The Burden and Joy of Working in a Homeless Shelter
It’s quite simple really: the burden of working in a homeless shelter is that the lives of many people rest in our feeble hands! That’s if we care of course!
Every day decisions are made. Hard decisions! Gut-wrenching decisions. Heart-pounding decisions. Decisions that are often life or death. If we care, these decisions carry a huge weight. If we love, these decisions are never easy. Life or death, health or sickness, chaos or peace, danger or safety, rests upon the decisions we have to make, daily! The everyday decisions we have to make are not something to take lightly.
When I first started working at CCO, there were nights I was haunted by the enormity of it all. I remember asking myself the overarching questions: how do I balance or protect an individual's safety while also protecting the safety and peace of the homeless community they lived in? How do we keep everyone safe, fed, at peace, and moving forward?
It really struck me at an even deeper level years ago when an older man named Nick came to live with us. His life was so fragility and full of tragedy. On top of being alone and homeless, this poor man couldn't read, he could barely write his name, his sight was atrocious, he was bipolar, and cognitively he struggled with understanding even the most basic instructions. Early on, we discovered how extremely sick he was as well; as one of the first nights he stayed with us, he mysteriously left a big puddle of blood around him.
In his simplicity, this incident was not a "big deal", but it did cause great distress to all those who slept on the mats around him. Tensions were high, as Nick just wanted to continue on like nothing happened, while others wanted to boot him out onto the streets, others raged at his nonchalance, others felt sorry for him and pleaded for a solution. Whereas his mysterious sickness didn't seem to worry him, the fact that everyone was now in his business enraged him. After a little coaxing and efforts to calm him down, he grudgingly went off to the hospital in an ambulance.
When this incident happened we'd just opened our men's shelter in 2001 and we were trying to figure how to navigate things. We had 100 men sleeping next to each other in very close proximity. We were still learning, and this wasn't we had preplanned for. We had to take into account all these men, while also considering Nick's safety. What if he was contagious? We knew he had been a victim of both harsh bullying and police brutality on the streets, so what would happen if we didn't allow him back in?
Nick did return to CCO with medications and restrictions on what he could eat. This was utterly confusing and frustrating to this grown man who couldn't read or write. We would watch his anger rise up and he'd throw tantrums like a toddler. It's hard to be so old and yet so young in such a literate world. We got to know this man who was a picture of weakness, powerlessness, and fragility. But we were also honored to know this man who was compassionate and had a beautiful childlike faith. Through a community effort, we watched this sick man slowly grow healthier - physically, mentally, and spiritually.
In late 2004, everything changed! Wealthy neighbors had been complaining about this particular men's shelter - not because of anything we did wrong, but because of how men experiencing homelessness are perceived. We were forced by the "powers-that-be" to close our doors. They came in and made many promises which they broke at a rapid-fire pace. In sum, they made it seem like all these men were housed, but the reality was, most of them remained homeless - just shuffled to another local shelter around the corner. You can read about the painful reality here: Dejected, But Not Forgotten!
It was this decision where Nick's story took a devastating turn, a fatal reality! For him, it was a matter of life or death. Nick was devastated by the whole ordeal - he couldn't comprehend what was going on! He didn't want to leave! We were his people, his family, his lifeline! Early on in that final week, he vented his frustration with an emotional outburst of yelling and tears. The Commissioner heard his rant, took it personally and told us to throw him out and that he could no longer be placed into housing or another shelter. We refused to toss him into the street, and let Nick know he could stay with us until we had to shut our doors in a few days.
On that final day, we watched vans come and drive the men around the corner to the now-closed Salvation Army. We watched that same Commissioner walk up the block to go knock on this complaining neighbor's door to tell them the job was done. We watched Nick wander helplessly into the night. We felt helpless. We felt alone. We felt the burden. We shed tears. We felt sick to our stomachs.
Within a month, Nick was found dead, alone under a tree in a local Uptown park one cold November morning.
Nick's story symbolizes the burden of working with an extremely vulnerable population, yet, it also speaks of countless joys that arise every day. These 2 concepts are not mutually exclusive. We don't live in an "either/or" universe. We live and breathe in a "both/and" world. Every day we simultaneously bear heavy burdens and get embraced by life-sustaining joys. In fact, I've found that the relentless joy, more often than not, outweighs the burdens - and this gives me hope and the ability to keep pushing forward, despite all the oppression and evil that surrounds us and tries to bring us down.
Nick's story, with all the tragedy, neglect, and abuse, also brought me joy. Darkness is overwhelmed by light, and these lights bring hope, justice, and peace in turbulent times. During those 3 years, Nick found a home with us. His health improved, his depressed demeanor lifted, his faith increased, and he found a family with us. He didn't get housing, but he found so much during his stint with us. When I reflect on his smile, that he felt safe, that he felt loved and accepted, it helps me know that our efforts weren't in vain, as we were able to bring rays of sunshine into his cloudy days.
The burdens, the struggles are real, but so is the hope, the joy! Homelessness is like a neverending saga of people who being constantly sucked into its painful reality, but there is so much joy in seeing people refuse to be defeated. Hope arises and joy wells up when we watch our friends overcome. Hope arises and joy wells up when we network with others. refusing to let the poor and disenfranchised be trampled on, while also helping them rise out of it.
There's an indescribable joy in seeing all the resiliency, peace, unity, community and faith; there's a refusal to let homelessness defeat them. There's joy in preventing someone from getting frostbitten or freezing to death by providing them with a warm safe bed. There's joy in helping someone overcome their addictions. There's joy in preventing someone from rotating in and out of jails. There's joy in assisting people to get the medical help and mental health treatment in their time of need. There's joy in helping someone reunite with their kids or parents. There's joy in helping someone get their ID and birth certificate. There's joy in helping people get jobs. There's joy in seeing that smiling face when they finally get their keys and move into a place they call their own.
These are just some of the "joys" we experience every day.
This joy overwhelms the burdens because it's not an "Us and Them", it's just Us! Joy comes in being a part of this beautiful loving compassionate community, where we're all created in the image of God. Joy comes in this unity and in knowing that Jesus died and rose again to right all these wrongs - where "the first is last, and the last, first" in His loving Kingdom.
Right now we're living under the huge burden of this pandemic, where social distancing is a privilege. It's life and death for our very vulnerable population - where many of our residents are sick and elderly like Nick. We've worn ourselves out by making CCO as safe and sanitized as possible. But despite the intense burden and anxiety Covid19 brings, there is faith, a refusal to be defeated or overcome. I'm happy to say, even in all this distress, light is overpowering the darkness, as hope and joy are still rising out of all this chaos and darkness.
When I first started working at CCO, there were nights I was haunted by the enormity of it all. I remember asking myself the overarching questions: how do I balance or protect an individual's safety while also protecting the safety and peace of the homeless community they lived in? How do we keep everyone safe, fed, at peace, and moving forward?
It really struck me at an even deeper level years ago when an older man named Nick came to live with us. His life was so fragility and full of tragedy. On top of being alone and homeless, this poor man couldn't read, he could barely write his name, his sight was atrocious, he was bipolar, and cognitively he struggled with understanding even the most basic instructions. Early on, we discovered how extremely sick he was as well; as one of the first nights he stayed with us, he mysteriously left a big puddle of blood around him.
In his simplicity, this incident was not a "big deal", but it did cause great distress to all those who slept on the mats around him. Tensions were high, as Nick just wanted to continue on like nothing happened, while others wanted to boot him out onto the streets, others raged at his nonchalance, others felt sorry for him and pleaded for a solution. Whereas his mysterious sickness didn't seem to worry him, the fact that everyone was now in his business enraged him. After a little coaxing and efforts to calm him down, he grudgingly went off to the hospital in an ambulance.
When this incident happened we'd just opened our men's shelter in 2001 and we were trying to figure how to navigate things. We had 100 men sleeping next to each other in very close proximity. We were still learning, and this wasn't we had preplanned for. We had to take into account all these men, while also considering Nick's safety. What if he was contagious? We knew he had been a victim of both harsh bullying and police brutality on the streets, so what would happen if we didn't allow him back in?
Nick did return to CCO with medications and restrictions on what he could eat. This was utterly confusing and frustrating to this grown man who couldn't read or write. We would watch his anger rise up and he'd throw tantrums like a toddler. It's hard to be so old and yet so young in such a literate world. We got to know this man who was a picture of weakness, powerlessness, and fragility. But we were also honored to know this man who was compassionate and had a beautiful childlike faith. Through a community effort, we watched this sick man slowly grow healthier - physically, mentally, and spiritually.
In late 2004, everything changed! Wealthy neighbors had been complaining about this particular men's shelter - not because of anything we did wrong, but because of how men experiencing homelessness are perceived. We were forced by the "powers-that-be" to close our doors. They came in and made many promises which they broke at a rapid-fire pace. In sum, they made it seem like all these men were housed, but the reality was, most of them remained homeless - just shuffled to another local shelter around the corner. You can read about the painful reality here: Dejected, But Not Forgotten!
It was this decision where Nick's story took a devastating turn, a fatal reality! For him, it was a matter of life or death. Nick was devastated by the whole ordeal - he couldn't comprehend what was going on! He didn't want to leave! We were his people, his family, his lifeline! Early on in that final week, he vented his frustration with an emotional outburst of yelling and tears. The Commissioner heard his rant, took it personally and told us to throw him out and that he could no longer be placed into housing or another shelter. We refused to toss him into the street, and let Nick know he could stay with us until we had to shut our doors in a few days.
On that final day, we watched vans come and drive the men around the corner to the now-closed Salvation Army. We watched that same Commissioner walk up the block to go knock on this complaining neighbor's door to tell them the job was done. We watched Nick wander helplessly into the night. We felt helpless. We felt alone. We felt the burden. We shed tears. We felt sick to our stomachs.
Within a month, Nick was found dead, alone under a tree in a local Uptown park one cold November morning.
Nick's story symbolizes the burden of working with an extremely vulnerable population, yet, it also speaks of countless joys that arise every day. These 2 concepts are not mutually exclusive. We don't live in an "either/or" universe. We live and breathe in a "both/and" world. Every day we simultaneously bear heavy burdens and get embraced by life-sustaining joys. In fact, I've found that the relentless joy, more often than not, outweighs the burdens - and this gives me hope and the ability to keep pushing forward, despite all the oppression and evil that surrounds us and tries to bring us down.
Nick's story, with all the tragedy, neglect, and abuse, also brought me joy. Darkness is overwhelmed by light, and these lights bring hope, justice, and peace in turbulent times. During those 3 years, Nick found a home with us. His health improved, his depressed demeanor lifted, his faith increased, and he found a family with us. He didn't get housing, but he found so much during his stint with us. When I reflect on his smile, that he felt safe, that he felt loved and accepted, it helps me know that our efforts weren't in vain, as we were able to bring rays of sunshine into his cloudy days.
The burdens, the struggles are real, but so is the hope, the joy! Homelessness is like a neverending saga of people who being constantly sucked into its painful reality, but there is so much joy in seeing people refuse to be defeated. Hope arises and joy wells up when we watch our friends overcome. Hope arises and joy wells up when we network with others. refusing to let the poor and disenfranchised be trampled on, while also helping them rise out of it.
There's an indescribable joy in seeing all the resiliency, peace, unity, community and faith; there's a refusal to let homelessness defeat them. There's joy in preventing someone from getting frostbitten or freezing to death by providing them with a warm safe bed. There's joy in helping someone overcome their addictions. There's joy in preventing someone from rotating in and out of jails. There's joy in assisting people to get the medical help and mental health treatment in their time of need. There's joy in helping someone reunite with their kids or parents. There's joy in helping someone get their ID and birth certificate. There's joy in helping people get jobs. There's joy in seeing that smiling face when they finally get their keys and move into a place they call their own.
These are just some of the "joys" we experience every day.
This joy overwhelms the burdens because it's not an "Us and Them", it's just Us! Joy comes in being a part of this beautiful loving compassionate community, where we're all created in the image of God. Joy comes in this unity and in knowing that Jesus died and rose again to right all these wrongs - where "the first is last, and the last, first" in His loving Kingdom.
Right now we're living under the huge burden of this pandemic, where social distancing is a privilege. It's life and death for our very vulnerable population - where many of our residents are sick and elderly like Nick. We've worn ourselves out by making CCO as safe and sanitized as possible. But despite the intense burden and anxiety Covid19 brings, there is faith, a refusal to be defeated or overcome. I'm happy to say, even in all this distress, light is overpowering the darkness, as hope and joy are still rising out of all this chaos and darkness.
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