Tag Archives: Poverty

Day 231: The Best Way to Learn the World Is to Experience It

I went through a phase in high school when I thought I could save the world.   I thought overnight, everything would be different because I did not like what I was hearing.  I, for the first time in my life, watched the news for more than just the weather.  I was horrified by the stories that were broadcasted.  People were dying in Ethiopia because of drought and lack of food.  War raged in South Africa between people because of the color of skin.  I was appalled and quite frankly, frightened by what was happening in the world.

Until that point, I had been sheltered by my parents.  I lived an easy life in a nice suburban neighborhood on Cleveland’s west side.  I cared about nothing but what was happening in my own little world.  I never worried about if there would be a next meal or how much the things I wanted cost.  Suddenly, everything that was important to me seemed trivial and egocentric.  I was embarrassed at my selfishness.  I decided I wanted to stop my ill feelings by stopping the pain of people all over the world who were not handed things on that proverbial silver platter as I had always been.  I had one problem, though.  I had too much energy without any real way to channel it.  How was I to reach the people in Ethiopia or South Africa?  I could not exactly go there.  As much as I wanted to change the world, I was unwilling to sacrifice the comforts I was accustomed to go be a missionary.

After much time, anxiety, and deliberation, I realized how I could be of service and help.  I had read in the Cleveland paper that a church in Cleveland’s downtown area was in need of volunteer help in their soup kitchen.  The church was St. Malachy’s.  Working in a soup kitchen was not exactly saving the world, but by volunteering, I was not letting the world pass me by, either.  I thought I could save lives right in my own hometown, and then next year, save the rest of the world.

My first day was a lovely Sunday in October.  I awoke with the sun glistening on my face.  The pleasing weather conditions made me feel secure and enhanced my feelings of bringing well-being to all.  I quickly got out of bed and got ready to go.  I had never been in a situation like this before, so I had no idea what I was required to wear.  I figured that I would be cooking or serving food, so I decided to dress casually.  I knew I was going to wear an apron, anyway.  I opened my closet and looked inside.  After some deliberation, I grabbed a comfy pair of Guess jeans and my favorite wool Benetton sweater.  I looked at myself quickly in the full length mirror after dressing.  Not only was I extremely comfortable, but I looked cute, too.  I decided on the way out the door that I should probably wear this outfit out the next Friday night.

I got in my car and drove out of my familiar surroundings.  The trees looked beautiful; the leaves radiated their autumn browns and oranges in the sun.  I noticed as I got off the highway into St. Malachy’s neighborhood that there were very few trees.  I became aware of the differences in the exterior of houses and buildings.  Everything seemed slightly neglected and dilapidated.  I was suddenly aware that I did not know what exactly to expect. For the first time since this notion of saving the world entered my mind, I realized I was chartering virgin waters and what I was about to encounter would be far different from anything I had ever experienced before.

I parked my car and hesitantly got out.  The kitchen was in the basement of the church, and the people milling around outside looked unsavory.  My stomach churned; all sorts of ideas were shooting around in my brain.  I could just get back in the car and drive home.  No one will know.  I probably wouldn’t even be missed.  No!  I knew if I backed down, I would regret it for the rest of my life.  How could I expect to change anything if I could not overcome my own fears?   I always got a little jittery when starting something new, so I knew the trepidation was a normal feeling for me.  I composed myself and went in.

I entered through the back door marked “Volunteers and Help.”  People were fluttering about performing miscellaneous kitchen duties. I stopped for a second to take in my surroundings. There were men cooking over huge kettles and grills, and women slicing vegetables and loaves of bread. They were like a machine in motion.  I took a deep breathe and took in the aroma.  I could not distinguish one certain type of food, but it made my mouth water.    Everyone was carrying out their own job with speed and accuracy without disturbing another’s progress.

I noticed in the corner of the kitchen an office.  I walked over to the open door and knocked.  I peaked in and saw a heavy-set, greying woman sitting behind a desk shuffling paper work.  I cleared my throat, “Excuse me.  I’m volunteering in the….”

I was cut off.  “Yes in the soup kitchen.  You must be Cheryl.  I am Mrs. Simon, the volunteer coordinator.  I spoke with you on the phone.  I will give you a tour, introduce you to the other volunteers, and then show you what you will be doing today.”  Her warm smile and friendly voice calmed me instantly.

As she showed me around and introduced me to the other workers, I realized what seemed like so many people actually was not.  Only twelve people volunteered per shift.  The other volunteers were all adults, but that did not seem intimidating because each person was exceptionally nice.

The last person I met was Bill, the head cook.  “Welcome, welcome,” he said.  “You are going to definitely bring a fresh glow to this tired, old crew.  We’re glad to have you.”

Mrs. Simon took me into the dining area where I would be serving food.  The dining hall was poorly lit and I could tell it needed a coat of paint.  Immediately, I noticed that people were waiting for the kitchen line to open.  Most people were wearing what appeared to be second-hand clothing, out of date and in many cases, unclean.  Many of the men were unshaven.  The children were quiet and respectful.  The women looked me over.   At first, I thought they were probably envious of my expensive name brand clothes.  Of course I was wearing the top designer names because I would not be caught dead in anything without a name.  However, looking around, I suddenly felt embarrassed of my shallowness.  My names brand were irrelevant in the scheme of things, and I couldn’t wait to put on an apron.  These people were surviving, and that was all.  I had so much to learn about life, about what was important, about myself.

Mrs. Simon handed me an apron and a ladle.  I was given a spot in the line.  My job was to dish out mashed potatoes.  I tried not look people in the eyes, I thought it would embarrass them.  I also did not want to engage people in conversation.  I did not know what I had in common with people in a soup kitchen.  It seemed to me that to ignore the people and just ladle the food was best for us all.  I was wrong.  Because of my aloof attitude, certain people quietly heckled me.  Comments were thrown at me by some of the guests in line.  One man with missing teeth said, “You want me to take you on a date tonight?”   Someone else whispered, “Why aren’t ya at the mall, Honey?”  The one that hurt the worst was “Why ya workin’ here?  You’re not gettin’ paid.”

I heard their comments in my core.  The way they looked at me was not what I expected.  I expected people to bow down and thank me, but I realized that was ridiculous.  My sheer presence was condescending, and I knew to gain their respect, I would have to earn it.  “The Little Suburban Girl Changes the World” was not going to be the head line of the evening paper.  I had put myself on a pedestal, and I was quickly brought down off of it.  This was life.  I was seeing it in full color.  I realized it was time for me to treat the guests with the dignity they deserved.  I started to look people in the face and smile.  Instead of expecting gratitude, I thanked them for taking the mashed potatoes from me.

My three-hour shift finally ended.  Mrs. Simon asked me how things went.  I smiled politely and said “fine” because it had.  However, when I pulled out of St. Malachy’s parking lot, I began to cry.   I cried not because of the way I was treated by certain people, but that we lived in such a world that allowed for such disaparity.  I cried because for sixteen years I had been sheltered from poverty and people in need.  I cried because I was so naive; I thought people were going to be so thankful to me when all I was doing is what I should be doing– I was helping my fellow-man.

Even though working at St. Malachy’s made me uncomfortable, I did not quit.  I made a committment, and I was going to see it through.  I was a very small part of St. Malachy’s operation, not really there long enough to make an impression on anyone or anything.  However, that kitchen and those people made a lasting impression on me.

Day 110: The Work That Never Ends

It is never-ending– people in need of clothing, a hot meal, groceries, a place to stay, a means to get from one day to the next.  For every person in need, someone has to be willing to give– new and slightly used clothes, time preparing meals in soup kitchens, food to the countless area local food cupboards, donations to help shelters run, an encouraging word.

Helping people is hard work.

The people who help regularly have a thick skin because many of the people who live near or below the poverty line seem to always live near or below the poverty line.  They do not have the means, the will power, or the educational levels to know how to change.  Thus, they live day-to-day, week to week, year to year in the same manner.  They do not strive for success as we do; they do not know how.

It is called the cycle of poverty for a reason.  Children are raised worrying if they will have heat or electricity, whether they will have food in the refrigerator, whether they will be evicted from their homes, whether they will be victims of violence. When a child learns to live day-to-day, it is difficult to teach that child to dream about his future.

Today I spent the day at The Redeemer Crisis Center at W. 30th and Walton Avenue in Cleveland.  Today, clients had the opportunity to come into the building for a cup of coffee, for a meal, for some new clothes, and for some groceries to take home.

The work we did for the Crisis Center was, for the most part, indirectly related to the clients.  For almost five hours, the students and I separated children’s clothing into age categories so that clients could walk through the room and have an easier time choosing clothing for their children and grandchildren.  It was literally back-breaking work.  Hauling refrigerator size boxes full of clothes up two flights of stairs, emptying, sorting, folding, and sizing the clothes.  We worked hard because we knew we were helping the Center.  We worked hard because we knew we were enhancing the clients’ experience.

The clothes will mostly be distributed on Friday.  Toward the end of the day today, a few clients were able to peruse the selections.  We were able to interact.  Each of us tried to make the clients feel welcome, feel that their needs were important.  The students and I genuinely thanked the people for allowing us to help them.  Most people were thankful for our efforts.  Some people were quiet.  One women accosted us, saying we were rude and full of attitude, when in reality, it was she who was rude and full of attitude.  I have to imagine that she felt judged, although we were not judging, and instead of allowing herself to feel shame, she felt empowered by the way she treated us.  I have to think that she felt strong and in charge, maybe the only time today that she will be able to feel in control of her situation.

When we left the room I looked back at our efforts.  I felt a pang of regret.  By Friday afternoon, all of our work will have disappeared.  The clothes will be gone.  The mark we made on the Crisis center will have vanished.

The problems will remain, however.  The cycle of poverty will not have disappeared.  The people who live near or below the poverty line will not be gone.  They will return week after week after week for meals, food pantry items, clothing for their families.

Next week, more volunteers and new donations will replace us–  the work that never ends.

Day 109: We’re All In This Together

nehemiah mission 001

In the world we live in, it is hard to avoid feeling materialistic in some capacity or another– wanting a bigger house, a better car, a name brand pair of shoes; wanting to attend the right schools, live in the right neighborhoods, go on vacations– all ways to feel better about oneself and feel, “Yes, I am making it.  Yes, I have arrived.”

I cannot lie, I am materialistic.  I am jealous of my friends’ large houses; I envy their vacations; I lustfully watch them move from their first homes into their next homes, something I thought I would have done by now.  I made decisions;–we made decisions– that have us in a financial deficit.   I thought by age 42, I would be further ahead, and the green-eyed monster sometimes surfaces late at night while I calculate bills and interest rates, when I lament about when it will be my turn to enjoy the spoils of my labor.

And then I get slapped across the face.

Always during Outreach Week, I question my priorities, I examine my values, and I look deep into my core to question what it is I think I want out of life.

I realize one thing: someday I will be dead.  Gone.  Six feet under.  Pushing up daisies.  When all is said and done, what will be the legacy of my life?

Today, I was afforded the opportunity to accompany a group of students to the Nehemiah Mission in downtown Cleveland.   The Mission is partially funded by the Methodist church, and it is a faith-based organization.  The name is relevant to the Biblical figure from the Bible.

Nehemiah lived in the 5th Century BC.  He was a Cup Bearer to the King of Babylon.  The King very much liked Nehemiah.  Knowing that Jerusalem was in ruins, Nehemiah asked the King if he could return to Jerusalem to rebuild the city.  He was granted his wish, and he returned to find very few inhabitants.  He organized the few people still living there, and together, they fought off enemies, invaders, and assassins. They rebuilt Jerusalem in 52 days!

The Nehemiah Mission was founded on the principle that if one man could organize a small group of citizens to bring a city to life and to help it flourish once again, why can we not emulate this same attitude and take action in the city of Cleveland in the 21st Century?  Thus, thousands of volunteers come through the mission each year to help in whatever capacity they can: painting houses, doing yard work, building wheelchair ramps, painting over graffiti, working in food pantries, etc.  The needs are great, and the spirit of the individuals who volunteer is greater.

This mural represents the people who come together to improve the community.

Today, we were sent into the community.  We went to a local church at W.99th and Denison to help with their monthly food pantry.  The students delved into the task.  They wanted to pack boxes, help clients, wipe down counters, direct traffic.  They wanted to help in whatever way they could be of service.  As we all commingled with the clients, I talked with people who just couldn’t seem to get a leg up.  Some of these people are “one flat tire away from disaster.”  Most do not have checking accounts, but they do have jobs.  Thus, on payday, they cash their checks, walk through the community paying their bills– rent, utilities, phone– and then whatever is left, they use for food and spending money.  The problem is that not enough is left over.  They rely on these community food pantries to help feed their families.

For some it is a lack of education, for others it is a series of bad decisions.  Whatever the reason or circumstance, I realized that these people need what I take for granted: bread, vegetables, toilet paper.  Some days, it is harder than others.  They persevere because tomorrow is always a beacon of hope.

I felt shame.  I was awakened to the fact that I take my life for granted.  I get angry when an unexpected bill keeps us from going out to dinner.  I never question whether I will eat dinner or not.

Today made me realize that I need to worry less about what I do not have and concentrate more on what I do have:  I have a steady job, health insurance, a roof over my head.  I am able to buy groceries, maintain our vehicles, take my children to the dentist.  All the while, allowing for enough luxuries in my life to be fulfilled.

Being with these students and experiencing situations in which people are just getting by makes me think I need to worry less about my own earthly possessions.   I do not think that when I die people will assess my life on what I owned, but they will assess my life on who I was and what I did.  Maybe I cannot rebuild a city, but I am an able-bodied individual.  I can give of myself in many capacities– the school community, the church community, the community at large– and when I do, maybe I can help relieve the stress and problems of another enough to give them hope for a better today, a better tomorrow, and a better next year.