Day 22

The holidays are heavily centered around giving to others and helping those in need. But what happens when all of the giving and helping you try still doesn't fix it?

A couple weeks ago, a friend approached me with a fabulous experience to partake in on Christmas night. Her church has arranged a warming center to open on evenings where the temperature drops below freezing and/or there is some sort of precipitation falling from the sky. During the winter months this center is used virtually every night. From what I understand, there typically isn't a shortage of volunteers, except for on holiday nights such as Christmas.

Immediately I agreed to help out. What a wonderful way to spend my Christmas night! I wasn't really sure what I was getting into, but I knew that it would be a memorable experience for me.

After following written directions, I arrived to a bare parking lot. I parked and searched desperately for any sort of signage that would let me know that I was in the right place. Uncertain, I approached a man who was outside smoking a cigarette in the cold. I asked him if this was the church that I was looking for. With a puzzled expression on his face he grumbled something faintly reminiscent of words and opened the door. I entered, rather hesitantly, still unsure as to whether I was at the right place or not. Within mere moments of entering the building, my olfactory senses overwhelmed me with the acknowledgement of body odor. My guess was that I was in the right place.

The scene was unlike anything I have ever been a part of. There were literally dozens of men (and one woman), with blankets laid out in rows marking their fabric-specified territories for the night. Some were up and eating popcorn, sipping coffee, chatting with others, or simply reading one of the books pulled from the shelves. Others had already tucked themselves in for the night, with sweaters and loaner blankets covering virtually every piece of their bodies. Right away I was asked by a man who smelled a bit of whiskey if he could give me a hug. I obliged.

Two hours later, it was "lights out". I felt like I was volunteering at some summer camp, albeit a summer camp for overly intoxicated middle-aged boys. In the darkness there were snickers and giggles. At various points the men would get up to dance around a bit or yell at someone sleeping too close to them. One man in particular (the man who greeted me in embrace of all people) was escorted out of the building for refusing to be quiet. He had a kind soul and talked very highly of dogs. At one point he told my friend that he'd give her dog everything he owned, and wouldn't give her a thing. Touching.

After about an hour of "No More Monkeys Jumping On the Bed!" the room began to finally calm, when all of the sudden I heard some of the harshest breathing I have ever heard coming from the hallway that leads outside. Moving over towards where the sound was coming from, my mind flashed all kinds of thoughts about the origin of such a breath. Finally my ears followed keenly to a door. Glancing upward, the sign told me that it was the men's restroom. As soon as my brain tried to form a discussion about the pros and cons of entering the men's restroom when it was so blatantly inhabited by heavy breathing, one of the male staff members approached me to see what I was up to. I didn't have to explain the breathing, he heard it too.

The staff member propped open the door to find a man, soaking wet. He had fallen in the creek. Kicking into overdrive, I explained to the staff member that he needed to get out of his clothes and ran to grab some extra loaner blankets. Luckily, after only a few minutes, the soaking man began to liven up. I served him some coffee. He is fortunate tonight.

Among so many others, I met a Harvard scholar who goes by the name of "General". I met a kid that couldn't have been any older than 17 who suffered from bipolarism and was trying to get back on his feet with the help of a new cell phone given to him by his mom earlier in the day. I also met a man by the name of "Rabbit". He carried handfuls of sample-sized products in his duffel bag and was bragging about the fact that he had different toothpastes for morning and for night. He wore a black leather vest and no shirt.

For some, this experience might have seemed excruciating; but for me, it was terribly enlightening. There are so many people who need help in simple ways: like a shelter. But this is only a quick-fix to a much more involved and convoluted problem. These men were all cohorts, in one way or another. They came back to this warming center at every stop they could, and as it appeared, with very little desire or hope of changing things. I tried to look at their lifestyles in an optimistic view-- being able to travel on a whim, having no one to have to answer to, things like this.

Perhaps this is why all of these people ended up here tonight. This is the way they have intended things. Perhaps there were unsettling circumstances that led them to where they are tonight. All that I know is that a warm place to stay for the night is both the thing they needed most AND the thing they needed least.