volunteerplaintalk

Category: thankful

  • Never Forget, You Have a Hand in This

    Photo by Jacob Kelvin.J on Pexels.com

    Do you matter? Does the work you do matter? Are you feeling (mainly because there’s this pandemic going on) like “what difference does all this make?” Sometimes there are days like that, even weeks. That’s why I have stories that I clutch to my heart for times like these. Here’s one of mine in brief:

    There was something so familiar about her. Her eyes crinkled as she spoke. I’d seen that chin before, but it was her mannerisms that gave me deja vu. She was like reuniting with a good friend after a long absence.
    “I’m Bree,” she said, holding out her hand and we shook, a familiar warmth cursing through my arm. We walked back to my office and she sat down, her eyes taking in everything as though she had seen it before in another life.

    “My name is Bree Phillips and I want to volunteer here.” I didn’t recognize her name, but she continued. “I just moved here to be near my mother. Mom is getting older, and I need to take care of her. But I have some free time to give, and really, I’m here because of my father. He volunteered here many years ago.”
    “No kidding,” I said, still puzzled over the name Phillips, “who is your father?”
    “George Keenon,” she said.
    My mouth dropped open. “Your dad is George Keenon?”
    “Yes,” she answered, “do you remember him?”

    I knew him so well

    It suddenly dawned on me, those eyes, her chin, the mannerisms, I was looking at a clone of George. In that instant, I felt like I was sitting with him again, enjoying his stories of growing up on a farm, his love for family and helping others. George roamed the halls of the hospice care center, complementing the nurses and stopping to acknowledge a broken heart. I remember one day, when a patient asked to see Frank Sinatra, George agreed to “be Frank” and when he entered the room, she looked at him with a smirk and said, “whoa, you really let yourself go!” After that, our little inside joke was, “whoa, you let yourself go.” George was light and air and life itself all in one.


    Bree told me that before her father died, he told her to go volunteer at a hospice. “He was always talking about his experiences here,” she said. ” I swear, he had this long, great career in business, but he spoke more fondly about his connections to the patients.” Bree’s eyes brimmed with so much emotion. “I want to honor my father by following in his footsteps. I want to do something that lights me up the way it lit up my dad.”

    Do we ever really know?

    We, Leaders of Volunteers, operate in the intangible world: Goodness, Hope, Love, Charity, Personal Growth, Awareness, Connection, Discovery. Trying to measure these intangibles is like explaining why your dog loves you. He just does.

    We invest in people. But we don’t often measure our investment’s growth. We’re too overwhelmed with daily work to stop and take stock of our positive influence on volunteers and our missions. So, when these incidents like the Bree story occur, we stop spinning and realize that all of our work has far-reaching effects.

    You will never hear all the positive influence you’ve had. You’ll hear about some, but not all. That’s why I cling to my stories and quotes and even the look a volunteer gives me when they know, I mean really know that they have touched another person’s heart. I cling to the tears, the restarts, and the joyous celebrations. I fiercely hold the deep ache of volunteers’ souls when they share why they volunteer or their fears of inadequacy, or a pain from their youth.

    What we do know

    Maybe filling out a report doesn’t change the world. So, ok, making a quick phone call doesn’t alter the history of mankind. And sure, conducting a zoom meeting doesn’t solve societal ills. But look at all the good you produce. Look at your sphere and see what you radiate: Kindness, understanding, encouragement, belief in the goodness of others, acceptance, hope, inspiration, a willingness to listen and learn.

    You matter. Big time. And, do me a favor, ok? Forget for a moment the idea that you have to have earth-shattering successes to matter. Instead, feel contentment at how much you matter to so many people who may not say so. Feel satisfied that so much of your life is spent doing something meaningful. Feel fulfillment in how you engage and encourage people to be better. Embrace the satisfaction of knowing you’ve changed lives for the better. Feel privileged to have found something that fills your soul with meaning. Feel gratified that you are strong enough to go on.

    You matter to all of us

    We, volunteer managers are fighting for professional recognition, for more meaningful volunteer involvement, for seats at the planning table, and for volunteerism to be recognized as a society-changing force for good.

    Yes, we fight. But even the fighter has a moment alone, when the enormity of the fight presses down on wearied shoulders. Contentment comes, not from being complacent, but from understanding you matter.

    Let your “Bree” stories fill your heart to fight another day.

    -Meridian

  • There’s No Crying in Volunteer Management

    Does volunteer management ever make you cry? It does, doesn’t it? I mean, when you are sitting there and a volunteer recounts their struggle with being bullied as a child or they tell you about their journey through rehab or their fight to beat cancer, you just break down and cry because you care and feel their pain.

    And then there’s the pride cry when we witness volunteers wrapping a child in their arms or brushing the tear off the cheek of a grieving spouse. We well up when volunteers win an award because we witnessed their profound effect on those we serve. We weep when volunteers suffer a loss or when we see one of them grow fragile. We cry openly when they leave because they mean more to us than the hours they’ve spent.

    But do you ever cry out of frustration? When it’s all your body can do? I remember crying like that once. I was managing a resale shop with little to no resources except the great volunteers. I would borrow a hospital laundry truck to pick up donated furniture and ask an able-bodied volunteer to go along with me on the route that I had meticulously mapped out. Depending upon where the pickups were located and how much the donor had planned to donate, the route made maximum use of the truck.

    It happened during the last stop one day. It was 5:00 pm and I had to unload the truck at the shop and get it back by the hospital’s evening laundry run at 6:00 pm. The hospital had already sternly warned me that if I didn’t return it by 6, (I’d been late returning it several times already) they would not lend it out anymore, so I needed to hurry.

    My volunteer, Peter and I parked in front of the last house and got out. The donor was waiting to meet us. “I know I said I had two pieces of furniture, but we’re moving and I want you to take all of it.”

    Peter and I looked at each other. He and his wife had dinner plans with relatives who were visiting from out-of-town. “We won’t be able,” I began to say, but the donor cut in. “It has to be gone tonight. I thought we could get it into storage but we can’t. Our son was in an accident and he’s taken a turn for the worse.” His voice trembled. “We need to get to him.”

    Peter and I started to gather the furniture and haul it into the truck. The cargo space was nearly full and we had to jam the furniture in any way we could. I looked at my watch and realized that there was no way I could get the truck back in time. That meant the hospital would stop loaning it to me and the arduous task of having to find another vehicle all over again loomed.

    I knew that Peter would miss his milestone birthday dinner with his family. He didn’t say it, but I knew how important this was to him. My body was tired, my mind exhausted and thoughts of “what am I doing all this for anyway, I can’t get ahead,” began to swirl. My careful planning meant nothing now. Standing there in the back of the truck amidst all the tangled lamps and chairs, I broke down. It was so defeating.

    Peter stopped and gave me a minute and then he said, “Look, it’s ok. We’re going to do this. I can join my family when I get home, it’ll be fine.”

    “But it’s your birthday. Some birthday. I made you miss it. And they will take the truck away,” I said through tears.

    Peter nodded and said, “Yes, they probably will. But look, you’ve got us. All of us volunteers and we will figure this out. We’ve done it before and we will do it again.”

    We finished that night almost three hours late. I thanked Peter and drove the truck back to the hospital where my car was parked. After I gave the keys to an angry attendant, I got in my car and headed home. As I drove, I broke down and cried again.

    This time though, I wept because I was surrounded by volunteers like Peter.

    -Meridian

     

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  • Living in an Inside Out World

    you have never really livedJack is a part-time manager of volunteers at a large animal rescue shelter. His Volunteers do everything from checking animals in to cleaning habitats, interviewing perspective adoptive owners, marketing and raising funds. Besides his volunteer manager duties, Jack is also entrusted with managing the shelter, which is oftentimes a seven-day work week. Jack recalled a day not that long ago that resonated with him. He remembered, “It was a day when major donors were going to be touring the facility. Our parent organization was also sending senior management to have a catered lunch with the donors in our conference room. Volunteers were expected to act as hostesses for the event, and I admit, that pretty much made me mad, but I asked two volunteers, Jeri and Liz, who I really get along with to come, and they decided to bail me out for the day and help.
    On looking back at that day, I gotta tell you, I was anxious. I knew that I was a hard worker, a guy who took time with each and every volunteer, so that they could be an extension of me and my drive for a great shelter. I knew that I had brains and talent and was resourceful. I knew I had a head full of knowledge and could wow anyone who came into the shelter with my handle on everything.” Jack stopped there for a moment. “I knew and the volunteers knew that I had the shelter moving along like a well oiled machine. So why was I anxious?” I could hear the smile in his voice. “I wanted to show the higher-ups what a great manager I was, and on some level, I wanted them to be wowed and to immediately ask me to move up into senior management. I mean, clearly, a guy like me….” Jack laughed. “A guy like me doesn’t happen every day, at least that’s what I wanted them to see.
    But,” he continued, “that day came, and there was a problem with the heating unit and I had to spend my time with repairmen. The senior managers never saw me, not once. Luckily, Jeri and Liz were there. They kept everything on schedule.” Jack sighed. “I was mad, mad at the universe, mad at management and the volunteers, and mad at myself. I seethed for a while in the back room, when Liz stepped in to see if I was okay. I think she saw the frustration I was feeling so she left and came back a few minutes later with a woman about 50ish. The woman had stopped in to make a donation to our shelter. She told me that a few years back, she had adopted a small older terrier named Betsy. I remembered Betsy. Betsy had been rescued from an abandoned house. She was literally found cowering in an empty closet. When we brought Betsy in, she had been so shy, almost withdrawn and we thought that she might not ever get a real home, but the volunteers worked with her until she was adoptable. The woman told me that Betsy lived with her and her mother, but her mother had died last month after a long battle with cancer. She told me that her mother and Betsy adored one another and that she gave her mother a reason to live. With tears in her eyes, she told me that she would always take care of Betsy and she thanked us for rescuing her.” Jack drew a breath. “I had an epiphany right then and there, and realized that I was in this job for the Betsy stories, not for promotions and praise and raises and titles. I had exactly what I wanted. That faulty heater did me a favor. It kept me from trying to be someone I’m not.”
    Jack lives in an inside out world, just like every other volunteer manager. I think that deep in our hearts, we are searching for those moments that mean everything to the people we help. The outside world may try to tell us that we need to move up, that in order to succeed we need to have a mouthful of words in our titles. While the outside world might tell us that respect comes with a large office, our inside hearts remind us that self-respect comes from the stories about Betsy, or from volunteers who are inspired by our mentoring, or from clients who make it through their crisis with a volunteer we carefully chose for them.
    In the scheme of things, there are those who get to do the work and those who don’t. There’s the medical personnel who save lives and the administrator who makes more money and has a title. There’s the teacher who shapes minds, and there’s the head of the board of administration who makes policy. There’s the volunteer manager who orchestrates pure altruism and the senior manager who sits in meetings all day.
    We may not have the largest office or even a quiet one and we may not have the highest salary or even a salary to be proud of, but there is one thing we do have. You know what it is. You feel it inside everyday.
    -Meridian

  • The Fabric of Volunteering

    weavingSometimes I think about the complexities of our jobs and am amazed at the interconnectedness with volunteers, clients, pairings and life stories. I don’t know about you, but I think the universe smiles kindly on what we do. Like the time I was asked to find a volunteer who could speak Armenian and the very next phone call I took was from a volunteer who worked mainly in the office but mentioned that she just returned from visiting her family in Armenia and yes, she spoke Armenian. The Universe clearly heard the request, but more often we spend thorough and thoughtful time assigning volunteers as we weave the fabric of human connection. Some fabric is soft and warm, some rough, more nubby with little pills of emotion. Each is a wondrous creation in its own way.
    But we are not creators only, no, we are part of that fabric. Maybe it’s a bit of our blood as we prick our finger with the needle or maybe there’s a strand of our hair that just happened to land ever so slightly into the cloth as it’s woven, but we are in there as well. Because the volunteers and us, well, we are woven together just as surely as they are to our clients.
    Sometimes I look at volunteers, feel the deep connection we have and marvel at how they teach and inspire me and how I hope I’ve given them something in return. I think maybe so. I wonder, as I talk to Betty, whose daughter died ten years ago if she imagines as she speaks to me what a conversation with her daughter would be like had she lived. Am I a substitute daughter? No, but maybe her ability to speak freely to me is a rip in time that mirrors what her conversations would have been like had her daughter survived. (Betty, are you telling me the things you would have shared with your daughter? I kinda hope so, because I feel so connected to you right now)
    As I listen to Ben speak of his battle with alcoholism I hear the regrets, not in words, but in unspoken pauses. Because we believed in him, Ben has flourished, his soothing demeanor forged from pain. He laughs freely, and to him, life’s fabric is whimsical, full of ducks with sunglasses. Fortunately, our patients can lean heavily on him; he’s borne his share of sorrows. I wonder if our relationship as volunteer and volunteer coordinator has a symbolic meaning, where I represent some of those people he disappointed all those years ago and perhaps our patients represent redemption.
    I think of Jolee, who lived with her mother for all of her life and when her mother died, Jolee retreated into a shell. She decided to volunteer and wants to hang around past her appointed time, because as she says, “I just love you guys. I feel so comfortable here.”
    But it’s not always us providing for volunteers. I remember a time when my kids were outgrowing me and I acutely felt the tug of parental letting go. It must have been evident, because one of my favorite volunteers, Paul, sat and had coffee with me one day. He Looked at me for a moment and said, “I want to tell you a story.” He told me about his son, Doug, who back in the early 1970’s, was just evolving into a free spirit. Paul, a decorated WWII fighter pilot, could not understand nor get along with his rebellious son. “It became impossible, the relationship between he, myself and his mother,” he remembered, “and so one day Doug got in my car with his knapsack and I drove him to the edge of the freeway near our house and he got out, not knowing exactly where he was going. As I drove away, I looked in my rear view mirror to see him, thumb out, his long hair whipping in the wind. It was the hardest thing I ever did.” Rugged Paul, misty eyed, smiled. “he went to California, later became a financial analyst and we reconnected. But that day, that day was so hard.”
    He had no idea how much his story enveloped me in a warm blanket of experience where I felt the okayness of being scared. Neither does Myrna know how much she weaves around me with her wicked jokes when things are stressful. She has been in remission for several years and though her cancer is just a conversation away, she always tries to make sure I’m doing ok. I am when she’s around.
    But that’s what fabric does. It blends together so skillfully that only on close inspection can you see the individual threads. I really feel meshed with the volunteers and their lives. And so, in some small way, I feel deeply connected to their work with our patients and families as if a few of my threads add a bit extra depth to their work.
    Together, we, volunteers, those we serve and I are a cozy wool, a cool blend of satin or a breezy colorful cotton, These may be fabrics that exist only in a slice of time, but they have a certain beauty, even if just for a moment.
    -Meridian

  • Looking Forward, Thinking Back

    new yearI have spent the last two days of 2013 calling volunteers who are no longer volunteering due to illness, taking care of a relative, moving, surgery, etc. etc. While it’s tempting to play with the shiny new toys, these volunteers are the scuffed skates, the soccer ball you have to pump up regularly and the doll whose hair can never look as good as it did in the box. They are time worn and valuable and connecting with them always makes me feel nostalgic for old times and honestly, sometimes old me.
    The new year is a time to look forward, and oh my goodness, those of us in volunteer management need to look forward just to keep up with all the trends. But if that is all we do, then we lose our roots. We lose what grounds us, what teaches us and what makes us good at what we do. I’ve met many folks who pooh pooh the notion that history is important. They want to just keep moving forward without looking back. I beg to differ. Our history enriches our perspective and lays the path so that we can move forward with knowledge and experience.

    And while I’m making grandiose plans to recruit hundreds of new, perfect volunteers, I sincerely hope that I have the foresight to value those volunteers who have been the pioneers, the ones who have taught me so much. Trends come and go, but the good old fashioned principles of volunteer management never go out of style. Here’s to you, the volunteers who give selflessly and continually. Thank you for a good year. I look forward to your wisdom in the future. Cheers!
    -Meridian

  • My Buy One Get One

    bogoYesterday we did some impromptu volunteer caroling after a holiday party. One volunteer, Clara tagged along and I watched her tentatively sing with the group. I thought she might be, like me, a lousy singer. We did some rousing renditions of “Let It Snow” and “White Christmas” and as we broke up to head home, Clara came up to me and said, “this did me more good than it did patients and families. I haven’t felt like participating in anything relating to Christmas for many years but somehow this felt right. I can’t tell you what a big deal this was for me.” I didn’t ask about her experiences that lead to her reluctance to enjoy the season, but she continued, “I felt like this group understood my emotions, which have always been mixed at best.”
    Clara’s experience was something I did not expect. But then, we get “gifts” like this all the time, those moments when, while trying to do a good deed, we end up with an unexpected side good deed. Now that’s the ultimate buy one get one!
    How satisfying that volunteers not only help our clients, but each other and us as well.
    Have a joyous and meaningful Christmas and a very wonderful new year.
    -Meridian

  • It’s a Wonderful Volunteer Manager Life ( Part 2)

    george in barGeorgia stared at the monitor. “Why is she, I mean why am I crying?” she asked Clarise.
    “My dear,” Clarise clucked, “we’ll come back to that in a moment. Let’s look at what happened because you never had the opportunity to work here.” She pointed at the screen and it changed. An elderly lady had a handkerchief to her eyes, her hair matted to her cheek by tears.
    “That’s Helen Greene! She’s our volunteer Debra’s favorite lady. Debra told me all sorts of stories about Helen Greene.”
    Clarise shook her head. “Miss Helen never got the chance to have Debra as a volunteer. She never had a volunteer at all. She spent most of her time alone and lonely.”
    “What difference did it make that I wasn’t here?” Georgia pleaded. “Debra would have loved Mrs. Greene no matter what!”
    “That’s true my dear, but when Debra came to volunteer, you weren’t here to greet her. You weren’t here to spend that important time with her in the beginning, when she was so unsure of herself. Do you remember that?”
    Georgia thought back to the intense time she spent encouraging Debra. “I do,” she whispered.
    “Debra never did volunteer. All the people she would have helped never had her care. They went without.”
    Clarise pointed at the screen and a face came into focus.
    “That’s Jerry!” Georgia said excitedly. “He’s one of our best volunteers.” Georgia squinted at the images. Jerry was laying in a hospital bed. “What’s wrong with him?”
    “He’s had a heart attack dear. Remember the day you were talking with Jerry and he was having chest pains and you insisted he go to the Emergency room? You accompanied him until his wife could be with him. You weren’t there to help him and he had a major heart attack.”
    Georgia watched as Jerry’s wife came into the room and sat by his bed. She tenderly put a hand on his and laid her head on his arm.
    “Is he going to die?” Georgia asked.
    “I don’t know, my dear.” Clarise patted Georgia’s hand. Georgia’s eyes welled up with tears. “Jerry,” she murmured as the image dissolved into that of a woman staring blankly into space. “That’s Grace Tyne. The lady that suffered so much abuse that Doris is seeing.”
    “Doris is not seeing her,” Clarise said.
    “But Doris broke through to her,” Georgia interjected, “she was the only one who did.”
    “No one broke through to her, Georgia.”
    “But Grace was so hurt, so withdrawn.”
    “She is still. No one has been able to break through to her. You weren’t here to realize that Doris was the one volunteer who had the capability to do so. Doris doesn’t know Grace exists.”
    Georgia covered her face with her hands. Then she looked to see a man sitting in his small room. “Chad?” Georgia barely recognized him. He was disheveled and as he stared at the small television, his hands shook. “What’s happened to Chad?”
    george and mr gower
    “You were not here to see the possibilities in Chad, my dear Georgia. He was laid off and someone advised him to volunteer while he was looking for a job. The temporary person here took one look at his tattoos and dismissed him. He never got that chance to be valued.”
    Clarise stroked Georgia’s hair. She waved her hand over the screen and Georgia peeked to see all the volunteers she had recruited and trained and all the programs she had created from music to crafts to students and everything in between. Slowly the images of clients receiving services reversed and ran backwards and volunteers faded away, leaving clients without the benefit of volunteer help.
    “Isn’t there another volunteer manager that took my place?” Georgia asked.
    “There were many. No one took this position very seriously and they all quit, one after the other. The last person was Dale. He was an elderly man, sick and frail. No one had your passion nor your commitment dear. No one saw what you could see. This program did very little to actually help anyone.”
    The images fluttered and stalled. Then Georgia saw the first image of herself at the cubicle desk. She was crying as she spoke into her cell phone. “I want to try to work it out,” she was saying. “I don’t know if it will work. I know you have given up, but maybe,” her voice caught, “maybe we can try again.”
    george maryClarise looked into Georgia’s alarmed eyes. “You see, my dear, this may be the biggest tragedy of all. You chose to pursue a career that involved money and climbing ahead. Your heart told you to help people but you did not listen. You chose a life without the joy of helping others. You became obsessed with moving ahead. You became unhappy, driven, and you grew apart from your husband. You are successful, but not in the way that fills your soul. You see, dear, you’re in the same spot now, overworked, under appreciated and tired. But all you have to cling to is that next step ahead, that elusive better job. You have numbers and statistics and reports, but really, you’re not a numbers and reports person, are you?”
    “I don’t know what I am,” Georgia sighed. She was unable to look away. She watched as the her image sobbed, alone in an impersonal cubicle. She felt the crushing consequence of living a life that had little meaning. The sadness and desperation of being untrue to herself flooded her being and in that moment, she knew real failure.
    “No!” Georgia cried and buried her head in her hands. “I don’t want that life, I want mine!” She looked up, tears streaming. Clarisse was gone. Her office was just as she had left it the day before, the day she decided to quit. Her old computer, her notes and papers tacked all over the office were there again. She touched the worn spot on her desk and started to laugh. As she hugged her stapler, there was a knock at the door. It opened to reveal one of her volunteers, Julia peering in. At the sight of Georgia simultaneously laughing and crying, Julia asked with concern, “Is everything all right?”
    george gives clarence wingsGeorgia ripped up the resignation letter and dropped the pieces in her wastebasket. “It is now, Julia. It is definitely all right. Now, let’s concentrate on you. What can I do for you?”

    During this season of peace and joy. take care of yourselves and reflect on the ripples you create, the lives you touch and the volunteers who need your guidance.
    -Meridian

  • Thankful

    thankfulAs we approach Thanksgiving and I still don’t know if I will have the whole day off, thereby enlisting some family members to step up and stuff the turkey, I’m finding myself mentally slowing things down and actually thinking about what it is I’m thankful for.
    When it comes to my job, I’ve mentally deleted all the overwork and minutia and all that is imperfect and really thought about that which I am truly thankful for. Here’s is my list in no particular order.
    I’m thankful that I took a chance twenty years ago and “tried” this job. I’m still trying it on.
    I’m thankful that I’ve gotten to know thousands of people who want to give back. It’s like working in a bubble in some ways but I’ve gotten to see some remarkable people who fill me up with hope.
    I’m thankful that I’ve had a chance be creative, and that since there wasn’t much of handbook on volunteering at my organization when I started, I got the chance to help develop one.
    I’m thankful that volunteers are so open, willing to embrace the mission and that they put their volunteering lives into my hands. That’s a lot of trust. I hope I never lose their faith.
    I’m thankful that thousands of hurting people have been helped by our volunteers. I hope that in some small way, I’ve had a part in that.
    I’m thankful for co-workers who work hard to understand volunteers’ motivations and who ask for volunteer help, not demand it.
    I’m thankful for Shirley, a co-worker who, in the seventeen years I’ve known her, has never said an unkind word about anyone. Her charitable spirit is my goal. I fail miserably every day when I mumble about the injustice of it all, but I want to be more like her.
    I’m thankful for Jerry, my co-worker who I’ve known for nineteen years. He has my back and I have his. We don’t always agree, but we have a deep respect and liking for each other.
    I’m thankful for Pete, our volunteer who was in class ten years ago. When I need some free therapy, I call him up. We spend twenty minutes doing Bob Dylan impressions, imagining a world in which squirrels are smarter than humans, and talking about what life will be like when boomers get into nursing homes. That time talking to him is like a week at a spa.
    I’m thankful for Eva, who started as a volunteer five months after I started. She’s watched my family grow, I’ve watched hers. We are good, good friends. Not the boundary crossing kind, the lifelong kind.
    I’m thankful for all the giggling, lively groups of students. Since my kids are grown, they tend to teach me what youth looks like now. I think the future is in pretty good hands.
    I’m thankful for this evolving media. Before the widespread use of the internet, there was very little information on volunteer management. We all operated in silos so we had to “wing it” most of the time. Now there’s help and support out there if we look.
    I’m thankful that the vast majority of volunteer managers take their profession seriously and that every night they can go home, look themselves in the mirror and be proud of what they’ve done. Sleep well each night because you’ve made more of a difference than you know.
    I’m thankful for Dave, the captain. Even though he can’t volunteer anymore, he always calls me at just the right time to say hi and find out how I am doing. Coincidentally, he called me yesterday.
    I’m thankful for all that I have learned. I never would have had this education in another profession.
    I’m thankful for the nuances of life. If I have taken anything away from this job, it’s that life and people are many faceted, complex and fluid. Surprises always have a lesson tucked in there like fortune cookies.
    I’m thankful for my failures and successes. Both keep me moving.
    I’m thankful that my family understands how being involved in a mission is more than a nine to five job.
    Lastly, I’m thankful for the chance to share.
    Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours.
    -Meridian