the sunrise in the morning because God's beauty fills the world with sparkling dewdrops and green, whispering trees promising a fresh day of making a difference. The golden red sky leads me to my place of giving. Daddy says if you give away everything, God will give you everything you need.

Every Wednesday morning, I volunteer to give out food hampers. The run-down old warehouse sits in a broken neighborhood with people who need our help. The beaten door creaks and groans, and a waft of ripe and rotten fruit greets me. Solid, old, grey fold-up tables cover the expansive space piled with food, separated by type.

Three of us wake up at dawn to make up the hampers. The night crew receives the food and puts it out for Brian to catalog and design hampers for the unfortunates in the area. We place the food items in mismatched leftover cardboard boxes for pickup later.

I enjoy reading and following the pick list, sorting through the piles, discovering new types of food and flavors, and filling the boxes. Each box represents someone's life for another week. Each hand-picked item shows my love for a needy child or parent.

 

“Did you have breakfast?” Brian asks with his body hidden behind large boxes of discount crackers.

“No, I’m not hungry,” I respond, praying my stomach growl stays within me.

Mom and Dad work hard but can’t earn enough for three daily meals. I only eat one meal, lunch, allowing a bit more food for Dad, who needs it for the demands of his construction job.

Food banks helped our family when we had nothing.

“Have you finished the Richardsons’ hamper?” Brian shouts.

I hold up the sheet as I rummage through the pile of expired and dented cans of beans. I find a bacon tomato, I know all three kids will enjoy, so I pull out my marker and carefully black out the expiration date. I glance at Brian, who unloads a box of macaroni and cheese before I slip an extra can into the box. ‘Please, God, allow this to be, ok?’ I pray silently.

Most families I will never meet, but I suspect most have the same problems as the Richardsons: recent divorces, abusive situations, job loss, or tragic deaths in the family.

I finish my tenth hamper, the Jones family, as Mr. Jones waits at the pick-up location.

“Thank you, my family appreciates it,” he gushes to Brian and me.

He wears a suit and a nice watch. People will often dress up to get the hampers. Some people don’t like receiving charity.

“No tuna? My oldest daughter only eats tuna for protein,” he comments while rummaging through the hamper. “I will trade you this tin of Spam for tuna,” he says and holds up a large red-labeled tin.

Dad brought home a can of Spam last week. The meat made me thirsty, but tasted so good that I wanted a second helping, and I almost said, “Yes,” when Dad asked. We were so lucky that Dad's co-worker gave him the tin.

“Vivian, we have a couple of tins of tuna in the Peterson's hamper. Let's swap the two,” Brian comments while making notes in his logbook.

It used to bother me that people wanted to swap. Why couldn’t they show gratitude instead of demanding something else? Now I understand. It makes sense that people exchange something they don’t eat for something they can when we have too little food to waste.

I switch the tins. I also love tuna. Mom bought some for my birthday last year. We opened it on the table, the fishy water dripping on my table. Dad laughed, saying it reminded him of Mom. It did, and the fresh smell, flaky texture, and dry, wet meat reminded me how much Mom loves me, taping her shoes instead of getting new ones to buy the tuna and get me a new school shirt. God always gives you what you need, and in my case, two parents who love me unconditionally.

I have only two more hampers to finish. I glance around at the heaped food tables as I pretend to pick each item for Mom and Dad. ‘Extra Cheesy for an extra special Mom,” I whisper. ‘Hearty Soup, for my hearty Dad.’

“What?” Brian asks from behind me. Startled, I drop the can of soup, denting the lid while it rolls under the table. I scramble for the can while Brian chuckles behind me. Blushing, I avoid Brian, quietly finishing up the hampers.

“Mrs. Rosewood, can you watch the front? Vivian and I have paperwork in the back.”

Mrs. Rosewood smiles at us and returns to reading her book. Three days a week, she helps here, and sometimes, she brings her friends to help. The old ladies always sing when sorting the food and gossip when waiting for pick-ups. I find it impressive, and Dad agrees that these ladies give their valuable time, as an hour of their time equals five or six of ours. I want to stay and talk with Mrs. Rosewood, as her frank, honest insights into people have helped me learn so much.