Giving time

Giving time
The email arrived. “Remember me? We met on the ferry last week? I’ve been looking at the website, and I’d love to volunteer… what do I do next?”

Indeed I did remember.
Travelling home on the ferry from Vancouver Island, we’d struck up conversation with one another, shared our stories. Her open and ready smile portrays her friendly and positive attitude. A ready laugh, an approachable manner. She has seen troubles, though. Although in her early 20s the cane she used was temporary, until the knee and hip replacement surgery. And the surgery was only a minimal inconvenience, since the cancer that was going to imminently take her life at age 16 was gone, had been for several years. The extensive organ damage from chemotherapy, a second threat, was also healed. She was happy with the temporary cane.

We met and toured Emergency Shelter and housing in Vancouver’s Downtown Eastside, chatting about what volunteer tasks she saw herself doing. “I’ll do whatever needs to be done. I like people.” Optimism and hope radiate from her. I want to place here where she’ll have contact with people.

She starts her volunteer role this week. And while the task she does is simple and important, the true gift she brings is a genuine friendliness and a positive attitude. She has strength and empathy from having faced death, and yet firmly embraced life.
She is a hero.

Homeless men, sleeping in the street. Homeless women, not as visible, striving for some small degree of safety.Who are these people? How did they come to this lifestyle? Is there an answer?

What should we do?

“The homeless” and their stories are as individual and varied as people are. Some have suffered loss of family, of career, or of health, that spiraled into hopelessness, depression, and homelessness. Sometimes as a result of poor choices, sometimes a result of events outside of their control. Addictions may play a part. Often unaddressed mental health concerns are a factor, and combinations of all of these things are common.

“Paul”, a journalist who had a stress breakdown and lived on the streets for seven years relates, “No one listened to me. No one heard me when I was on the street. There were things I could have done much sooner, but no one looked at me, no one told me.”

Now in housing, with supports in place, and with someone interested in his work, he thinks back on those years. “Someone needs to be there to talk to people. To talk to that 18 year old girl as she thinks about becoming a prostitute. To let her know that if she does, she’ll be dead in 6 months, but there are other choices she can make.” He spoke softly now, "the hardest thing in the world is to say to someone, 'please help me'. But I finally did." He looked around his bachelor apartment with obvious gratitude, located in a safe area of town.

“It used to be that waking up was the worst time of day. I hated waking up. Because it meant another day of struggle, another day of fighting for life. Working for a few dollars, then having to lay your life down for just $40, because it’s all you have, and others know you’ve got it, and they want it. Now I wake up thanking God for the morning.

”What could we do to help?
Be compassionate, be polite to people living on the street.
Volunteer at organizations that work with homeless people, feeding, clothing, ministering, tending to medical needs. Use your talents, whether it's handing out food or clothing, or filling out forms, teaching people how to cook, or how to use a computer. Wash dishes or dust furniture in a Shelter. Listen without judgment.