I should start this post with a disclaimer: anything I write is my own opinion and doesn’t reflect JVC NW in anyway. And just to disconfirm any rumors: I do not in fact have bed bugs, no need to send me cedar spray or a new mattress. A bed frame couldn’t hurt though…
After 18 hours back in the U.S. after having the wonderful opportunity to travel through the UK with my grandma, I departed for the next year of my life, starting the journey in Molalla, OR at Camp Adams. It was there that I met the rest of the 150 NW Jesuit Volunteers who I would be serving alongside for this next year, some on Native American Reservations in rural Montana, others in Juneau and Anchorage, and myself in Capitol Hill, Seattle. Now I know what you’re thinking, and I thought the same thing. How did I end up in the swanky Cap Hill, Central District when my brothers and sisters in service are elsewhere? I certainly cannot complain about my house, the building itself along with my 7 housemates. (example of such in my Christmas Light extravaganza of a living room below)
But just two weeks in, and I have already begun to conceptualize the great need of the population I am working with in the city. During orientation, we were told that many Jesuit Volunteers feel lonely throughout the year, even though they are living with 3, 4, 8 other people in a house. How could it be that one could feel so lonely among so many? I would argue, probably similar to how one could feel so incredibly invisible among so many. Such are the feelings of many who walk, skate, roll through the doors at the Urban Rest Stop. I am the first to admit that I don’t think I will ever fully understand what it is like to experience homelessness, that my thoughts and views come solely from the lives and experiences of the folks I work with. But I have found a strain of common humanity among those I am serving, and that in fact the men, women, and children (and everyone in between) that come through the Urban Rest Stop’s doors are teaching me much more than I could ever learn in the cushy office of a non-profit. That one cannot truly serve others without walking with them through this journey. The Recovery Café, a service placement of one of my housemates, has a motto that “everyone is in recovery from something.” Now that’s something I can get behind. It taps into the idea that through a sense of common humanity, compassion is born.
And these thoughts aren’t new thoughts, I am sure I am not the first person who thought this might be a good way to live, but in these past two weeks, I have lived this way more than ever before. And you know what? It feels damn good. And it hurts like hell. Because each and every day the people who walk through the door at my placement have a million different reasons why they’re there, just like I do. And some of these reasons are different from mine, but some are so intrinsically bound up with each other one cannot help but see the commonalities.
The Urban Rest Stop is a low barrier service provider, which means that anyone in any state of mind can use our facilities, our restrooms, laundry, and showers as long as they do so safely. For many this is a radical idea. People gasp at the thought that someone suffering from mental illness, or who is strung out on heroine might have the right to basic necessities like hygiene. Sure, sometimes life isn’t pretty. But for those who have a place to call home, those “un” pretty moments can happen behind closed doors. For the people I get to see everyday, they simply don’t have that luxury.
When I had a bug in my bed the first few days I lived in Cherry Abbey, I was pained by the bites on my hands, but I had the means to deal with unwelcome guests in my bed. I had a washer and drier to clean my sheets, another place to sleep for the night. My first thought was “poor me, my itchy hand.” I threw a big giant pity party for myself. I am here to admit that I was ungrateful for the basic necessities I have. I work in a hygiene center, watching people come in everyday covered in bites, and all I could think about was “boo hoo me.” Then I remind myself, this is an avenue for growth. Growth to change my thinking to a way that starts with gratitude. How lucky am I to have a washing machine and drier to keep away those bugs, to live indoors, to have a bed. The Urban Rest Stop gives everyone the opportunity to feel that grateful “clean out of the shower” feeling each and every day. I am blessed to walk the 40 minutes uphill back to my house, to my community to take care of myself. And I am blessed with the opportunity to give people the chance to do the same.
What a year it will be, won’t you follow me on this journey as we walk together? Let me leave you with a poem read to us at orientation. Let it serve as a reminder in how one may live.
“Wild Geese” by Mary Oliver
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about your despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting —
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.
Adventure is out there 