I love the sunrise in the morning because God’s beauty fills the world with sparkling dew drops 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 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 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’s 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.

Brian leads me through the tables, our steps muffled by the high ceilings, through a wooden door that never fully closes, down a short hall with three doors, a bathroom, a cleaning closet, and a clean, spartan office.

In the office, a semi-broken chair sits behind a scared, wooden desk with an ancient, dusty, cob-webbed computer. A donated metal, three-door filing cabinet leans against the wall, containing all the organization’s paperwork.

“What time do you leave for school?” Brian asks while unzipping and then pulling off his pants and underwear.

“I have thirty minutes,” I reply, pulling my hair back into a ponytail.

Brian reminds me of Dad, the same age, strong, caring, and giving. Although never married, he donates his time to our community. He makes this a better world and needs my help with his medical condition.

He sits down in the chair, his erect penis flopping against his left leg, “I have a present for you,” Brian grins, pointing to the bottom desk drawer.

A present? Really? Wow, how did I get so lucky?

The drawer reveals a black kneeling pad, like my mom found for gardening. It will stop the bruising from the bare concrete floor. “Thank you, so thoughtful,” I stammer and place the pad in front of his old, ratty shoes.

Using his knees for support, I lower myself, my knees pressing into the soft material. The cut on my left knee stings, but the soft matt will allow it to heal.

I take his penis into my little mouth. I still have trouble wrapping my mouth around the stiff, warm muscle. I suck and lick his penis as my mind wanders. I have become skilled enough to suck on autopilot.

The first time Brian asked me to help him with his problem, I hadn’t known men got blue balls if they didn’t ejaculate enough. He explained sperm can get painfully backed up and cause serious issues, including sterilization, if not treated. A single man can pay a person to tug them, also called a hand job, but Brian volunteers too much to afford that treatment. ‘Silly Isabella’ said he should masturbate, but how could I allow such a perfect man to go to hell because he can’t afford the medical treatment?

I, of course, immediately helped him, proud and honored he asked me.

At school, I agonized about it. Did I sin? But doctors and nurses see patients naked all the time. I rushed to confess after school. At first, the priest didn’t understand. I didn’t know the proper terms and had to demonstrate. I called it a blue-balling tugging treatment.

He chuckled when he finally understood. He explained that using my hands, while sufficient, might hurt a man’s penis. He had me use my mouth on him and suggested I always do so. Brian liked the idea. While I do not like the taste of a man’s sour cum, it does make less of a mess.

Brian’s penis gives the familiar twitch, and I increase my suction, ready for his cum. He has changed his diet because he tastes sweeter but still sour and foul.

“Thank you, Vivian, your mouth saves me,” Brian gasps down at me.

“Of course, happy to provide a needed service,” I gush.

I take pride in my skills. Dad always tells me, ‘Do your best, no matter what. You honor God by doing your best.”

So many single men get the blue ball condition, so I get a lot of practice.

Brian helps me to my feet and dresses. I put the knee pad back in the drawer for next time, and we walk side by side through the warehouse. Brian walks lighter and with more energy.

“Vivian, we had an extra apple,” Brian grabs a large red apple from a small pile of them and tosses it to me.

I lunge for it, not wanting the beautiful red fruit to fall. My mouth waters as I hold the firm, juicy, sweet, tart, bumpy apple. But I could never take food from those in need, and I bring my arm back to toss it back.

Brian puts up his hands, “It’ll go to waste. And I can’t have apples going to waste.”

“Thank you, Brian, and thank you, Lord, for providing.”

I rub the waxy skin, with only a slight bruise near the bottom and a beige line along one side. The two imperfections make the piece of fruit better and more worthy of eating.

Daddy always sings, “You can’t always get what you want, but if you try real hard, you will get what you need.” I love the songs Dad makes up.

Mrs. Rosewood sits straight in the green flaking wood chair, reading her thick novel. I wish I could read a book that long.

“Have the Marshalls come by,” Brian asks.

“Not yet,” she replies.

“Mmmmm, I hope they’re ok. They’re never this late.”

He cares so much. I glance around for something else to do.

“Vivian, I brought you something,” Mrs. Rosewood digs around her black leather and gold purse.

“Really? Thank you, but I have...” I stop myself before I can say, ‘apple.’ Brian could get into trouble if people found out the staff took food for themselves from the hamper.

I need to give the apple to someone on the street. Callum always needs something to eat. If I see him, I will give it to him.

Mrs. Rosewood pulls out a chocolate bar, a shiny, deep purple, foil bar from a specialty chocolate place that doesn’t need a label.

“I stopped at Ben’s Chocolates yesterday,” she comments while offering me the bar.

I step back. When Mom and I walk past Ben’s Chocolates, we inhale the heavenly, sweet chocolate smells and pretend we can afford to go in and buy one of the little pieces. She always wants caramel, while the honey ginger sounds exotic and flavorful.

“Share it with your parents,” she waves the purple wand.

“Thank you, Mrs. Rosewood,” I stammer. I tentatively touch and take the purple-foiled object. The overhead lights sparkle on the flat purple surface. Mom and Dad will enjoy the special treat with me over the next few weeks.

“Call me Karen, Dear,” she smiles at my pleasure.

“Of course, Mrs. Rosewood,” I agree, staring at the foil-wrapped chocolate. I wonder if it’s pure chocolate or does it have flavor inside?

Mrs. Rosewood smiles and waves me out,” Off to school, Dear, and if you see Ms. Campbell, say hi.”

Principal Campbell, I mentally correct her before casting my eyes down in shame. I should never correct my elders, even in my head. I will need to confess later today.

I do not come across Callum and smile in happiness. I get to keep my apple, although I have to confess my greed.

I hurry to school, hoping Mrs. Foley and I will get to talk about virtues and sins.

She stands in the middle of the hall, with school girls swirling around, holding sheets on the virtue of charity. “I helped at the foodbank this morning,” I say while examining the simple but powerful hand drawing of a tall person holding food out to a person huddled in blankets.

“Good Girl. But be humble, don’t brag, or get too full of yourself,” Mrs. Foley reminds me.

Mary glides past us in a black hoodie covering her head and slouching, causing shadows to cover most of her face. She doesn’t take a sheet.

“It’s a sin to have sex before marriage,” Mrs. Foley comments to the retreating Ma, like how Mom and Grandma say it at family dinners.

“Thank you, Mrs. Foley, for always looking out for our immortal souls.”

‘Blonde Isabella’ and my best friend, Morgan, walk up and take a sheet.

‘Blonde Isabella’ nods, “Viv, do you remember when I gave a beggar guy my sandwich? I felt so good. Thanks, Mrs. Foley.”

Morgan scans the sheet, folds it, and places it between two thick books in her backpack.

I walk with them into Ms. Barrett’s health and wellness class, where ‘Blond Isabella’ sits at the back while Morgan and I sit under my favorite poster, the one with the large red heart, a white cross in the middle, and ‘God loves Everyone’ in gold along the bottom. God loves me, and because his love fills me enough until marriage, I can have a vow of chastity.

“How’s your dad?” I ask Morgan as we pull out our pens and a piece of paper, ready for the day’s question.

“I have a new appetite suppressant you may want to try. I made it last night,” Morgan comments while digging through her backpack for her red pen.

Morgan doesn’t like to talk about her dad and his sickness. She especially doesn’t talk about her mother, who left after he grew sick. Dad says Morgan needs to talk more, so I try every day, but she hasn’t talked about his sickness yet. Mom says to keep trying because friends always help friends.

Her father taught her how to make cool stuff that she sells to support her and her dad. She knows I get hungry sometimes, so Morgan has researched, experimented, and tested appetite stoppers for me. While I don’t need the drug, others do. She can sell lots to overweight people, helping them. I touch her hand and mouth, ‘Thank you’ for caring about everyone.

“Girls, write your questions,” Ms. Barrett Instructs the class.

I stare at the white sheet. So much to ask, too much to ask. However, I must know, “Do girls get blue balls?” I print across the white sheet.

Lately, my kitty itches and swells before bed, similar to how Brian describes his blue balls. While I don’t have balls, maybe girls can get something similar.

I sit straight in my chair and wait for Ms. Barrett to answer our questions. Since she allowed us to ask them, I have learned so much. While the worksheets teach some stuff, the questions give better information, I don’t struggle to understand and finish them on time.

Finally, Ms. Barrett stands, holding the sheets, while the class grows silent.

“First question, is kissing someone on the lips a sin? Yes, it is. Chastity dictates we refrain from any sexual act, and kissing someone is a sexual act.”

‘Blonde Isabella’ puts up her hand.

“Yes, Isabella,” Ms. Barrett acknowledges.

“What about a parent kissing their child?” she calls out.

Wow, great question.

“That is not a sexual act, as affection between parent and child can never be a sin. Only sexual acts are sins,” Ms. Barrett informs everyone.

I knew that, after all, doctors do not sin when they see patients naked, or perform medical procedures on them.

“You cannot get pregnant by a hot dog. I know it’s not a vegetable or fruit, but it does not ejaculate sperm. So, you cannot get pregnant,” Ms Barrett informs the class.

Good to know.

“Please, girls, if you masturbate, clean whatever you use and know that masturbation remains a sin that you also need to confess.”

I nod at her words. I will never masturbate for that reason. The vow of chastity includes masturbation.

“Next question: Can girls get blue balls? Please remember, whoever wrote this, blue is spelled b-l-u-e and not b-l-u,” Ms. Barrett states while glancing at me.

Does she know I wrote it? No, I didn’t put my name on the sheet. She must have randomly glanced at me.

“A girl can get blue vulva or epididymal hypertension.”

A few girls sit up straighter. I grin and peek out the corner of my eye at Morgan. I like my question. A question that Morgan might ask. My chest rises before I remind myself to stay humble, something else I must confess later today.

“For those who don’t know, ‘blue balls’ is slang for a condition where a male’s testicles remain engorged without release. The penis may turn blue if the condition lingers on for long. Hard physical fitness can sometimes help with this condition, but the simplest thing is to get sexual release. It’s rare and generally, not serious for males and even less serious for females.”

I don’t want to disagree with our teacher, however, in my experience, many unwed males, and even some married men, get it. Ms. Barrett likely doesn’t know many men. Good Catholic women like her probably only know students’ dads. She never married. Does she even know what a penis looks like?

“Next question, pigs cannot get you pregnant. They are not the same species as us. And no, just because you call someone a pig does not mean they can’t get you pregnant.”

Who would call a person a dirty, mud-covered pig?

“The herpes virus, HSV-1, can be contracted by kissing. It’s often called the kissing disease.”

The kissing disease? Herpes? I hope I don’t get those. I hate burpees in physical education, which means I would hate herpes.

“Poking holes in condoms will not increase the sexual feeling and will make the condom useless.”

Oh, good to know.

“Sperm cannot swim into your vagina when you are swimming.”

Thank goodness. I worried so much last time Morgan and I went swimming. While Morgan claimed I couldn’t get pregnant, I still stuffed toilet paper in my kitty to stop any sperm from swimming in. The paper, while messy, helped ease my mind, especially when I had to help the lifeguard and couldn’t use my mouth.

“Next question. What are the advantages and disadvantages of incest? There are no advantages and lots of disadvantages. It is a sin for a parent and child to have sex or for siblings to have sex. Do not do it!” Ms. Barrett scolds the class.

That confuses me. Parents don’t sin when they kiss their children, but sin happens when strangers kiss. And people sin if they have sex out of wedlock, but a husband and wife, now family, do not sin. So, how can siblings, and other family members, sin when having sex?

I raise my hand, but Ms. Barrett continues before I can ask.

“Next question. Does sneezing after sex prevent pregnancy? No, it does not.”

How could sneezing stop pregnancy? Silly girls, such a silly question.

“Next question. Will piss in someone’s anus, it’s anus not butt, make it to their stomach? No, the intestines are too long, and everything only flows one way.”

OK, but what about sperm? It can swim, so will it swim up to the stomach? Before I can put up my hand, Ms. Barrett continues again.

“Next question. Is it wrong to fantasize about sleeping with someone you like? You need to push impure thoughts out of your head and make sure you confess to any impure thoughts.”

Oh, but what about dogs and cats? I often dream about having a big, hairy dog or a cute little kitten curled beside me while I sleep. Too quickly, Ms. Barrett continues.

“Next question, Daddy sleeps with his penis in Mommy, is that ok? Yes, a husband and wife can, and are encouraged, to engage in sexual intercourse.”

What a dumb question. Husbands can do anything with their wives.

“Next question. Penises average five and a half inches long and four and a half inches around. The size can vary from only a few inches to many inches.”

I knew that, because I have helped a lot of men with their problems. I also know that some taste better than others.

“Next question, what is the correct age to teach my dog about sex? I don’t think you need to teach your dog about sex; they just know.”

Oh good, I worried about that. We have Ms. Barrett to teach us, while the poor animals do not have any teachers.

“Next question, can you get pregnant in a hot tub? Same as the pool, no.”

But I still don’t understand. Sperm swims, right? So why can’t it swim up a vagina?

“Last question, can a girl get another girl pregnant? No, and same-gender sex is a sin.”

Wow, great questions and answers today.

Ms. Barrett hands out a worksheet titled, “God made man in his image and females from man. You are perfect the way you are.”

I answer the yes and no questions, finding some very hard. I don’t know if the church considers plastic surgery a sin or not. I put ‘no’ if performed by a male, but ‘yes’, if performed by a female. I hope I answered correctly, and I barely finished before the bell ended class.

Morgan and I leave together. We sit beside each other in every class and eat lunch together. She even gives me half her peanut butter and jam sandwich, my favorite type, so I save it for dinner tonight. God has provided breakfast, lunch, and dinner, plus a chocolate treat for the whole family.

Mr. Goddy stands before us, gesturing and talking about Sodom, explaining in detail what happened and why God smote the city. Religious studies class, our last of the day, and my favorite, will often get me flushed and excited to learn more about the Bible. Our kind, wise, passionate teacher always gives us parables and reasons for God’s wraith, proclaiming Hosea 4:18, Galatians 5:21, and First Peter 4:3, as examples from the bible. He often brings in other religious leaders to teach us about their religion.

Last week, we learned about Lutheranism and how Martin Luther founded that religion. Of course, I helped both men after class with their medical conditions while they debated First Corinthians 10:7 and what it meant.

Today, our teacher has a slide show about the virtue of charity, tithing, and putting our trust in God, with visuals about Sodom and their lack of faith. I didn’t fully understand the message, but the small clips of fornication, with contrasting clips of charity, have me flushed and excited to give more. I need to find more time for charity work and convince my parents to tithe more. God has blessed my family with a perfect apartment to live in, great friends to support us, a first-rate school to teach me, and enough to eat, which means we need to praise God more by giving more.