Central Outreach & Advocacy Center

patience

By

Wait Your Turn

by Chattrelle Gillyard

I often wonder what it’s like to be a guest at the OAC:

To come through the door with nothing but faith and hope that I might gain documents to get a Georgia ID.

To not know where my next meal is coming from.

To be unsure about where I will lay my head on a daily basis.

To be afraid to lay down at night, putting myself at risk of burglary and possibly even assault.

To be afraid to walk the streets because I might be stopped by a police officer with no way of identifying myself.

I could never imagine walking in the shoes of the guests we serve at the OAC. I’ve experienced homelessness on two occasions in my life but never to the extent of our guests.

I recently encountered a guest who described experiencing homelessness as constantly standing in line and hoping that at the end of the line he’ll receive some sort of help. Imagine standing in a line beginning at 6:00 am with no idea of whether or not what you need will be on the other side. I barely have enough patience to stand in line for mundane things like fast food or at Kroger. Yet, our guest do it nearly every day, whether it’s for an ID, a meal, shelter, or clothing, without any hesitation and usually a humble spirit.

My first ten months at the OAC have humbled me in ways I could have never imagined. Our guests have taught me to find joy in the midst of a storm, how to be patient in chaos, and how to have hope in tribulation. Sometimes, you have to be patient, trust standing in line, and wait your turn.

By

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.

By

Not Pretending

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.

 

By

Hearing Mr. K

Hearing Mr. K

by April Campbell

Brenna, our Program Assistant, has asked the staff and volunteers at the OAC to write down any interactions that have somehow affected us so that we may share it with everyone via social media. While thinking about what to write for this month’s blog, I thought about her request and reflected on an interaction that I had with a guest last week.

Mr. K came in on snowy Friday morning asking for assistance with getting his food stamps turned back on. Mr. K became argumentative with myself and our security guard, Larry, and was being asked to leave and come back a different day. Mr. K looked at me with tears in his eyes and said that he was “tired of being treated as less than a person” and that “today has already been such a hard day”. Mr. K become unconsolable so I asked him to come into the art room with me to talk while myself and another guest assisted him with gathering his things. Mr. K followed me to the room where we had a conversation surrounding his mental health diagnosis, his feelings of frustration and insignificance, and how he has been living in his situation since 2006 and feels as though he cannot get the assistance he needs. I was able to spend about 20 minutes with Mr. K and during that time I was reminded that every person has their own story and is dealing with their own struggles. In the work that we do this is so important to remember.

Some days at the OAC are more difficult than others. Sometimes there is so much chaos and confusion happening that I find myself being distracted by everything else and forgetting what drew me here in the first place: to help people. Helping someone doesn’t just mean listening to their problem, finding a solution, and sending them out our doors. Helping them means actually hearing them: hearing their frustration, their pain, their struggle and their sadness: Their Story. It’s about hearing what they may not be saying and being understanding that they are dealing with situations that I cannot even imagine. My interaction with Mr. K caused me to remember that every person I meet at the OAC has their own unique story and that it takes me hearing them with open ears and an open heart to hear what that story is.