volunteerplaintalk

Category: volunteer coordinator

  • Oh, What We Don’t Do

    mascot Sometimes, don’t you just wake up on an otherwise lovely morning and stare at the universe and ask why?
    Last Monday, the start of volunteer appreciation week, I woke up with a cold. Not just a sniffle mind you, a full-blown, sore throat, low-grade fever, laryngitis cold. Ehhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. So, what does a volunteer manager do when faced with issues that keep good people home? Yep, we walk it off and go to work. After all, the volunteers are counting on us, and we feel this deep responsibility to our organizations, our volunteers and our work. Lame, huh?
    So, after fistfuls of cold medicine (pinks and whites, no blues, they put you out) I attended all the events planned. In between balloons I sipped cough syrup while greeting volunteers. At night, I went to bed at 8pm (with the kindly help of the blue pills) and hoped the next day would be better. But the human body is a funny thing, it requires rest while healing. And rest is to volunteer appreciation week as dieting is to the doughnut shop.
    Now during that week, there’s one big event. It’s a luncheon at a hotel complete with cloth napkins and those huge claustrophobic banquet walls. You would think that a luncheon would be easy, but it’s not. There’s seating and lists of who’s coming and checking people in and parking issues and who’s eating what and special diet requests and greeting and finding their fellow volunteers so they can sit with them and hearing how bad traffic is and listening to ‘how about moving this thing closer to me’ and fussing over emeritus volunteers and making sure the speaker has the proper sound and smoothing over hurt feelings because we don’t have you on the list and admiring new dresses and ties and stopping to answer an inane question by a staff member who is attending (no offense, that’s mean I know, but really guys, can you not help?) and pressing staff members to get in there and mingle for cryin’ out loud, and making sure coffee is served quickly and intervening when the wrong food comes out and well, you know.
    So, I have this thing; I guess it’s a reputation or myth or something. But I am the one expected to get the party started if you know what I mean.
    Yeah, I’ve dressed up in costumes, done skits, sung (and I can’t sing, not a note), did break dancing and the riverdance, once did an entire improv skit on why Daffy Duck is smarter than Donald Duck, worn outrageous outfits, sat in a lazy boy while in the bed of a pickup truck tossing out flyers, (don’t ask), worn various colored wigs at events, and brought my rubber chicken purse for good measure. You know, you’ve done it too. (fess up). Well, I’ve got the dancing started in lunches past and the volunteers loved it so of course they want to dance this year too. “Oh no, no one else can start the dancing, we want the warm familiar feeling of Meridian starting the dancing.” (now, I’m picturing myself doing this when I’m like 80 and all the millennial volunteers whispering “what the heck, is that woman having a seizure, should we call 911?)
    By this time, I’m having a coughing fit, the pills have worn off and my throat feels like the bottom of the pop corn maker at the movies. The trio that is entertaining has been playing soft background music during lunch when I see a volunteer sneak up to the keyboard player and whisper in her ear. The trio immediately launches into the beginnings of Ike and Tina Turner’s “Rollin on the River.” It is a slow, slow industrial build up and everyone is pointing at me. So, what am I, a good volunteer manager supposed to do? I slowly walk onto the floor, taking my rightful place in the universe and begin to sway to the iconic introduction. After a moment, I turn around and look at the keyboard player and playfully ask in a throaty voice, “Is this all you got?” She smiles at me wickedly and returns, “No way, but can you take it?”
    “Bring it” I shoot back and turn to the room full of expectant volunteers. (what the heck am I doing, a voice says that sounds oddly like my dear departed mother. I should be home in bed).
    There is a pause and then boom, the fast and furious Tina Turner version wafts over me to fill the room. As if a volunteer manager switch has been flipped, my legs are flying and I am whirling around and around on the dance floor. I’m oblivious to the crowd who is yelling. But heck, this is what I am supposed to do. This is what they have come to expect and within 30 seconds, they’ve flooded the dance floor, laughing and pointing at each other. Ah, they are having fun.
    Even though my chest hurts and I know I will pay for this tomorrow or probably the rest of the week, I dance on. My uninhibited crazy dancing is more than just a wacko spectacle. It is my signal to them that we’re family, we’re comfortable with each other, that we can be our lunatic selves with each other. It’s also a subtle way to say, “take a chance, don’t be embarrassed, we don’t judge.
    So, after volunteer appreciation week, here’s to all of you who work with volunteers, you, who got there at 5am to start decorating, you, who stayed up late making goodie bags, you, who carefully created posters and printed pictures, you, who drove miles to find the right balloons and you, who danced like lunatics.
    Here’s to you, who find that this week’s work is bigger than you anticipated and to you, who are sore and maybe just beginning to feel that scratch in your throat. Let’s try to get some rest, and take care of ourselves, at least a bit. Let’s look at our weariness as a badge of courage or conviction or maybe just craziness. And perhaps that extra picture you decided to put on the poster meant everything to that one volunteer.
    Then, see, it was all worth it.
    -Meridian

  • An Open Letter to Prospective Volunteers During Volunteer Appreciation Week

    extended handDear Potential Volunteer:
    Happy volunteer appreciation week. Although, you may not yet be a volunteer, by considering becoming one, you are one step closer to being one of over 100 million volunteers worldwide. We, volunteer managers, are cordially inviting you. And so, I am writing this letter to you personally. If you are interested, I’m going to ask you a few questions to help you acquaint yourself with the volunteer manager who will be your guide throughout this process. Let’s get started.
    Because we appreciate your unique qualities, how do we support you while together we find your ideal volunteer niche? Are we to be your mentor, your cheerleader, your coach, or your teacher? Can you help us fill the role you need us to fill so that you can succeed?
    What should we do to help bring out your best? Do we hover, give constant praise or would you rather we stay back and be available only when you signal you need our help? Can you give us signals that indicate you are doing well or tap us on the shoulder when you need us?
    How often do you want us to call you? Every time we have an assignment? Are you ok with saying no to us or do you feel like you have to say yes? How will we know its the right time in your day or week or life? Can you tell us when things change so that we do not have to guess? (We usually are incorrect, just so you know).
    Ok, if you’re still with me, let’s move on.
    How much do you want us to know about you personally? Do you want us to know every deep detail or do you feel that lots of personal questions are, well, too personal? Can you help us get to know you as a person?
    Will you understand why we ask you to respect our guidelines? Our rules are there for reasons. Sometimes, to be honest, the rules frustrate us too. If we ask you for a background check, can you be ok with us having to do that? We want you to know that we don’t think you are a criminal, we are just following requirements. It’s not that we don’t want you to volunteer and appreciate your enthusiasm, it’s that we must maintain processes in order to serve you and our clients. Can you think of it like this: If my mother (or father, son, partner, whomever) needed the help of a volunteer, would I want that volunteer to be thoroughly vetted by the organization?
    What about awards and recognition? Would you feel left out if another volunteer was spotlighted or given an award? Are you the kind of person who says the limelight doesn’t matter, but secretly you feel slighted if we take you at your word and don’t formally honor you? This may seem trivial, but we really want to give you the type of feedback that fits your style. Meaningless praise is not what we are about. Can you help us to give you the recognition you’ve earned?
    And what about motivations? Will you feel that we are psychoanalyzing if we try to get at the heart of your desire to volunteer? Will it bother you if we want to probe deeper than your desire to “just help?” Can you see how it helps us when we know the secondary reasons like you enjoy socializing or you need challenging experiences? Can we convince you that we are really doing our job if we gently probe about your recent losses or your former life challenges? Will you understand if we take more time acclimatizing you because we want to make sure that you will do well? If we ask you to wait six months or a year, can you see that we want you to come back after you have spent some time healing yourself? We know that volunteering is cathartic and healing and we have seen so many people successfully volunteer while mending their souls. Since this is a very delicate balance, will you understand we have a responsibility to the vulnerable population we serve and that being healthy and whole is a sound basis for volunteering? Will you let us work with you?
    When you have a great idea, can you understand that we do not make policy and that we cannot always make things happen, at least not right away? Because organizations have hierarchies, will you allow us to go through the channels to get things done and understand that we can’t force processes to go faster? We get very frustrated too, with the sometimes slow go of committees and permissions. But having said that, volunteers all over the world have made tremendous improvements in their respective organizations. We most certainly do value your ideas and suggestions, so will you keep them coming? Your suggestions make us look good too. Just kidding.
    We want you to know that we want you to succeed. Our jobs are to find you, (although oftentimes you find us) to orient you properly, to give you the attention and mentoring you need, to place you in a meaningful position that enhances your life while respecting your availability, and to do everything in our power to keep you coming back as a satisfied, productive volunteer.
    You are the reason we have jobs, jobs we cherish, jobs we believe in. You inspire us, challenge us, educate us, lead us and keep us coming back. We look at each one of you as an individual, with unique perspectives, needs, goals and timetables. We want to support you while cultivating your skills and we are willing to invest time in you if you are willing to work with us. Our clients benefit beyond any of our imaginations.
    Here’s to you, our future volunteers. Will you come, be part of our world? Will you seek us out and change our clients’ and your lives for the better? We want you to experience that almost inexplicable feeling of helping another human being. As one existing volunteer mused, “how can I describe what it is like, my volunteering with critically ill people? How can I describe the feeling I get? Its sorta like trying to tell someone who’s never been in love what it’s like to be in love.”
    Come, our new friends, fall in love.
    -Meridian

  • 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 Mass That Lurks Beneath the Surface

    iceberg I’m not telling you anything new when I say we all want our volunteers to be acknowledged and appreciated. We all want our volunteers to be treated with respect and looked at as integrals members of our teams. We all want volunteers to be thought about as contributors, not extra little worker bees. So, when that happens, are we, volunteer managers, not completely satisfied? Are we done? (Finally, the volunteers are treated as equals, I can stop clenching my teeth!)
    Hmmm, if the answer is a hesitant no, what more do we want? (Besides world peace of course)
    So let’s take a little trip if you will and look in at a volunteer manager, Josh sitting at his desk, answering phones, solving problems, listening to stories, making placements, (fine, for brevity’s sake, I won’t list all of the tasks going on) and a staff member wanders into his office. (for giggles, let’s say, a member of senior management) “Wow,” the senior manager says, ” I have to tell you, Ellen is such a great volunteer, she really did an excellent job last week. What a gem she is, you’re really lucky to have her!”  Josh immediately smiles, looks up and agrees, “Yes, she is wonderful, thank you so much for acknowledging her contribution, I will certainly pass that along to her.”
    The senior manager walks away, mentally patting herself on the back for praising a volunteer. There, now everyone’s happy, right?
    Well, yes, but Josh has this nagging little feeling that not everyone and everything has been properly acknowledged. For him, there is a back story to that praise. Now, don’t get me wrong, we are all thrilled to hear our volunteers receive praise. So, then, what is that invisible behemoth of a back story lurking beneath the surface?
    In the case of volunteer Ellen, what that senior manager did not know is that Ellen at first spent three months questioning whether volunteering was right for her. Josh allowed Ellen to observe other volunteers in action, invited her to educational in-services and arranged for Ellen to have her own volunteer mentor. Josh spent hours on the phone encouraging and motivating Ellen in order to give her exactly what she needed to feel comfortable. Although swamped with requests, Josh focused in the moment and saw in Ellen the potential to be a great volunteer. So when praise for Ellen also includes the phrase, “you’re lucky to have her,” Josh invariably remembers all his efforts beneath the surface.
    Some volunteers are naturally great, some quickly develop into great volunteers and others need more mentoring. It is as much an art to recognize the volunteer who needs little mentoring as it is to find the right way to mentor a volunteer who is unsure. The yin and yang of volunteer management is a nuanced role that takes the eye of an artisan who dabbles in human potential.
    When major events go off with no major problems, it’s the volunteer manager who has spent the time calling and recalling volunteers so that they know all the little things like where to park, whether they’ll need to bring water or sunglasses, the proper dress, directions to the event, who to check in with, where the bathrooms are located, and what they will be expected to do. All that work is never seen, only the fact that volunteers are on time and prepared.
    Beneath the surface there’s all the time spent hearing volunteer concerns and the follow through in correcting a wrong or getting an answer. Beneath the surface, there’s all the work behind the scenes everyday that volunteer managers do, like dropping everything when a potential volunteer walks in off the street, skipping lunch to visit a volunteer in the hospital, staying late because a student needs papers signed to prove they’ve volunteered, looking up airline tickets for a volunteer who’s computer is broken, making a fuss over grandchildren who have come to visit, going with a volunteer to a doctor’s visit because her daughter lives in another town, looking at pictures of a trip when a report is due, saving that book for a volunteer who loves the same author, framing pictures of volunteers as gifts for their families, and bringing in garden flowers to share.
    Beneath the surface of any excellent volunteer program is a volunteer manager who cares enough to work tirelessly with a mixture of raw gut instinct, mother hen tendencies and a passion for human potential. That tip of the iceberg did not poke through the water on its own for it is supported by a massive base of cultivation, patience, persistence and old fashioned sweat.
    So, once we get the respect and acknowledgement for our volunteers down and once we are comfortable knowing that our organizations will always treat our volunteers with respect, then maybe we can start working on some recognition for our contributions and our everyday efforts.
    It’s a lot to hope for, but I can dream big, as big as that iceberg base, can’t I?
    -Meridian

  • One Does Not a Plurality Make

    sheepDo you ever catch a staff member lumping all volunteers into a herd, like sheep?
    Richard graduated college with a degree in psychology. He took a job as a volunteer manager for a mid-sized organization that places volunteers in area agencies. Richard has plans to continue his education and will apply to the college of social work in two years. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate being a volunteer trainer and manager. I really do, it’s that I’ve had this long-term plan for quite a while. I hope, as a social worker, that I’ll be able to work closely with volunteers.”
    Richard recounted a team meeting that he attended a few weeks back. “It was one of our mandatory meetings for all staff. The CEO, all the senior managers and all of us workers were there. They had presentations, financial reports, and upcoming events. You know the type, there’s some rah-rah stuff where they tell us we’re the best at what we do, and then there’s problem solving talk about things we can do better.” Richard paused. “I was half paying attention, I gotta admit, then one of the marketers got up and started talking about the need for everyone to be more professional. People were raising their hands, giving advice and testimonials. One of the senior managers stood up and said that the volunteers we train ‘were not acting in a professional manner’. My ears started burning. What? I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. The volunteers I train were not professional?” Richard’s voice went up an octave. “I mean, she was basically saying I didn’t do my job. I take a great exception to that. And here’s the real kicker; no one disputed her!”
    Richard went on to say, “I mean, here’s a senior manager tearing down the volunteers in front of everyone. She painted a picture that all volunteers are unprofessional which is so far from the truth. It was demoralizing and completely bogus. Just because volunteers are an easy target is no excuse for her to foster that impression.”
    Ahhh, Richard, I’ve been down this road so many times. When people generalize about our volunteers, they do enormous harm. Most staff have very narrow views of volunteering; they know the volunteers in their area and sometimes they only come in contact with one or two volunteers. To broad brush an entire force based on here say or one isolated incident is devastating, insulting and frankly demoralizing. I’m embarrassed to say that I’ve had staff say to me, “the volunteers don’t know what they’re doing”, or “the volunteers aren’t very reliable”. In every case, the staff member heard these claims from another staff member who either exaggerated or recalled an isolated incident.
    So, I have learned to nicely confront the person who has painted the picture that our volunteers are sheep in a herd of incompetence. The outcome has been more awareness of broad statements. The last polite confrontation went something like this:
    Me: Sheila, I just wanted to ask you a question about something Dave told me he heard you say in your meeting yesterday. Dave told me that you said ‘our volunteers don’t even know who our CEO is’. Is that accurate or did he misunderstand?
    Sheila: Oh, well, I, I don’t remember exactly, but I might have said something about a volunteer receptionist not remembering the name of our executive director. It really wasn’t that big a deal.
    Me: No, but I would really like to follow-up with that volunteer so that I can make sure she will have the correct information. We wouldn’t want anyone to be embarrassed. Do you remember who that volunteer was?
    Sheila: Well, no, I mean I was told this by one of my staff, Corella who observed your volunteer forgetting in front of a client.
    Me: That certainly is distressing. May I ask Corella who the volunteer is so that I can give her the correct information?
    Sheila: Well, sure, I guess, but really it’s no big deal.
    Me: Thank you, I will follow-up with Corella. Our volunteers are an asset and we want them to act in a professional manner, and believe me, volunteers want to do a good job.
    Sheila: Ok, fine.
    Me: Can you tell me about all the other instances of volunteers not knowing the CEO’s name?
    Sheila: I, I don’t know of anymore.
    Me: Well, that’s certainly good to hear. Fortunately one incident does not mean the majority of volunteers don’t know the CEO’s name. But if I may, in the future, we would really appreciate your coming to us if you have a concern about one of the volunteers so that we can address it. It’s not helpful to air these concerns in a general meeting because it gives others the impression that we are not doing our jobs and that the volunteers are incompetent which I know you know they are anything but.
    Sheila: All right, I will keep that in mind.
    Me: Thanks again, you’ve always been so supportive of our volunteers and we appreciate your help in making everyone aware of the great work the volunteers do.
    Now if you think I don’t actually use that formal business speak, I most definitely do. In order to make my point, I remove all emotion, and speak in a very formal, direct, businesslike manner. My extreme businesslike attitude subtly points out their unprofessional treatment of our volunteers.
    I’ve done this ever since I became very tired of doing nothing about these blanket statements. Embarrassing a senior manager in a meeting by “correcting” his or her broad statements in front of everyone is often a career killer. But, one on one, we can point out the error and ask for help in recognizing the impact our volunteers make.
    Volunteers are not sheep, or children or just little old ladies with no skills, they’re a microcosm of the best our communities have to offer. Volunteers have earned respect, so let’s help our respective fellow staff members remember that.
    -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

  • The Book and Its Misleading Cover

    judge book by cover“Three strikes and you’re out!” That’s my rule and I tell myself all the time, “don’t be a patsy; hold people accountable.” It’s not like I’m a pushover because I’m in the helping business anyway, is it? For cryin out loud, just because someone wants to volunteer, doesn’t mean I have to bend over backwards for them, right?
    Well, ok, there I said it. Sounds good on paper. At least it did until I had a call about two weeks ago from a college student named Justus. He left a garbled message for me about his fraternity doing volunteer work, and so I called him back and left him a super happy sounding reply. “Hi there, this is Meridian and I am so excited and can’t wait for you to volunteer with us!” Ok, no, my return messages don’t really sound like a used car salesman, but sometimes I wonder if there is too much desperation in my voice.
    On my desk I’ve always kept a yellow legal pad that chronicles the phone calls I receive and make. It is full of graffiti from color highlighters, shorthand and initials, like LM for left message, WCB for will call back, MA for made appointment. I can flip back and see anything that has languished a bit by the highlighted portions. When done, I line through them. It’s not a perfect system, but it’s better than all the post it notes I used to have stuck to everything (including my skirt as I walk away).
    For days I went on about my business and then when flipping back over my legal pad, I found Justus’ number with the LM indication. Hmm, he did not call me back so I called him again. This time he picked up and I introduced myself and reminded him that I had left a message. “Oh, right,” he said and hesitated so I added, “You called about volunteering with your fraternity.”
    “Yes, yes,” he said,”I got your information off the internet and would like to talk to you about our group doing some volunteering.”
    “Ok,” I said, “why don’t we meet? I can come up to your school when it is convenient for you.” There, see, I made it easy for him to get involved. I mentally patted myself on the back and recorded our appointment on my calendar. Done, good.
    Our meeting day arrived and I drove up to college and walked to the library where I plunked myself in the first set of easy chairs. I felt ancient, what with all the skinny jeans walking by, but I was “official” so I belonged there, kinda like the mom who polices the slumber party. I looked around at all the students and wafted back to my college days. Library, study, no difference except for all the devices. 9am became 9:15 then 9:30. Hmmm. I pulled out my phone and the slip of paper with Justus’ number on it and texted him. “Am in library, are you here?” At 9:45, I gritted my teeth and left, driving all the way back to the office, thinking of the work that had just piled up because I went on a wild goose chase for some college kid. Drat those irresponsible college types that don’t yet know how unforgiving the real world is!
    The next day I had a message from Justus. “I’m so sorry, something came up, can you call me?” “Grrr,” I sputtered as I dialed his number. He picked up and cavalierly apologized and asked to meet. “Well,” I said, “can you come here?” He agreed that he could make the drive and we set a time, 2:00pm, for that Thursday.
    Thursday at 2:00? You guessed it, no Justus. At 2:30 I got to serious work and forgot that I was stood up again. But he called at about 3 and said that something came up and could he meet me at 4:30 on Friday. 4:30 on a Friday? Oh, this will be a disaster, I told myself. Normally, I leave at 5:00 if I’m lucky and besides, every Friday at 3:00 I just literally lose all capability for rational thought. But, sighing, I agreed, while internally chastising myself for putting up with such youthful irresponsibility.
    Friday was tough, busy, full of problems and issues and at 3:00 exactly, the brain stopped functioning properly. I checked my calendar and groaned. Instead of winding down, I had to gear up for Justus, that is if he actually showed. At 4:20, I walked to the front lobby to see if he was dutifully waiting there, but it was empty. I returned to my desk and finished up. At 4:50, I got a call from the front desk volunteer, Jan. Justus was there to see me. “Thanks, Jan,” I sighed. “Send him back, please,” Since it’s hard to literally kick oneself, I punched myself in the arm for agreeing to the time.
    He came back and I waved to the small conference table near my office. “Nice to meet you ” I said, offered my hand and added, “you’ve got ten minutes.” He looked at me, saw my obvious annoyance and sat down.
    Justus folded his hands and without prompting, began to tell me about his childhood in Africa and his family’s emigration to America when he was twelve. He talked about the expectations his parents placed upon him and their unwavering commitment to serving whatever community they lived in. He explained how, when he was in high school, he started his own food drive to feed local families in need. He said that he was studying sociology and foreign affairs and hoped to be an ambassador some day. He had earned a full ride scholarship to college and was elected the first Junior year president of his fraternity. His tenure, he told me, would be about serving the community. He had three semesters to make it happen. “I want my fraternity brothers to work hard, to sacrifice. to appreciate all they have when others have so little or nothing. I want them to learn what my parents taught me.”
    I looked at the clock. 5:25. I wasn’t interested in going anywhere anymore. I was mesmerized by this young man. (and not in a creepy cougar way, so don’t even go there) At one point, I looked at him and said, “Who are you?” (no, really, I did say that and I got a smile) Clearly, I need to hear more. Mentally I made note that a whole lotta work was coming my way, but hey, how could I pass up this intriguing individual and the fraternity he is guiding?
    We shook hands and agreed that I would come out and talk to his group in two weeks. I’ll show up on time and forget about our shaky start. I’m past that silly book cover and having read chapter one, can’t wait to read more.
    -Meridian

  • The Disaster Clean Up Crew

    clean up crewMeg is a volunteer coordinator for a large health care system that specializes in patient rehabilitation. Her volunteers are involved in several programs, from spiritual care, and palliative listening to working with dementia patients. Meg is the lead volunteer coordinator with twelve years of experience. Recently, the marketing department contacted Meg and told her that they wanted “some volunteers” to be filmed in a short infomercial.
    “They didn’t give me a date nor time and place,” she said. “I emailed them repeatedly for concrete directions, but I never got an answer. Finally, one of the marketing staff. Gwen, came down at 4pm on a Wednesday and said they were ready to shoot Friday at 9am in our location. What do you need? I asked her and she told me they wanted volunteers working with a mock patient in a rehab room.”
    Meg sighed. “Gwen did however ask for our pet therapy volunteer, Sam, who owns Polo, a beautiful golden retriever. Gwen told me she loved that dog and how beautiful the dog would look on camera. So, I spent most of my Thursday pleading with volunteers to come to the shoot.”
    Meg paused. “You know how volunteers are. The don’t want to be on camera. But I got six volunteers, including Sam to agree to come in and be filmed.
    Friday came and I arrived early,” Meg continued. “I had fruit and coffee set up for the volunteers. They began arriving, Sam and Polo, Jerri who does amazing work journal keeping with patients, Clive and Betty, a couple who sing to patients, Jeravani, an international student who is studying physical therapy and Amelia, a volunteer who specializes in art. They were a great mix of volunteers. I gave a lot of thought to how volunteers would present on camera and I have to admit, this was a diverse group of excellent representatives. I was thinking the infomercial might encourage others to volunteer.”
    Meg went on, “9 arrived and we waited and then 9:30 and still we waited. I could see the volunteers checking their watches. They had places to be. At about 10, Gwen found us and said they were ready to start filming. Biting my tongue, I stood up and waved my hand over the group of fantastic volunteers sipping coffee and started to introduce them, but she stopped me and very nonchalantly said that the crew was behind schedule and that there was only time for, as she put it, ‘the dog shot.’”
    I could feel the anger and frustration in Meg’s voice and she went on, “I looked at Gwen, stunned. I motioned for her to join me outside the room, out of earshot of the volunteers. You mean our volunteers came in for nothing? And Gwen basically said, ‘we don’t have time for any extra shots because we already have more than enough. Sorry, just tell them thank you and maybe another time.’”
    Meg snorted an angry laugh. “yeah, I wanted to say, why don’t YOU tell them and why don’t YOU apologize profusely and why don’t YOU waste half a day trying to cajole people for nothing? No, you get to walk away, damage done and think nothing of it.” Meg stopped to take a breath. “It just makes me so angry!”
    Meg recharged. “Then, get this! Sam and Polo? Oh yeah, after I say goodbye and sorry to all the other volunteers, I find Sam and Polo in a mock-up patient room and one of the crew is being filmed holding Polo’s leash! I lost it. I went to Gwen and demanded to know what was going on. She kinda shrugged and said that the film crew set it up that way so for once in my life I stood my ground and said no. I told her that if Sam was not in the shot, then I was going to send them home. I was so mad, I didn’t care.”
    I could feel the anger balloon about to burst. “Gwen intervened though and Sam was filmed with Polo. So, at least I won a minor battle.”
    Then Meg grew philosophical, the way long time volunteer managers grow. “I wish our volunteers were given the same respect as others in our hospital system. No one would waste the CEO’s time. No one would be so cavalier about marketing’s time. But volunteers? They are a commodity. It’s wrong, just wrong. Although, it did feel so good to stand up for Sam. In fact, it felt great.”
    Meg’s voice changed, lifted somehow. “In fact, I think I’ll start doing that more.” The old spark in her voice returned. “Yeah, stand up for what’s right, what do I have to lose? And, maybe, just maybe, I’ll stop being the clean up crew.”
    -Meridian

  • If Volunteering Were an Olympic Sport

    olympicsI arrived in Sochi, Russia, thrilled to be part of the world’s greatest sporting showcase. Stepping out of the cab at the Olympic village, I asked one of the official guides where I could find the volunteer events. He scratched his puzzled head, grunted, “Huh?” and checked his elaborate map. He spent several minutes consulting a static Russian voice on his enormous mobile phone. While he shouted into the contraption, I soaked in the palpable excitement of the noisy Olympic crowd filtering by. I was giddy with anticipation. Finally, the world would see the wonderfulness of our volunteers.
    He got off the phone and showed me his map, drawing an X on an empty white spot. “There, you go there,” he said, then handed me the map and walked away. I followed the map, weaving my way in and out of colorful vendors and beautiful buildings until I was in an open field beyond the bustle of Olympic village. There, in the middle of the snowy field was a small industrial building with a hand-made sign that read, “Volympics”.
    Gleefully, I entered the building. There were maybe a few dozen people scattered about on folding chairs. Family members, no doubt. I nodded to some folks sharing a bag of potato chips as I settled into my seat.
    The first event was the “Booth Freestyle.” Team Major Illness Awareness and Team Animal Rescue had 10 minutes to sort through the enormous pile of random items piled in a corner of the building. The teams had to find a table, table cover and everything necessary to set up a booth showcasing their organization at a fictitious fair. You could feel the tension in the room, or maybe it was the lack of a bathroom nearby. The teams appeared. Team Major Illness Awareness looked nervously at Team Animal Rescue. Each four member team gripped the side rails and waited for the shot signaling the start. They sprinted or walked quickly, really into the arena, attacking the pile like I attack my closet after over sleeping. Finding the items they wanted, each team began to set up an attractive booth. Team Major Illness Awareness settled into making a giant macaroni sign on a poster board, their deft hands glueing the pasta into a giant heart shape. The captain of Team Animal Rescue shouted encouragement as the team stuck animal stickers to the tablecloth while drawing a huge smiling elephant on a white board.
    An element of difficulty was added when several Olympic judges, simulating organizational staff walked by shouting “hurry up” and refusing to answer questions. Team Major Illness Awareness arranged give away pens in the shape of a pancreas while team Animal Rescue created paw prints out of jar grippers. The clock ticked away the time and the crowd shouted “three, two, one” and the buzzer sounded. The judges conferred and awarded points for artistic interpretation as well as speed. It was close but team Animal Rescue pulled it out by putting up a cute picture of their Executive Director being nipped by a rescued chihuahua.
    I pulled out a granola bar while waiting for the next event. Office Downhill was an individual competition involving stuffing envelopes, data entry and filing. Rickety metal cabinets were wheeled into the arena while an old desk, obsolete computer and a mountain of flyers and envelopes on a card table were dragged into a corner. The first competitor, Museum Guide stepped confidently into the arena. She was given five files, a handful of data entry forms, and no instructions. When her time started, she ran to the file cabinets first, checking the names on the files, quickly sorting them into alphabetical order. She exuded confidence and I suspected she was a volunteer leader at home. She grabbed the file cabinet drawer and pulled but it would not open. It was locked! Panicked, she looked around then wisely searched for a key, finding it taped to the back of the cabinet. After expertly filing the information, she ran to the computer and pushed the button. It sputtered and slowly whirred, so she ran to the table and started stuffing envelopes while the computer booted. Her fingers expertly flew through the pile of flyers, and she ran back to the computer and finished entering the data. The time posted was 12:56:01. Hers was the time to beat. The next competitor, Thrift Store Volunteer, didn’t fare as well. She pulled so hard on the locked file cabinet that it fell over. She managed to complete the other two tasks, but was penalized for folding the flyers face out. The third competitor, Soup Kitchen Volunteer managed to find the cabinet key but shoved all the files into one drawer. He stuffed the envelopes cleanly, but ended up spilling the cold cup of coffee left by the judges on the computer desk. The data was soaked brown and unreadable. The fourth competitor, Hospital Gift Shop Volunteer, took one look at the scene, threw up her hands and said she never did office work in her life. And the final competitor, Youth Mentor Volunteer sped through the course, but got so frustrated with the lumbering computer that he threw it on the floor, therefore being disqualified. The dozen of us in the crowd cheered wildly for all the competitors as they took a bow. We waited in anticipation for the results. Obviously Museum Guide Volunteer was the winner, but the judges conferred and decided to give it to Soup Kitchen Volunteer because he was willing to work on a Saturday night.
    The medal ceremony consisted of a nice lunch for all the volunteers with a speech telling them how important they were to their respective organizations. I didn’t get the opportunity to speak to the volunteers, but I’m thinking that they were pretty great people who took their volunteering seriously.
    I left Sochi with renewed enthusiasm for volunteers and their incredible depth of talent. I think for a first Volympics, it was pretty good. I’m encouraged, because I heard some officials discussing the next one, and they are thinking about adding the De-Luge event, where volunteer managers are overwhelmed with requests, questions, tasks, phone calls, email, drop-ins, paperwork, problems, and spreadsheets. I may start training tomorrow.
    -Meridian

  • You Have Reached This Website in Error

    redirect-foldersWe’re so used to the computer prompt when we see it: You are being redirected to another site. “Fine,” we think and we simply ease into the new locale. But did you ever think about why and how we are being redirected? Neither do I, but I think there’s probably a back story there.
    Mary is a relatively new volunteer. She came to orientation like a firecracker tossed into a library. Mary introduced herself to everyone in the room before I could slip in my cute little icebreaker. During breaks, the class was talking up a storm. Usually it takes a session or two for that kind of comfort, but with Mary present, we cut to familiarity. She answered questions with stories, asked other participants to add more and before orientation was over, she had everyone’s number. Literally, she had all their phone numbers.
    Mary wanted to work with patients and families and so we paired her with a seasoned volunteer, Joyce in a hospice house. “Well, she is chatty,” Joyce reported back. “She really got to know a lot about me.”
    “But how did she do with the patients and families?”
    “Fine,” Joyce said. “She asked a lot of questions. She seems genuinely interested in the patients’ lives.”
    “Yeah,” I said, “that’s how I viewed Mary as well.’ Her chattiness is unique. She doesn’t chat about herself so much as she chats about your life as she gets to know you. It’s like having a great-grandmother who grills you each time you visit. It’s both soothing and nerve-wracking at the same time. I sensed that Joyce was holding back, so I asked her if she thought Mary had the potential to be a good volunteer.
    “Yes,” she slowly said. “The thing is, she might just talk too much when a family just needs peace and quiet. I’m not sure she can be silent.”
    “So, you think we shouldn’t put her with patients?”
    “No, I don’t think that. It’s hard to say. I think we should give her a chance.”
    Now, most of the time, folks like Mary settle down into volunteering and do a great job. As they learn from other volunteers, they adjust and adapt and it is thrilling to hear them say things like, “I’ve learned so much,” and “I’m getting the hang of it.”
    But, although Mary genuinely cared for each patient and family she encountered and asked appropriate questions, her chattiness continued.
    One day, a staff member tentatively approached me and apologized for bringing this up, but, it seems that Mary was in the room with a patient and family, over stayed her visit and pretty much chatted with them when all they wanted was to sit and be still. So we called Mary in and talked to her about her experience.
    “What a beautiful family,” Mary said. “I learned how each member of this family traveled over distances to get here to be with their father.”
    “That’s a lot of information you gathered,” I said.
    “Oh, they were so wonderful to talk to. I loved it.”
    We talked more and I finally said, “Mary, you also need to know when to exit. Families can be weary and although they love how you listen, they also need us to leave them alone too. Do you sense that?”
    “I do,” she admitted. “I don’t want to cause them any more pain.”
    So, she promised to watch out for over staying her welcome in patients’ rooms.
    The next week the charge nurse came to see me. “We’ve got to do something about Mary.” she said.
    “Uh oh, what happened?”
    “Well, one of my nurses observed Mary talking to a family member at the coffee station. The nurse had to rescue the family member from Mary so he could go see his uncle.” The charge nurse then said, “You know, this is not the place for her.”
    Well, I had to admit, after further talking with staff, the charge nurse was right. Mary’s exuberant chattiness was not suited for the quieter nature of a hospice house. What to do with her?
    An answer came quite unexpectedly. One of the bereavement counselors happened to stop by and we talked for a bit. He mentioned that he had a lady client who needed a special volunteer to be her bereavement friend. “She is so lonely, she really needs someone to pay attention to her and well, just socialize.”
    I jumped at the chance to place Mary and so I called her up and asked to meet with her. She timidly came in and asked if I was going to fire her. “No,” I said, “Why would you think that?” (I love that question, because clearly if a volunteer asks that, they have an inkling that something is amiss)
    “I talk too much,” she said. “I can’t help it and I know the nurses are mad at me.”
    “They’re not mad, Mary. They just want what’s best for our families.”
    “I know. I try to be quieter, but it’s hard.” She made a face like a little girl and for an instant, I could picture her in the principal’s office, being scolded once again.
    “We all have gifts, Mary and yours is your love of life.”
    “So, I don’t belong here, then.” She was resigned. I suspected that she knew we were in salvage mode.
    “No, but I would like you to consider a different role. One, in which you can be more yourself.”
    I told her about the bereavement assignment and let her know that it was equally as important. We chatted for quite some time and I assured her that we were going to work with her and that we wanted her to volunteer.
    We’ve been three weeks into Mary’s new role and she is doing well. We are getting positive feedback from our client and that is good. But I’m optimistically cautious. We’ll take it slowly and I think with more time and mentoring, Mary will make a good volunteer.
    If not, we can try another redirect.
    -Meridian