Central Outreach & Advocacy Center

hope

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The Link Between Poverty and Crime (It’s not what you think!)

by Brenna Lakeson

A lot of guests show up at our door because their identifying documents have been stolen. I’ve heard guests say countless times, “I don’t have anything. It was all taken.” This makes it so hard to start over. To get an ID, you need a birth certificate and a Social Security card. To get a birth certificate, you need an ID. It can feel like a relentless cycle for our guests who have nothing to go on. Thankfully, we’re able to help them break out of this catch-22.

Why do so many people on the street have their things stolen, though? More likely than not, their things are stolen by other people experiencing homelessness. Sometimes this notion is used as proof that people living in poverty, people of color, and people living outside are inherently more violent or more likely to commit crimes.  In reality, though, their experiences are what lead to crime. Our society is set up in a way that prevents them from getting everything they need so they feel forced to take what they need to survive. The reason our guests’ things get stolen is because desperate people turn to desperate measures to survive.

If you were cold, without a jacket or a blanket, and you saw an opportunity to take one from someone else, you might take that chance. If you hadn’t eaten in a day or two and your only option was to take someone else’s wallet while they were sleeping and unaware, you would do what you had to do. It’s tempting to say we would “do the right thing” in these situations, but what is the right thing? Is it better to survive by taking or suffer while sitting back?

While our guests are often upset by the fact that their documents get stolen, I rarely ever hear them complain about having other items stolen. They might be disappointed that some of their cash or clothing was stolen, but, usually, they let these things slide. They know what it feels like to take desperate measures. They know that when they have to make the decision to commit a crime or meet their most basic needs, it’s hard to say no to taking something.

People experiencing homelessness aren’t inherently violent or immoral. It’s their compounded trauma and desperation that causes them to lie, cheat, or steal. The systems that cause poverty create circumstances in which people make risky and rash decisions because they feel trapped. Our goal at the OAC is to help reduce these circumstances so that our guests are no longer caught in a cycle of poverty and, instead, move toward self-sufficiency.

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Ripples of Hope

by Kimberly Parker

In January, I carpooled with six other people to an overnight retreat. We had only met each other one other time before the trip, so we were all a bit apprehensive about why we were being asked to go on this retreat together and what it would entail. Everyone was wondering why we were being thrown into the wilderness together and left to survive, or at least that’s what it felt like to us!

We had each been invited to participate in Ripples of Hope, a non-profit organization that accelerates the healthy, meaningful growth of organizations that believe business should be a force of good. The non-profit organization was created by Jeff Hilimire, Central OAC Board Chair. Jeff and another leader in Ripples of Hope, Rachelle Kuramoto, met us at the house where we would be staying. They had lunch with us, went over the agenda, and then they left us. I think we were all still a bit hesitant about what was going to happen over the next several hours. But, we got started. We hiked and got lost. We began sharing our stories of what led us to do what we do. We cooked dinner together. We played games. We laughed and some of us cried as we spent time together. 

It was a pretty intense 12+ hours, but it was amazing! From that time at the end of January until the beginning of March we were paired with others and spent a lot of time together, continuing to share our stories and receive mutual feedback. We were working on visioning our personal purpose for life. Things were moving along nicely, but then March 13th hit. Life as we all knew it changed. A good part of the curriculum for Ripples of Hope is meant to be done together, in person, and we could no longer do that. We were also all trying to figure out how to run our organizations (Synergies Work, Love Not Lost, JOYVIALl, College Aim, NewCrew, Sparke Women, and Central Outreach and Advocacy Center) in the midst of a pandemic. 

We received an email that our time together would be put on hold for a while because of COVID. We were going to meet via Zoom to further discuss how to move forward together. I remember joining that meeting with mixed feelings. I felt relieved that we would not have to focus on the readings and the extra work required. I didn’t feel like I had anything else to give, as all my energy was going toward figuring out how Central OAC could possibly operate during COVID. I was stressed! At the same time, though, my heart hurt with the thought of not being able to meet with this group of people who had come to mean a lot to me in a very short amount of time. Being a leader can often be lonely and this group became a support for me. So, we met; we talked; we were open and honest. It was agreed that we would continue meeting once per month via Zoom, but with a different focus. We would have guest speakers each month to talk with us about relevant topics. We would be able to check in each month and offer support to one another. As I write this blog, I’m planning to join a Ripples meeting later today.

The past few months have been hard and I know I am not alone in that statement. All of us, no matter what we do, have had to shift the way in which we live and work and play. I have felt the struggle of leading an organization that serves those experiencing homelessness, knowing how important our services are to our guests, and balancing our work with also keeping everyone as safe and healthy as possible. Continuing to be a part of Ripples of Hope has been invaluable to me and to Central OAC. It’s helped keep me balanced and it’s given me people to talk through issues with as they arise. I know that no matter what happens, this is a group of people that will continue to be a part of my life. I am so thankful for that overnight retreat back in January. It was the beginning of a very good thing!

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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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It Made a Difference to that One

by April Campbell

A couple of months ago, I went to my mailbox and found a small package. I opened it and inside was “The Starfish Story” (sometimes called The Star Thrower) and a bracelet that read “It made a difference to that one”. For those who may not know, the story is goes:

“One day, an old man was walking along a beach that was littered with thousands of starfish that had been washed ashore by the high tide. As he walked, he came upon a young boy who was eagerly throwing the starfish back into the ocean, one by one.

Puzzled, the man looked at the boy and asked what he was doing. Without looking up from his task, the boy simply replied, ‘I’m saving these starfish, Sir.’

The old man chuckled aloud, ‘Son, there are thousands of starfish and only one of you. What difference can you make?’

The boy picked up a starfish, gently tossed it into the water and turning to the man, said, “It made a difference to that one!’”

The package was sent by my mom who lives over 800 miles away. She knows that the work we do is hard. We work with guests who are marginalized and oppressed and face barriers everywhere they turn. We do our best to meet as many needs as possible, but sometimes it doesn’t feel like enough. Sometimes I wonder if I really make a difference in the lives of the guest we serve. It can feel like an uphill battle with constant questions: “Did I listen enough?” “Was I patient enough?”, “Did I ask all the right questions to ensure the guest received everything they needed?”, “Could I have done more?” I leave every day with these thoughts, playing back my interactions with guests over and over again, and thinking how I could have said something differently or done something more.

Then there comes a day when I get a card in the mail that says how well a former guest is doing and thanks me for the time I spent with him or a voicemail from a guest who wants to tell me that he finally got his ID and thanks me for going through the process with him. That’s when I realize that as long as our guests and their needs are my number one priority, I am making a difference.

What my mom did not realize was that I had previously shared The Starfish Story  at one of our team meetings because it stuck with me. It was important to me to share it because I know that I am not the only one who leaves work some days and wonders if I really made a difference in a guest’s life. I truly believe that the work we do here is important and changes lives and although we are not a shelter or a long term program, and we may not see the impact our services have on our guests, I trust that our work is planting the seeds for something greater and planting seeds hope and empowerment within our guests.