On Thanksgiving at Salt Lake Mission, those in need find a meal and respite
By 9 a.m. on Thanksgiving, the Salt Lake City Mission hall is packed with people and filled with low, thumping music. Kids run around with balloon animals while their parents sort through folding tables piled high with clothes and shoes.
Volunteers navigate the bustling hall with trays full of sliced turkey and mashed potatoes. A mother with two toddlers slips on a new pair of sneakers and chats about her gratitude for God. There are many dogs — some trying to convince their owners to share the turkey.
Every Thanksgiving Day for the past three decades Salt Lake City Mission has served the unsheltered, working poor and people in need of community. For roughly 20 years, they have gathered in this very building off Redwood Road on Salt Lake City’s westside.
“We’ve seen the need,” says Pastor Shawn Clay.
Salt Lake Mission’s founder, Pastor Wayne Wilson, recognized “the need for the unsheltered and even those who have homes, but maybe they’re alone,” Clay explains, “or you know, even families that just want to get out and serve on these holidays and give back to the community.”
With public transportation shut down for the day, The Salt Lake City Mission rents and runs its own bus routes, stopping at the city’s shelters and in downtown to pick people up and offer them a meal and clothes.
There’s enough food for 1,500 to 2,000 meals, says Clay, before he’s interrupted by an announcement booming through the loudspeaker. It’s Clay’s birthday and the hall erupts into cheerful shouting.
A few tables away, Shaun Mauchley sits with a group of men.
Mauchley declines to shake hands because there are gashes in his palms and on the tops of his hands. He explains that he’d lit a fire inside a soda can to stay warm. The can tipped over and his tent caught on fire. But his hands are healing and he recently moved into a shelter. “It’s a good environment,” Mauchley says.
Mauchley is in the hall because here you “don’t have to deal with the cold, you don’t have to deal with where you’re going to go from here.”
Near the back of the hall Katt Roberts, dressed in black leggings and sparkling eye shadow, sits with her dog Tank.
Roberts, 51, lost her apartment at Palmer Court, a permanent supportive housing complex, about about two months ago. She was sleeping outside until the first rain of the season. She woke up in a puddle of water to the sound of Tank’s teeth chattering.
“I looked at him and I said ‘All right, we’ll go in, mama will go in for you,” she said. Roberts is now sleeping at the Geraldine E. King Women’s Resource Center, she said, “just there waiting for housing and surviving.” She worries about Tank, noting that some of his hairs turned gray since sleeping in shelter.
Living in the shelter is difficult for both of them. There’s too many people and you can’t get up and go for a walk in the middle of the night, Roberts says.
“I’m really trying to work on getting my housing but it looks like most of the people are there at least eight months to a year at the earliest before they get housing,” Roberts says, “I don’t want to wait that long. I can’t do it.”
Outside Salt Lake Mission, people sit on the grass and smoke cigarettes, taking a break from the noise and crowd. On Thanksgiving, they can be still and not worry about where they’ll need to head next.
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