“Why are you so determined to help me?”

The words echoed in Jeremy’s head as he brushed his teeth that night, watching the snow fall outside the darkened window of his third story room. Though he had an apartment of his own downtown, the Mission still let him use room 339 on nights when the Mission opened itself up as a cold-weather shelter. It helped to have someone on call who could quickly respond if there was problems, which there sometimes were: fights, or worse.

Jeremy was fond of room 339, with its broken ceiling tile and light switch that never quite worked right. It brought back memories for him. Memories of freezing nights spent shivering in an alleyway, trying to get the needle in his arm for one more fix. Memories of the hand that had reached down and pulled him up from the darkness.

Even now, many decades later, he still remembered those terrible times. Every night he spent in this room was a reminder. “Look upon the ones you serve,” it said. “There, but for the grace of God, go thee.”