In other news, I just did my first shift volunteering at a youth shelter. What a humbling educational experience this is shaping up to be, already! I entered the building (tall and brick with graffiti and steel railings leading up the steps) in time for breakfast with the street-involved youth, and got to hear their conversations and watch their antics as we waited for the locked doors to open. Some of these kids are trapped in really difficult lives, with drugs and crime and abuse, but listening to them they just sound like any group of young people with a desire for fun and comradery. Only, with particularly foul mouths. And a startling tendency to put on their cool face and ask how old you are. Wink wink.
I’m glad I can honestly say I have a boyfriend.
You can’t help but love them though. Honestly. I watched and saw them do their best to eat pancakes together and make everyone feel at home. There was a real sense of equality that I didn’t know to expect, and I could feel in the air that some of them were more hungry for safety and love than pancakes and bagels. Not that they’d ever tell you. They sit and talk, and laugh too loud when painful topics come up, and look too cold in the eyes when they’re uncertain of the people around them. Downtown in this big city, these are the victims of broken homes and hereditary addictions. Not hereditary in the truest sense of the word, but you understand. If you grow up in a family of substance abuse and criminal activity, what do you know? Where do you go for love and stability? What chance do you have?
Well, Jesus for one thing. That’s what saved me. And my brother. But who is going to show them the way, pray for them, and be there for them in the meantime?
And that’s why I love this shelter. I like their heart. The place is a veritable madhouse full of youth and volunteers and it’s almost impossible to tell them apart aside from the badges; people are running and calling each other and trying to get youth taken care of; cleanups and coffee orders and paperwork; and meanwhile they’re trying to be caring. Good hearts, to work so hard. They need more hands.
And I think if I have to learn how to be quicker on my feet with humour, and a bit more streetwise, it’s certainly worth it. Every one of those youth is potential on two feet, if only they’ll reach for the source. I know there will be heartaches and disappointments.
I can’t wait for the successes.
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