A friend of my mother once asked what I did for work. I responded that I worked with homeless families in Salt Lake City. She told me how sweet and kind that was of me, to which I responded, "I just feel blessed not to have a heroin addiction." I think she thought I was joking. I wasn't.
I began working in Salt Lake City doing case management with homeless families in July of this year. This was after months of stress, unemployment, and a very depressing bank account. I didn't know what to expect when I started at The Road Home, and a lot of times I still have no idea what to expect from day to day. That's the adventure of it. It's exhausting and exhilarating at the same time. Yes, I actually get paid to work there. Yes, I get benefits, and even paid holidays (holla at you Columbus Day)! There are days that I love my job and days where I just want to hide. But, I love the people I work with -- both clients and coworkers.
I'm writing about this because I've had time to pause and reflect on what exactly the work I do means and why I do what I do. Working with people who are in constant crisis is anything but a walk in the park. Some days, it's downright hell. When I tell people about my work, they respond in a few ways: "Oh, that's so sweet." "That must be SO rewarding." "I could never do that." That last one frustrates me the most. In essence, individuals who respond in such a manner are saying, "I don't know that I could ever work with people who are so different than myself or get involved in work that required feelings and suffering." I paint with a broad brush, and do so on purpose.
That final response irritates me because I believe in a God who commands us to do the things that we would rather avoid. I believe in a God who commands me to be in the trenches loving my neighbors as myself and giving what I have to the poor and destitute. I believe in a God who blessed me with the capacity to do the work I love because He knew I could. I believe in a God who commands us to reach out to the poor and needy, to rescue those drowning in their own sufferings. I believe in a God who wants us to treat His children equally, regardless of situation, status, or station.
I feel blessed to believe in such a God. There are few things I believe in as firmly as the God I have just described to you. I was raised in a faith that preaches the ideals of a man who sought out the most destitute and forsaken people and dined with them, lived among them, and loved them. He did not do so at a distance, hoping a simple wave of his checkbook would solve the ills of the world; rather, this man, whom many call the Son of God, immersed himself and gave entirely of himself to the people like those I see every day.
The people I work with are not statistics or nameless bums. The people I work with have lives and stories and experiences that surpass anything I can even comprehend. As I sit with clients in my office or drive them to appointments, I get to know the deepest parts of their souls. And in that darkness, turmoil, and confusion, I find hope and love.
You may shudder or shy away from the individuals I work with. Some of you may even condemn them, spewing forth poisonous rhetoric that such people deserve what they got. That is not Christian. That is not what individuals who profess to be followers of Christ do in any circumstance. I'm not asking you to give money out to every person who asks you. That doesn't help. That merely satiates the desire to feel like a good person, much like the priest and the Levite must have done to the poor man who lay dying on the road to Jericho. Bind up the wounds. That is what I am asking. Lift the hands that hang down. Please do not just rest on your laurels and do nothing. There are people in need, there are chances for good all around. Please, do them, and do them because that is what God -- in whatever form you believe him to be -- wants from you and wants from me.
