Central Outreach & Advocacy Center

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Pandemic While Homeless

by Kimberly Parker

“You Ever Think We’d See Something Like This?”

How many times in the last week or so have you seen messages like these:

“The ‘Whatever Business’ is committed to the safety, health and welfare of our staff, volunteers, and clients/members/patrons/etc. at all times. We are taking serious measures to do our part to flatten the curve of transmission of COVID-19.” 

“Based on current CDC recommendations in response to COVID-19, as of March ???, 2020, the ‘Whatever Business’ will be closed until at least March 30, 2020. We will continue to evaluate the situation and make necessary decisions based on recommendations given by trusted organizations such as the CDC.” 

It seems like everything is closing. Some of the places where we would normally go to deal with stress and stay healthy are closed: gyms, libraries, movie theaters. The list goes on and on. I get it, but gosh it’s hard! When I got word yesterday that the golf course where I try to play once a week was closing, I about lost my *#$@&! It’s outdoors! A person can be totally by themselves if they want to. Come on! Again, I get it, but it’s so hard.

When I start to have these thoughts or when I start to cry at the smallest of inconveniences, I try to think about the many people experiencing homelessness and what they’re going through right now. Things are different for them also. They are at a disadvantage that many of us can’t begin to relate to. No home in which to isolate themselves. No healthcare coverage. No easy access to soap or water or hand sanitizer. And some of the service providers are closed or have limited their services, including Central OAC.

The decisions that I’ve had to make recently have been some of the hardest decisions I’ve ever made as a leader. I’ve tried to hold our guests, volunteers, and staff in the front of my mind through  each decision, wanting to make sure we have as safe of an environment as possible for everyone. My first decision was to ask our volunteers to suspend their time with Central OAC. The next decision was to determine that we would suspend services to our guests except for allowing them to check mail twice a week (Tuesday and Thursday, 10 am – 12 pm). Two staff members work these shifts rather than all four of us. Our security guard is only allowing three people in at a time with plenty of distance between each.

Yesterday was our first day of this new schedule. We had about 50 people come through the doors during the two hour shift. They picked up checks, food stamp cards, medication, debit cards – items that are very important. We had one guest come in who had been waiting on his birth certificate and Social Security card to arrive so that he could go obtain his Georgia ID. We were able to give him the voucher to cover the cost of the ID. He was so excited! These items are important. And every guest yesterday was grateful!

My heart hurts that we are limited in what we can safely provide right now. My heart hurts for the many who are experiencing homelessness. I am so grateful for the outreach teams who are still out on the street, tending to those who are most vulnerable. Central OAC asks that you pray for people experiencing homelessness and pray for those who are continuing to serve them in some capacity. I hope and pray we can keep doing what we are doing for as long as possible during this global health crisis.

Be well!

-Kimberly

 

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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.