Central Outreach & Advocacy Center

Central OAC

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Do Not Depend on the Hope of Results

by John Ellis, OAC intern

Each morning begins about the same at the OAC.  We gather as a team to pray, celebrate joys, and express concerns.  If nothing else, this morning ritual is a moment to breathe. The afternoons tend towards the unpredictable.  Some days are a breeze, procedures feel light and fluid, and the air in the lobby is calm.  Some are like gravel, with a cluster of frustrations and disappointments underfoot. The factors that determine which way the day goes are lost somewhere beyond my comprehension.  As my first month at the OAC came to an end, I began to consider how we end our days. Shut down your computer and reflect as you let everyone know you’ll see them tomorrow.  Volunteers and staff trickle out of the intake area as they finish seeing guests.  

In the back intake office, there’s a piece of printer paper held to the wall by two pieces of faded masking tape with a message printed on it.  It begins, “Do not depend on the hope of results.”  It caught my eye as we released hands from a prayer circle during one early morning.  At first, it struck me as pessimistic, the notion that the work I was to become a part of would appear worthless at times, that it might seem as if my efforts had no impact at all.  

One afternoon, I signed a Georgia ID voucher for a guest who’d waited two months to receive their birth certificate.  They beamed, let out the tip of a laugh as I handed them the voucher and wished them well on their way out. In moments like that, I feel that good kind of full.  Shortly after though, I served a guest with an air of agitation I didn’t fully understand. When I couldn’t help them in the way they needed, I felt a hollow guilt in my stomach.  

Weeks pass like this, considering the reactions of the people I serve and deeming the day as either good or bad once expressions of ease and frustration were tallied. 12:30 rolls around and I gather my coffee cup and backpack, and wave as I head for the door.  Time and time again my eyes fall upon the message on the wall, “Do not depend on the hope of results.”

Over time, I began to consider the message in its entirety.  The message on the wall goes on to say, “As you get used to this idea, you start more and more to concentrate not on the results, but on the value, the righteousnesss, the truth of the work itself.” It concludes with a reminder that as you struggle less for an idea and more for the people you serve, it becomes more apparent that service is centered around personal relationships.    

Slowly, like drops of water into a paper cup, I felt myself filling with a new sense of purpose in the way I carried out the day to day intake work.  I began to look for fulfillment not from a guest’s thanks and appreciation but more from the simple fact that I’m allowed a few moments to listen and take action for the betterment of another.  

With each passing day, I gather more of an understanding of what the quote means to me and what it reminds me of.  Our services hels alleviate some of the stressors that people experiencing homelessness carry. If, when considering the weight of my efforts here, I think only of the results, discouragement is inevitable.  If, instead, my focus shifts to the worth of the work itself, the knowledge that our efforts play a part in a varying sense of alleviation in the lives of those we serve, it seems more manageable and worthwhile.

Lately, the days go by quickly.  I don’t count the number of guests I’ve served; instead let the value of the work itself resonate within me.  Despite the potential for disappointment, whether or not I feel discouraged is irrelevant. Presence, attentiveness and action is relevant, though, and that’s where I’m choosing to ground myself right now.  I’m grounded with the knowledge that I don’t know everything, but I’m trying. I’m grounded with the knowledge that our work might seem hopeless at times, but it’s not.  

When 12:30 rolls around, I gather my coffee cup and look around the back room.  Once more, I see the message on the back wall. Less of a warning now, more of a reminder.  I wave again, and let everyone know that I’ll see them tomorrow. 

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Our Guests Are Our Teachers

We often get the opportunity to tell our guests’ stories to educate others.  We believe that our guests are the experts on their own experiences and, therefore, are the best teachers about homelessness.  It’s a gift to witness the ways our guests are able to teach others.  Our Main Frame Coordinator, Ahren, recently witness this is a powerful way.

During the March and April Main Frame class sessions we were lucky enough to have some honors students from Georgia State University working with our job readiness students.  Many of these students came from fairly privileged backgrounds and were learning about homelessness and poverty in an up close and personal way for the very first time. Encountering homelessness, poverty, and addiction in such an intimate way is a powerful experience that can make a lasting change in how we view and interact with the larger world.  

One of the GSU students, “Lisa”, wrote me an email about how her experience in the Main Frame impacted her.  She said that when she feels discouraged by the challenges in her own life, she thinks about the folks at the OAC and is reminded of how fortunate she is to have all that she does.  She has even gone beyond this important recognition to reach out to friends and educate them on issues of homelessness in the Atlanta area.

This kind of encounter, the kind that compels action and advocacy, is exactly what we hope for when we bring people into the OAC.  Lisa and her classmates’ recognition of the importance of not only serving and caring, but of educating people on the issues our guests are facing on a daily basis brings me hope for the future.  

If you are interested in learning from our guests, there are many ways to get involved at the OAC.  Visit our Get Involved page or email our Program Director, Chattrelle Gillyard, at [email protected] for more information.

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Small Blessings

by Rachel Carpenter

Over the course of my year as an intern at the OAC, the idea of meeting people where they are has taken on much more weight and meaning than it had previously. It’s no longer an attitude that I take lightly. It’s now a necessary mindset, as every day presents new people and new challenges.

Often when people walk through the lobby door, they are in crisis. Some have just lost their housing, documentation, or support system. Others are fleeing violence and looking for a place that is stable and safe. Still, more are worn down from spending years on the streets and weary from navigating unjust systems and institutions.

If I am not careful, I become overwhelmed by the sheer weight of their needs, but I also have to remember that we all have limits, both individually and collectively. Learning to work within these limits to meet another’s need in a dignifying way is hard and holy work.

One thing the guests have consistently shown me is that even the smallest gestures can be meaningful blessings even in the midst of great need. These moments of blessing manifest themselves in unexpected ways. Recently, as I was completing intake paperwork with one elderly gentleman, I noticed his date of birth matched the calendar, so I excitedly said, “Happy Birthday, sir”. He replied in a pleasantly surprised tone, “You are the first to wish me a happy birthday!”  Even the smallest of sentiments can be dignifying.

Another guest who had been recently injured asked if we had a cane since his last one had been stolen. I unexpectedly found one in the donations, and he replied, “Well, God does provide”. As I listened to one mother of young children who was fleeing domestic violence, I respectfully held space for her pain, knowing that the shelter list and hotline numbers may not be sufficient.

In situations like this, I trust that the Spirit works within the smallest blessings.   At the same time, we have to recognize the ways in which intersecting systems perpetuate homelessness and disproportionately affect vulnerable people. The barriers run deeper than referrals for clothing and vouchers for IDs. However, doing what we can, even on a small scale, can bring us closer to our vision of humility, respect, and dignity.

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It’s a Start

by Louden Young

“It’s a start.”  These were some of the last words I said to the very first guest I worked with at the OAC.  We had spent almost an hour working through what was needed to procure a state-issued ID. He had no documentation; his previous ID, birth certificate, Social Security card, and the rest of his wallet had been taken from him some weeks prior to walking through our doors.  He was patient with me as I fingered my way down the yes/no flowchart which guides volunteers as to what paperwork would be required by the Department of Driver Services. Together, we figured out that he would need a birth certificate, and proof of his Social Security number.  Fortunately, he was in the Selective Service registry, which could serve as proof of his Social Security number. Next, we filled out all of the paperwork the state of New Jersey requires for a copy of his birth certificate, and I let him know about the thirty day turnaround time expected with that request.  Though his initial reaction revealed some frustration for the delay this would put on his plans, he thanked me as he left. I took a moment and a breath, relieved to have successfully seen my first guest on my own. “It’s a start,” I thought to myself.

I often find myself in wonder, at how each day at Central OAC feels so familiar and yet, at the same time, radically new.  I arrange the chairs in the lobby in the same configuration each morning; I fill the water cooler with four scoops of ice from the ice maker; the staff and volunteers meet before the doors open to share joys and concerns and a moment of prayer, every morning.  The intake paperwork is the same, most of the questions we ask the guests are the same, our partner agencies are the same, and the processes we help our guests navigate rarely ever change. In the midst though, the Spirit moves and new mercies come each day. Many of the guests are new to our agency when they walk through the doors, bringing their lives in stories and sometimes, in plastic garbage bags or worn out suitcases.  The weather is different each day, and our guests often bear the signs of its indifference to their exposure to it. The few hours they spend in the OAC often aren’t enough to dry out their clothes or warm the cold from their bones. But we serve them as best as we can; we listen to their stories, and we provide for their needs in that moment, whether it be help obtaining an ID, a referral to one of our partners for clothing, food, healthcare, or job placement, a verification letter for another helping agency, or just a safe space where they can find rest, even if only for a minute.  There isn’t much we can do once they leave our doors, and so we provide them with hygiene items and a small snack to take with them. It’s not much. But it’s a start.

Just last week, the young man I helped that first day on my own came to pick up his birth certificate and an ID voucher.  I recognized him in the lobby and made sure to say hello. He said he finally had everything he needed and was going to go today to get his ID.  I let him know how happy I was for him. He told me that he had a job lined up and a lead on an apartment, and that this ID was the last piece of the puzzle.  He said, “This is the beginning, man.” Of course he is right. My heart is only beginning to make space for all of the guests I meet each morning, and for the volunteers and staff who I have come to admire.  The Spirit is only beginning to move in me as I bear witness to its work in the caring and dedicated service of this center. I am only beginning to understand the impact of this work, the pervasiveness of injustice that make centers like Central necessary, the courage of our guests to come through our doors seeking help and state issued assurance of what should never be questioned, that they are who they are, and that we see them.  And it may not seem like much, a voucher, a referral, a toothbrush, a pack of crackers, a phone to make calls on, a place to receive mail, or even just kind words in a moment of need. But then again, I know what Scripture says the Spirit can do with a little. So at the very least, it’s a start.