Chapter 1: Three Hots and a Cot

“What’s MY story?” Andy emphasized “my” and pointed to himself with the hand holding an empty Mountain Dew can.

We had been in the library feverishly working against the deadline for the Foothills Gala application and were taking a break. I realized I didn’t really know why Andy Gibson with a Masters in Business Administration was 700 miles from home running a small ministry in Upstate South Carolina.

“Yeah,” I answered, “What’s your story? You are kind of part of the LOT Project, you know.” Then I asked the question that I’m infamous for, “Tell me, what’s that moment that stole your heart?”

He looked out the window for a second, nodded, and said “Mmmm…” I have only heard Andy start a story like this twice. Both times he was telling me a story about The LOT Project, and both times I ended up in tears like I was watching Lassie re-runs on the Hallmark channel.

“I left home with seven grand in the bank, and I was down to my last $300. It was the January after I got down here. I had rent, health insurance,” he continued down the list that most every middle-class American could go down: car insurance, gas, groceries, etc.  “$300 dollars wouldn’t even cover my school bills,” he said. “I was so mad at God. I couldn’t understand why he would bring me down here to bankrupt me.”

But that day was a Tuesday, and back then Tuesdays were the only days the LOT Project was open for HOPE, our program to feed and give clothing to those in need.

Andy continued, “I was standing at the door greeting people, like I always do, when John walked in.”

John was and is still extremely tall and thin, toothless, mentally unstable, completely loveable, and a regular at The LOT Project.

Andy reached out to shake John’s hand, but John pulled away saying, “Don’t Touch me, Andy! I haven’t showered in three days, I stink, I’m cold, I’m hungry,” but then he said something else that Andy will never forget, “I promise I’m not going to do it here, but I really just want to do something stupid, so I can go to jail and have three hots and a cot.”

Andy shook his head, “This guy wanted to commit a crime so he could have something to eat and a warm place to sleep, and I was the one complaining. All my bills for the month had been paid for. I had at least two weeks before I had to pay anything else; I had gas in my car, food in the fridge, a bed to sleep in, and I was the one complaining.” Andy stopped for a second to wipe his eyes with his thumb.

The following week John brought in a bag of pennies. Andy said he remembers watching John dump the entire bag into the plate where we collect meal tickets. Andy took it to the bank and had it counted; all together it was three dollars and thirty five cents, and only three of those coins were silver.

“And that’s it,” Andy said finishing his story, “ ‘three hots and a cot’ is the reason I do what I do.”