34
The War Cry | AUGUST 2014
the next morning when the drug
withdrawal kicked in, he became
so ill he had to be taken to the
hospital. The doctors would later
tell him they thought he was gone.
But when I met him he looked
strong, fit and well�groomed.
Although emphasizing the addict's
mantra of taking life a day at a
time, he also spoke of finishing his
GED, finding a job and maybe going
to college.
He confided that this was probably
his longest stretch of sobriety. His
addict father began injecting him
with heroin when he was 11 years
old for reasons Henry has quit trying
to fathom so he can concentrate on
forgiving him.
There were jobs, stints in jail and
treatment programs. But this was
the first time he ever told himself:
"Whatever I have to do, I have to do.
I'm not going back out on the streets."
For many years, he said he would
wake up in a daze on the sidewalks
as Chicagoans bustled to work and
think to himself: "Life is passing you
by." Now, there might still be an
opportunity for him to make a
contribution, "to do what normal
people do," as he puts it.
Williams saw the elements of a
miracle in his story, the hand of
divine intervention leading the
Salvation Army workers to find him.
Captain Powers said a wrong turn
brought her and a co-worker to the
spot where Williams was sleeping
that night as they scoured lower
Wacker Drive for homeless people in
need of shelter. Henry's shopping
cart, overflowing with everything he
owned, caught their eye. He said he
normally kept the cart hidden at night
so nothing would be stolen while he
slept. But that night he left it out.
Later, as he clung to life at the
hospital, Henry found himself
trapped in a highlight reel with his
life flashing in front of him --"the
things I did wrong, the things I
did right, faster and faster, until
the light popped through."
At the end of the light were
the doctors. They asked him what
happened. He said he didn't know.
He told the hospital staff that he
had no family.
Williams said he believed God
intervened that January night
"not just to restore me but to get me
to help other people." He told of
riding the Chicago Transit Authority
to visit a doctor recently and running
across one of his homeless acquain-
tances from the street.
"What you done?" the man
demanded to know.
"I told him I gave up," Henry said.
He heard later the man had checked
into rehab. Henry Williams had found
his purpose in life.
IS THAT HENRY?
About a week after Easter, Dorothy
Cosby, 29, of Richmond, Virginia, got
out of bed around two a.m. with a
sudden urge to Google the name of
her long lost uncle -- Henry Williams.
It wasn't the first time she'd
Henry has quit trying to fathom
what his father did so he can
concentrate on
forgiving him.
Henry applies himself at the Harbor Light Center to improve his prospects.
Reborn,
Reunited,
Repurposed
Henry's niece Dorothy found
her long lost uncle online.