The Least I Could Do

This is not about me.  I volunteered yesterday to help conduct the annual Point in Time survey in Charles County Maryland.  I am new to PIT, I had some idea of what to expect, I had gone to the training session to learn about how to conduct ourselves and how to fill out the forms, but as I drove over to Lifestyles of Maryland, I was given a reminder by the Spirit of one of my Camino lessons: let the way be the way, don't try to be in control, don't worry about who you will go with, don't worry about what you'll take, just go.  I say this as a disclaimer, lest you think this is some sort of do-gooder story about someone being all holy (read self righteous) and charitable (in the sympathetic crusading sort of a way).  I was not in charge of this, I was not doing anything except mostly riding around in a truck with a few people who had marginally more experience than I with PIT.
Background: the Point in Time survey is an annual survey conducted during late January to try and capture a snapshot of the number of un-sheltered, and under-sheltered people in an area.  The data gathered is used by various government agencies to determine funding, and by groups like Lifestyles of Maryland to try and focus their efforts to alleviate the symptoms of poverty in the community.  In more densely populated areas, this involves identifying people experiencing homelessness, visiting camps and community centers and even some restaurants and such where un-sheltered people spend time.  I volunteered because I saw it as a step in addressing the systemic problem of poverty, by doing something with what I have to give: time.
When I arrived at Lifestyles, I was told that I was assigned to the zone one team, which is an area known as Nanjemoy.  This meant that I was going into the boonies.  Everyone seemed sort of apologetic, and kept asking me, "Are you okay going to Nanjemoy?"  I understood their concern, I was new to this, and I know the reputation Nanjemoy has locally.  If you were to employ a medieval map maker to draw Charles County, he might label Nanjemoy with; "Here there be Dragons."  I was not really apprehensive in the least, partly because I have been in many worse places, partially abandoned housing projects in North Philly, HUD renovation sites in West Philly (you know, where the Fresh Prince had to leave), not to mention the rural places that were home to the marginal sorts of characters my parents took us to visit in Southwest Pennsylvania and Northern Arkansas.  I have seen tar paper shacks and old run down farms with thousands of mangy cats and dogs roaming wild, and from a young age known and even been impressed by the character of those, who by choice and necessity, live on the margins of the world.
But Nanjemoy, as with those other marginal places, is not a place you would be able to access without some connection and guidance.  And I think that's what people were worried about, it's not danger, it is simply that the community is isolated and closed to outsiders.  We were blessed with a local guide, a young woman who volunteers her time at the community center, and she was our key.  She knew where the people who had the need were.  She knew the trailers and homes that had no water or electricity, she knew where the families with lots of little kids were, she knew where to find the people we were looking for, and without her we would have been lost and ineffective, even though we had a truckload of blankets and drinking water, emergency food, hats and gloves, hygiene supplies and even gift cards to give out.  Our charity would not have been able to make it into these little rural enclaves, where it was sorely needed, without a relationship.  The way provided that relationship.
For those of you who have never seen rural poverty up close and personal, let me paint you a picture: you pull into a muddy lane and drive back into the woods.  In January, after a snowstorm, mud and slush can be knee deep.  Trailers and shacks appear, clustered together, often with highly suspicious looking electrical hookups.  There are varied sorts of junk around in the yards, bikes, engines, old grills, kids toys, tanks, buckets, drums, and any number of other cast off looking detritus.  At first, you might think it's a mess, it's a hoard, it's a lack of concern about surroundings, then you consider that there is no working vehicle and that a trash truck probably has never come out that lane, so trash tends to get burned or stay where it is.  You also notice that a lot of the "junk" is actually in the process of being used for something or other often re-purposed or otherwise repaired in ways that would probably make MacGyver proud.  The trailers and shacks are usually in a state of disrepair, but often it is because of infirmity or inability to pay for supplies, repairs are made to be functional, not pretty.  There are a fair number of animals about, and in the late afternoon and evening, a fair number of children too.
This is what it means to be under-sheltered, which is actually a much more massive and invisible problem across this nation than people sleeping on park benches.  We had drinking water, some people had been living without running water for years, because they lack the money and know how to replace a well pump.  The people that did have running water often said they didn't like to drink it because it was brown or yellow and had a funny taste, and they have no idea or inclination what to do about that.  We gave out jugs of bottled drinking water almost everywhere we went, and people were very grateful, for clean, clear water. I often thought of what has happened in Flint Michigan, and wonder at the tragedy of people living in this country without access to clean water. That is a failure of epic proportions.
Were there instances where maybe people were just taking the handout, even if they didn't need it? Probably.  Were they always forthcoming about some of the more sensitive questions on the survey about HIV, substance abuse and domestic violence?  Probably not.  Were there times when a big screen TV took up half the living space in a trailer with a sagging floor and no running water?  Yes.  None of that means that this level of poverty is acceptable, for the young or the old.  At least two men asked us if there was any way we could help them find a job, for which all we had was a phone number and the hope that they would seek and find.  This life of poverty is hard work, hauling water, cutting firewood, just trying to get in and out of these little enclaves.  This is not a lazy person's existence, most everyone looked older than they actually were because of the wear and tear of living this way. There were a lot of 40 year old grandmothers, which tells me that the grip of poverty goes back generations.
After a couple of visits I began to feel like Santa Claus (I was wearing a big red coat), because I was handing out basic things like toothpaste and socks, things that had been gathered and packed by other volunteers, and donated by other people.  Doing this was lifting my soul, the road had risen to meet me, and my blind and dumb following of my nose had led me to a place of joy and gratitude.  By the end of the day, I knew I had received more than I had given.  I woke up this morning knowing that I needed to share now with whatever number of you who read this blog, what I have been given.  I want to share the opportunity that I had to see people who are either despised or invisible to the world of power and success and economics.
I gave them small things that cost me nothing except about 10 hours of my time.  Today, I give them what more I have: seeing them, sharing their dignity and their grace and their request for help.  If you have privilege, and comfort and wealth, open your eyes and your heart to the least of these.  It is the least you can do.