Day Two of Service: Taskforce for the Homeless
I have become very practiced in looking away. I have allowed myself the luxury of avoiding eye contact with that which is uncomfortable to view.
I do not have a dollar to give the tired man on the corner of ninth street: avert my eyes, look intently towards my destination, look down at my phone.
I am exasperated at the state of my soul, the amount of selfishness and discontentment inside my heart: Avert my eyes, avoid the silence, turn the music up louder so I do not have to hear the roar of chaos that would surely resound and come crashing down on me should I accidentally allow a moment of aloneness with my thoughts.
I feel overwhelmed by the scope of homelessness and poverty in my city and in this city which has simultaneously stolen and hurt my heart in these past few days: avert my eyes, keep busy so I feel productive, get angry but do nothing.
Today our team could not choose to look away. We served at the Atlanta Taskforce for the Homeless, in the heart of the city. Those who are daily struggling through homelessness and poverty were right in front of us, begging without words or actions to be seen, begging simply by their state of being. They needed us to see their need.
Many of us were emotionally bonded to these people by our own experiences, others by our desire to empathize and meet each other in our humanness. And we did. We met and we shared: shared hearts, shared inspirations, shared struggles, shared frustration. We were particularly inspired by a man who had previously sold drugs, but now worked for the Taskforce and used his experience into a career serving those who need it most. He encouraged us, admonished us, and challenged us. He told us he needed someone to tell him he was good enough, he was worth it, and someone to come alongside him and partner with him through the changes he wanted to make. He needed to be seen and acknowledged. I realized and felt encouraged that though we would not solve homelessness or poverty in Atlanta this week, we mattered. We would choose to see, and that was important.
I do not have to rely on my own knowledge or ideas to “fix” things for the weary man on ninth street thinking about where he’s going to sleep tonight. But I can choose to look him in the eyes, exchange a genuine hello, and ask him how his day is going. I can choose to slow down, I can choose to see him. I can choose to defy a bureaucratic nightmare of a system and put us on the same level, as we are. Both human, both having needs; and I can choose to help fill the need to be seen, related to, and understood.
I do not have to try and “fix” systematic injustice.
But I can do the things I am dreaming about instead of being paralyzed by my fear of my own insufficiencies. I can choose to believe that loving people well matters, my heart and passion matter. And my dreams to change the world of the man on the corner of ninth street in Columbia are only being impeded by my fear of failure, And I can choose to believe that my failure is triumph, because I am one failure closer to success.
So, I will choose to look “it” in the eye, whatever “it” may be.
Will you join me? Let’s choose to see ourselves, each other, and our world and not be afraid of the beautiful consequences.
Blogpost by: Taylor Carr (Senior, School of Social Work)
I have become very practiced in looking away. I have allowed myself the luxury of avoiding eye contact with that which is uncomfortable to view.
I do not have a dollar to give the tired man on the corner of ninth street: avert my eyes, look intently towards my destination, look down at my phone.
I am exasperated at the state of my soul, the amount of selfishness and discontentment inside my heart: Avert my eyes, avoid the silence, turn the music up louder so I do not have to hear the roar of chaos that would surely resound and come crashing down on me should I accidentally allow a moment of aloneness with my thoughts.
I feel overwhelmed by the scope of homelessness and poverty in my city and in this city which has simultaneously stolen and hurt my heart in these past few days: avert my eyes, keep busy so I feel productive, get angry but do nothing.
Today our team could not choose to look away. We served at the Atlanta Taskforce for the Homeless, in the heart of the city. Those who are daily struggling through homelessness and poverty were right in front of us, begging without words or actions to be seen, begging simply by their state of being. They needed us to see their need.
Many of us were emotionally bonded to these people by our own experiences, others by our desire to empathize and meet each other in our humanness. And we did. We met and we shared: shared hearts, shared inspirations, shared struggles, shared frustration. We were particularly inspired by a man who had previously sold drugs, but now worked for the Taskforce and used his experience into a career serving those who need it most. He encouraged us, admonished us, and challenged us. He told us he needed someone to tell him he was good enough, he was worth it, and someone to come alongside him and partner with him through the changes he wanted to make. He needed to be seen and acknowledged. I realized and felt encouraged that though we would not solve homelessness or poverty in Atlanta this week, we mattered. We would choose to see, and that was important.
I do not have to rely on my own knowledge or ideas to “fix” things for the weary man on ninth street thinking about where he’s going to sleep tonight. But I can choose to look him in the eyes, exchange a genuine hello, and ask him how his day is going. I can choose to slow down, I can choose to see him. I can choose to defy a bureaucratic nightmare of a system and put us on the same level, as we are. Both human, both having needs; and I can choose to help fill the need to be seen, related to, and understood.
I do not have to try and “fix” systematic injustice.
But I can do the things I am dreaming about instead of being paralyzed by my fear of my own insufficiencies. I can choose to believe that loving people well matters, my heart and passion matter. And my dreams to change the world of the man on the corner of ninth street in Columbia are only being impeded by my fear of failure, And I can choose to believe that my failure is triumph, because I am one failure closer to success.
So, I will choose to look “it” in the eye, whatever “it” may be.
Will you join me? Let’s choose to see ourselves, each other, and our world and not be afraid of the beautiful consequences.
Blogpost by: Taylor Carr (Senior, School of Social Work)
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