by Cat Perkins
Patience.
Take a breath.
Listen.
Smile.
“How are you today?” I ask.
My heart pulls in dread and anticipation, hoping and praying that they feel ok.
Our guests are not pretenders. There is no reason to pretend when you live on the street, when your address is almost always at risk of changing.
“I’m okay today.”
“I’m really tired.”
“A little frustrated.”
“I’m hoping you can help me…”
These are a few common responses. There is no reason to pass the question by, when someone finally offers the space for release.
We recently changed our intake process, allowing fewer people in our doors at once, so there is now a bit more space for talking and sharing. When a guest sits down, there is no definitive time limit, no reason to rush them through, so they often begin to share. They tell me of what pains them, what makes their burden heavy, and many are very honest and tell me how they got to the place they’re in. The complicated part of homelessness is, that no matter how much you knew about your own situation when you were stable, many still find themselves outside one day, wondering how they ever got there.
My favorite moments are usually when I am interacting with someone kind and humble who is overjoyed by my ability to assist them and says yes to nearly everything they are offered, from clothing referrals to a toiletry kit. They are so thankful and show their gratitude through sheer excitement. Of course it’s easy to find a mutual joy when working with these guests, but I’ve also found a joy in the more challenging guests, a joy that surprises me.
Normally, when a guest is getting frustrated or has an attitude, I worry that I won’t be able to help them, that they’ll say something that crosses the line or that they’ll refuse services before we finish working together, but I’ve discovered a gift of patience within me. When they become cross or agitated, I feel a wave of calm come over me and I lower my voice to speak in a soft, calm tone. I feel my words trying to gently work them down, into a place where they can hear me. Most of the time, this works, and usually causes a turning point in our interaction that surprises both me and the guest. The communication after that is usually amazing, vulnerable, and even more special than with guests who politely come in and out. My goal with each guest is for them to know that someone cares: that someone thinks about them after they leave, someone prays that they are safe and well, or at least on the way to that.
Our guests are not pretenders. I don’t want to pretend to care. I want them to know that I do care.
Patience.
Take a breath.
Listen.
Smile.
“How are you today?” I ask.