For Better or For Worse...

As I said before, every relationship has its ups and downs, and last Wednesday night was a difficult night for me and the shelter.

First of all, I was unusually tired as I arrived for my shift. The past week had been chaotic, and I was definitely on the verge of not going to the shelter at all. But then something my Dad said to me a long time ago came to mind. "No matter how bad you think your life is, you can bet that someone else's life is worse. Help them out and both of you will feel better." I knew that there were people in that shelter whose week had been far worse than mine, in ways that I didn't even want to imagine.

I arrived to the shelter and started to check in the women and children. I was chatting it up with the women, breathalyzing as I went. By the way, there is no non-awkward way to give someone a breathalyzer. So, acting as if it is a normal, everyday occurrence that happens in all conversations, I just continue listening and talking as if nothing is out of place.

I know the regulars well. Kenitra and her two kids (who are chasing each other around the room). Check. Jannette. Check. Barbara. Check. Janette. Check.

And the newbies, like Valerie and her two-month old baby (so precious).

Classes start at 8. I usually watch the younger kids while their moms are in class. That night was no different. I watched Kimone (pronounced "key-money") and Tay, ages 1 and 2, respectively.

About thirty minutes later, I was about to cry out of sheer frustration (and the bleeding scratch on my face). Both boys were crying (well, more like wailing and screaming), and I wanted to join them. Kelley, my manager, came downstairs asking if I was okay. I said I was frustrated but fine--attempting to teach a lesson in sharing. He understood immediately. He offered his assistance until their mom got back from class. I was infinitely grateful and exhausted.

I went back into the office to talk to Rhonda. She told me that the new woman, Valerie, had left with her two-month old baby. We were both concerned--it was a cool and rainy night. Where did they go? I could only pray they had family or friends around the area. I didn't want to think about that baby living on the streets. No way. I couldn't handle it. I was already tired and still bleeding a little.

Kelley looked at my face and said, "Please go home. I've got the rest of the night covered." Without a word of resistance, I breathed a heartfelt "Thank you." He walked me to my car, and I went home. Grateful, more than ever, to have a home to go to.

The People

After my first actual experience working at the shelter, I came home crying. They were both tears of joy and of sadness. I do not know how to articulate the emotions I felt after that night. The experience was so highly spiritual and emotional, I fear words may taint it. But I shall try to recount what happened:

My second night at the shelter I was an official "intake host." My job was to make sure every single person signed up for their bed, a chore, and whether or not they needed a brown bag breakfast and lunch for the following day. It's like a meet and greet with a breathalyzer. And I loved this position; it was perfect for me. I am a naturally gregarious, and sometimes, obnoxiously friendly person. I can't help it. I am that girl who smiles at every person I pass on the sidewalk or in the mall. Kelley, my supervisor, told me this was an opportunity to "offer hospitality to those who may have long been without it. " This was more important to me than helping these people with their physical needs. I wanted to see them as people, with emotional and spiritual needs, just as everybody else.. Mother Teresa once said, "Being unwanted, unloved, uncared for, forgotten by everybody, I think that is a much greater hunger, a much greater poverty than the person who has nothing to eat." I smiled at everyone who walked through the door. Asked each person how their day had been. Many were very happy to answer, some were not. That's how it goes. But I met some very interesting people that first "official" day. Allow me to introduce some of them:

George...the first smiling face I saw on my first day. George is on full-time staff, and he is wonderful at what he does. He is one of the most patient men I have ever met. He can cool a potentially hostile situation with carefully chosen words and maybe a joke thrown in at the end to lighten the mood. I love to talk to George about the ministry, how he got there, and why he loves it so. He obliges.

Mike... He was the first person George introduced me to. He has been a regular volunteer for almost a year. He knows what's going on...all the time. If there is a problem, question, or concern: Get Mike. He knows. I was intimidated by his 6'4" broad frame, bald head, and serious face, but I beamed up at him anyway and offered a friendly, "Hey!" He offered a half grin and a somber, "Hi." I think he finds me annoying.

Rosalyn ("Ros")... She made a quiet first impression. We chatted about her son and her day job. I was thinking that her son was probably 8 or 9 years old, assuming she was in her early to late thirties. But alas... her son is 22! And I had not a clue! Flabbergasted, I blurted, "How old are you then?" There goes the filter between my brain and my mouth again. Jeez. Embarrassed, I apologize, but she answers gracefully, "52" and smiles. "You have got to be kidding me!" I exclaim, laughing. "I thought you were 32!" She just laughed, but looked pleased. I was thankful (because that foot in my mouth was beginning to hurt), and told her I would only be so lucky to half as good as she does when I'm her age.

Richard... He is one of the most kind, gentle men you'll ever meet. With a soft voice that kind of resembles Winnie the Pooh, Richard was very friendly and helped me get my footing at the shelter. We had some time to talk when the residents were in their Wednesday night classes, so I asked Richard about his life. The answer I got was the coolest answer I've heard in a long while. Richard lived outside of the US for over half of his life (he is probably in his late 50s), working as a missionary. When he was in Italy, he met his wife there and married her. Together, they traveled to over 6 different countries, living in each for various lengths of time. In the course of their missionary journeys, he and his wife had 8 children. Yes, 8! He said his youngest is 10 years old and his oldest is 32 years old (who just recently got married). From that point on, I knew Richard and I would be great friends. He is chock full of wisdom but is so unassuming and humble.

Rhonda... the main coordinator of the women and children's section downstairs. She is also full-time staff. A very petite woman, no taller than 5 feet, Rhonda may seem fragile, but this woman is an ox. Feisty when she needs to be, but very friendly, I knew we would also get along well. She immediately took me under her wing, and I followed her around like a little puppy, taking mental notes like crazy. I learned quickly, if George doesn't know something, Rhonda does. She is also one with answers.

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As I followed Rhonda around, I introduced myself to all of the women residents and asked their names. I tried to remember each one, but I ended up only remembering a few. The ones I remembered, I wrote down later that night to pray for specifically.

Tiffany was one young woman that stuck out in my mind. I actually didn't know she was a girl when I first encountered her at dinner! She had come in late (dinner starts promptly at 7 p.m., and sometimes a little before--and the food goes fast!), but George always wants to give everyone who is willing to come a chance to have a warm dinner, at least. At some point, he asks her if she needs a place to stay for the night, and if she would like to join our "stepping stones" program. Tiffany agrees to both propositions. As she is finishing her meal, Rhonda and I spring into action. We grab her new sheets, a bathroom kit (complete with all basic toiletries), and a blanket for her bed--all of which were donated by the community.

Tiffany is around my age... probably in her early 20s. And, now in a shelter. I wondered how she got there, but I didn't ask, for some reason. Maybe that would have turned her away; I'm not sure. Tiffany has a very rough exterior... like I said before I thought she was a man before I met her. But as I talk to her, she is very sweet. Who knows what circumstances brought her here, but I'm very glad to have met her. She writes in her journal every night. I love that because I do too. We bonded over our shared love of writing. I realized then that if our situations were reversed, or I had gone through the things she has gone through, I could just as easily be the one sleeping in a homeless shelter. After about half of an hour of talking, I felt like we had bonded. Hers was a name I would remember.

I absolutely adored everything about that ministry and everything about my first official night as an "intake host." I would definitely be back the next week and the weeks after that. And one thing I knew for sure: I have found where I am happy. I could quit all of my carefully laid out plans of college, grad school, and travel, do this for the rest of my life and be perfectly content. I have fallen in love. But just like any relationship, I know there will be times of frustration, of apathy, and of discouragement. I can only hope I will remember the way I felt after that first night at the shelter. The deep love and joy that it brought me, not because of all the "help" and "acts of kindness" I was so gracious to give, but because of the way the people touched my heart, the way they gave me advice and have a wisdom that I do not possess.

Who knew I would fall so fast? I certainly did not.

The Shelter

Instead of my usual grimace and impatience in the midst of honking horns and stand still 5 o'clock traffic, I sang joyfully like a boy in glee club and smiled at other fellow travelers parked on 575. I was going to the shelter for the first time.

As I drove into the shelter's parking lot, men and women were all standing outside of a small, faded brick building with a paper sign stuck above the door that had "shelter" printed on it. Not sure where to go, I pulled into a spot directly in front of the building. The people standing outside noticed. They stared suspiciously at me. My confidence and excitement wavered--no, not wavered--completely packed up and vamoosed. My now damp palms gripped the steering wheel harder and my throat tightened. The men looked away, not caring who I was, but a few of the women continued to stare. Oh, no. Why am I here? After the three second panic, I put on a brave face and got out of the comfort of my car. Nervously walking up to the building, I looked around to see a friendly, welcoming face. There wasn't one.

I stood awkwardly in the parking lot, not knowing what to do. Then I saw a man and a woman get out of their car with lots of stuff. They walked confidently up to the building and talked to the man with a clipboard (I had not seen him before when I was Awkward McAwkwardness). I followed. The man, Bob, and the woman, Marianne, his wife were all smiles and super nice. George was the man with the clipboard. Introductions were made. Hands were shook. I was in. My confidence began to creep its way back and I smiled more confidently, and the boy in glee club began to hum loudly in my head.

I followed my new acquaintances into the building. The door squeaked open and my nostrils were assailed by a musty odor. I ignored it and smiled at the staff standing behind the counter. Bob clasped me on the back and announced, "Rosie, we've got another one." Then Roselyn, a woman with spiky hair and large, dangling earrings, handed me a clip board and said, "Oh wow! Another volunteer? It's our lucky night! Sign in and put 'Host' in the position column." Obediently, I did as I was told, having no clue what I had just enlisted myself for. Roselyn immediately started explaining the role of the host and the process of how each person must sign into their assigned bed, sign up for specific chores, and say if they will be eating breakfast in the morning. I listened attentively, thinking this wasn't the "tour" I had been anticipating. This was training! But I was attentive, as I wanted to be prepared for my job. I looked to Bob, crinkling my nose, with a bewildered look, saying, "I've never been to this campus before. Am I supposed to be doing this?" After a short conversation, I was following Bob and Marianne to the Jackie's, the volunteer coordinator's, office and knocked. Jackie opened the door with a big smile. I was finally where I was supposed to be.

I was again shaking hands with Jackie and the two other women who were there. We were ushered into a bigger room where a whole family (mom, dad, and three kids), a younger man, and another woman joined us. Jackie took us around campus showing us the kitchen, the clothes room, the classrooms, the clinic, and then the actual shelter. She talked us through the whole program. This was not a normal shelter. It was actual help.--a program to break the cycle of poverty and homeless--not a crutch and not an enabler. There were rules to be followed, but all were voluntary. If you wanted help and you wanted to get out, this could definitely be your chance.

After an hour and half of walking and talking, we were finished. I gave Jackie my information, what days I could work and what I wanted to do, and that was that. My first day at the shelter was over, and I was already in love.

The Beginning

Here's the deal.

I was tired of my selfish life.
I wanted to get involved with some sort of community outreach.

And that's when I remembered MUST. About four months ago, I had toured this non profit organization on a class field trip. We were there to see the in's and out's of how a non profit organization is conducted. Specifically, I remembered a story that Mary, the woman who gave us the guided tour, told our group. A student had asked what had spurred her to become a regular volunteer and eventually as full-time staff. She then told us the story of Maddie.

MUST has a Summer Lunch Program, where volunteers and staff make hundreds of sack lunches to deliver to children who would normally get a free lunch from school. Since school is out during the summer months, many of those kids don't get a lunch at all. One day when Mary was out delivering sandwiches, she saw a little girl (about 7 or 8 years old) eat half of her sandwich and stow the other half of the sandwich away in her bag. Mary asked the little girl her name.

"Maddie," she said.
"Why didn't you eat your whole sandwich, Maddie?"
"I'm saving the other half for dinner."

As Mary finished retelling the story, she had tears in her eyes. I did, too. That's when I knew I wanted to be involved in this ministry.

Five months later, I applied to Must Ministires.
Now I'm a regular volunteer.

That's how this crazy journey started. I'll share with you some of my experiences and some of the lessons I've learned along the way.