Last week I had the opportunity to shadow one of our volunteers. Leeta, a volunteer who visits nursing homes invited me to follow her around for a morning. I jumped at the chance because Leeta is one of those volunteers who is so quiet and reserved, that when she attended orientation, I sort of dismissed her in my head as not being a “sticker”. You know, those folks who will stick with it. I was wrong, thankfully and she’s been a sticker for eight years now.
I arrived at the nursing home early and she was already there. Although I had been there many times, I wanted to see the facility through her eyes so she gave me a tour. I have to admit, I had never before noticed the impressive painting of the founder nor the cozy little blue living room off the first corridor. Our first stop was the room of a tiny woman who talked about her years making pasta at her husband’s restaurant. Her deft hands mimicked the motion as she spoke. Leeta smiled knowingly. She had heard the story many times before. We then spent time with a gentleman who set type for the New York Times newspaper. He is 103. He slyly told me he got the news before the world did. Now, that’s impressive.
Then we came to a lady, Gwen, who was curled up in the hallway in her wheelchair. Under a collection of afghans, the world bustled around her as she sat among hurried staff and visitors on a mission. Though Gwen was deeply asleep, Leeta gently touched her shoulder. There was no response. Leeta whispered “Gwen” but nothing happened. Leeta paused for a second, watching intently then stood upright and I figured we were done. Nothing to see here. But instead, she walked into Gwen’s room and returned with a letter. “This was written by her granddaughter,” Leeta said as she unfolded the well used pages.
Leeta bent close, her lips nearly caressing Gwen’s wispy hair. “Dear Grandma,” she began, “I love you very much. I was in school yesterday and my teacher told us about..” she continued. My eyes were fixated on Gwen’s face. At first she continued to sleep, but I saw a flicker, then a stir as she took the words in. Her eyes fluttered and then slowly opened at the words, “Mommy says hello too.” She turned, so slowly that time seemed to stand still and she saw Leeta’s face, just inches from her. She blinked and recognized and the most peaceful look came over her that for just an instant, I felt that all was well in the world.
She drank in Leeta’s voice and kind eyes and the two spirits melded like batter for a decadent chocolate cake. Leeta stroked her hair and cheek and I felt tears spill onto my own.
No one will ever get to know that powerful moment. No one, but I. And there, in that chaotic hallway, I felt the power of volunteering, the reason volunteers do what they do.
Intimacy is borne from the establishment of bonds and our volunteers open their souls to that connection. They do it quietly, without thought of praise or recognition. But how we, volunteer managers, would love people to know about those intimate moments. How we’d love our fellow staff members to witness a volunteer’s humble gifts. How we yearn for senior management to be in that moment, to really grasp the nature of volunteering. How we wish prospective volunteers could feel that connection and understand how it would enrich their lives. How we want the public to see these tender moments so that they would stop caring about mindless celebrity sightings and start to embrace volunteerism.
But therein lies the irony of intimacy. A hundred pair of curious, expectant eyes would shred that blanket of intimacy woven by our volunteers. And so it becomes our duty to recreate, to celebrate in song and tale the forging of spirit to spirit. We use words, images, videos, gestures and heartfelt testimony because we, as observers of volunteers, know their value. The intimacy of volunteering is a story that needs to be told and we continually struggle to find just the right words.
Our jobs include showing the value of volunteers. Statistics, money saved, papers filed, number of calls made all show value. But what spreadsheet can show those intimate moments that mean everything to the recipient?
I’ll continue to struggle to showcase the true value of volunteers to my organization because these are the things in this world that are so priceless. I just hope that all organizations, while combing through end of year reports, never lose sight of that which really matters.
-Meridian
Category: volunteer coordinator
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The End of the Year Report
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Of Course I Remember You, Mr. Uh…
Yes, I can blame getting older or I can blame having too much in my head or I can blame Earth’s shifting magnetic poles. But it doesn’t matter because I have to face the reality. I can’t remember every name, every conversation and frankly, every thing I was supposed to check up on. Gobs of information filter in and then just fall out. Sometimes I feel like an old junk wagon rolling down the road, stuff flying off the top and into the street because it was never properly tied down.
That’s the nature of volunteer management to me. We are like trucks and we have so much piled in the beds that no matter how we rearrange and organize, we can’t ever quite get it all sorted out unless we stay in our garages. I know when I leave my desk, I have people stop me everywhere to ask a question, tell me an important tidbit, invite me to a meeting, request a favor, pass on a message and so on. When you forget why you left your desk two minutes after leaving it, that’s volunteer management.
But stubborn pride tells me on many occasion not to let on that I did not remember the fact that you asked me to check on your name badge yesterday or that you introduced me to your grandchild last year when she was visiting. “My, how she’s grown!” And changed a whole bunch, I might add.
So, here’s a conversation I had recently with a volunteer I haven’t seen for two years.
“Hi Rita, er, Freda! So nice to see you again! We missed you. Welcome back, its been what, four, no two, yes, right, two years already. My it seems longer! How’s your son, George, oh…, right, Craig and his family? Really, that’s great! And your granddaughter… no grandson, is he good? Doing well in school… no right he’s only three, wow, sure, and your husband Sidney? Oh, Rod, right, how’s Rod? Excellent. Are you feeling better… no wait, no you were not sick, right, you moved, yes, I remember now, was it cold in Canada …no, right, Bermuda. Not cold there, huh, ha ha! Well, we have your job visiting nursing home patients… what’s that, no you never did that right! But you wanted to… no, you wanted to do office work. Well we have many jobs here for you and would love for you to come back. Are you still living on the river…or, yes, the golf course, right, it’s River Crest, no, right Spruce View, nice place, I’ve always loved their clubhouse, they have the restaurant where you cook your own steaks, no, no it’s a breakfast place, right, love it. Well, miss you, you’ve always been a great volunteer and would love you back!”
Yes, I can’t admit I don’t remember. I do, however remember running into a volunteer one time in the hall when I ventured from my desk and she asked me, “So, did you find anything out regarding our conversation last week?”
I remember staring at her as if she had landed from Neptune. My brain froze. I thought, did we have a conversation about something? Was I in it? I know that I know you because your face is very familiar, but if my life hung in the balance, I have NO idea what we talked about. So pride of course stepped in and I hedged. “Well, now, I’m glad you brought that up, I was just thinking about it. As a matter of fact, I thought about it a lot and was wondering if you thought more about it too. Uh huh, yes, well, since we’ve both been thinking about it, tell me your thoughts on it now.”
Ok, I got really lucky and her response jogged my memory, or should I say reached into the bed of the truck and pulled out the item underneath the pile. Of course I hadn’t done anything about what we had talked about in the hallway last week. I had forgotten 30 minutes later.
I can carry a notepad or a smart phone and most of the time I write on my hand. I have post its on my desk, two calendars, and multiple pads and binders of projects in varying stages of design.
I think of the adage, if we could put a man on the moon…, but that’s not it. If we could design a truck with a huge, huge bed and all these little gnomes inside who would organize things as we drove down the road, then yes, I could get a handle on remembering things.
Until then, I’ll sneak a peek at your name tag or ask a co-worker to discreetly go up and ask who you are and report back, or cough as I say your name, or hide behind the laxatives at the drugstore to avoid the embarrassment of not knowing you.
Or maybe I’ll just have to admit I can’t remember. Nah.
-Meridian -
Doing the Hard Stuff Because I’m Clearly It
I have to fire a volunteer. The first time I had to fire a volunteer was sheer torture. My palms itched so bad and my stomach felt like the volunteer in question had reached in and gleefully begun to twist my insides. How dare she act in a manner that MADE me have to do this? Why couldn’t she be a good little volunteer like all the other good volunteers? Why did she have to go and tell the people at her church about a client’s private financial status?
Honestly, as a newbie volunteer coordinator, it never occurred to me that firing a volunteer existed. That was bogey man stuff, not reality. My original boss way back in the day never fired a volunteer, so I was left to dive off the cliff without knowing what rocks lie below. And I didn’t know whether to wear a wet suit or armor.
I have to be honest, it didn’t go well. I babbled something about privacy and confidentiality and threw in a measure of “I’m sure you didn’t mean to say that the client was dirt poor,” but all in all it went horribly. She left, most likely confused, because I told her how wonderful she was, while firing her. Contradictions rained down and I had no umbrella.
That night I dreamt that she came back, completely unaware that I had dismissed her. I had to fire her all over again. While that did not happen, I could see how it might have, given the fact that I told her she was a great volunteer. (What?)
The second time I had to fire a volunteer, (which thankfully did not happen until two years later) was in some ways worse than the first. It conjured up memories of the original debacle. Unnerved, I searched for answers. The internet was just starting to yield expert advice and I found some theoretical help there. But I needed personal help. How was I (loveable, kittens and flowers me) going to fire this volunteer?
I was tasting yesterdays lunch.
Quite accidentally, if there are accidents, I found myself at a good friend’s house that evening. Her husband, a gentle man in private and a shark in business overhead me discussing my upcoming day of horror. I caught him listening and thought, “oh boy, he’s probably fired hundreds of people and thinks I’m some sort of cry baby.” Instead, he came over, sat down and asked me these pointed questions.
“Did this volunteer violate your rules more than once?
“Yes, several times and we’ve given her the chance to correct her behavior.”
“Do you, personally, think that she needs to be dismissed.”
I had to think deeply about that, but then I answered, “yes, I do. I don’t believe she is willing to change.”
“Then,” he looked me straight on and asked, “who is the best person to dismiss her? Who will deliver the message in such a way that she does not feel wrongly accused and who will make her realize that your clients come first while protecting her dignity and self-image?”
I knew the answer. I had known it all along. I just never had thought of it that way. “I am.” I whispered.
“And,” he added, “I never fire anyone. I have a conversation with them about how my company and their expectations do not match. I’m clear, don’t get me wrong, but I dismiss them and wish them well. You can point out a person’s good traits but make it clear that there is not a place for them in your organization.”
With that he went back to his home office.
My friend smiled. I could see more clearly why she married him in the first place.So, how do you do the hard stuff? Because of my friend’s husband, here’s the way I look at it now. If it has to be done then who better to do it than someone who feels some emotion about it; who better to deliver a tough message than someone who doesn’t want to do it? Do I want senior management to dismiss our volunteers? No, not really. It would be easier for me, but in every case, I realize that I’m the right person for the tough job. I will twist it over and over in my head to find the right words. I will have somewhat of an established relationship with the volunteer. I will call upon my years of volunteer involvement and treat this person with respect. I will do it justice, at least to the best of my ability.
Not every volunteer will work out. Some will not be appropriate on day one.
I know volunteer coordinators who like to use the “I’ll just not call that volunteer and they’ll get the idea eventually” tactic. But who benefits from that tactic? Only the coordinator who chooses to avoid the situation. Not me now. Let me talk to the volunteer and be clear. Volunteers deserve that and I’ve known volunteers, who after discussing concerns, turn out to be good volunteers. And on the flip side, I’ve had former volunteers call me years later because they were never clearly told that they did not fit in the organization. How cruel is that when you think about it?
So, as hard as it might be, I’m going to have the conversation. And I’m going to feel the pings in my stomach and not shirk my responsibility. I’m It.
I will be kind and I will be clear.
-Meridian -
If It is Too Good to Be True…
Coretta is a striking 85-year-old artist. As she enters a room, images of her as a young, startlingly beautiful woman trail her like ethereal mists. Her blue eyes take one in from a perfect face and I feel like a mouse scrutinized by an eagle. Her husband Glenn, is a commercial artist and they have shown me pictures of his artistic product designs for major companies, most of them from the 1960’s. They shared these pictures to show me they are legitimate. Luckily, they seemed to like me.
Coretta offered to design a journal for our use. The journals would be given to patients or family members who would like to record their thoughts. The journal would have poetic prompters to help them visualize things to say. Coretta has written short haiku poems to be incorporated into the sides of the pages, giving the journal a professional quality. She and I corroborated often about how to distribute the journal, types of patients and methods of discovering how the journals were utilized.
As we worked together, Coretta told me in her breathy voice that she had gone to another agency and was initially welcomed with enthusiasm. She was going to paint a flowering vine for their lobby that would be filled with pictures of the clients served. She mused that it would be not only a lovely welcoming addition, but also a therapeutic exercise for the participants. Trouble is, as with many short-staffed, overworked organizations, no one at that agency could take the time to help her get started.
Frankly, if I let myself say it, I’m also too busy for the fluffy projects. But, there was something about those blue eyes that compelled me to scratch out the time from somewhere. And besides, I have gotten a bit self-serving. I need breaks from all the minutiae that weigh me down. Coretta let me float for just a bit.
My plan was to ask some very crafty volunteers to put these journals together and to begin by distributing them to select patients. Over the years, I’ve found that asking for permission to do a project takes forever, so by experimenting and proving that a project works, it makes it easier to sell. Anyway, we finalized her designs, complete with a Coretta sketch of a rose adorning the cover.
She stopped in the other day to talk to me. As we were chatting, she said, “I have been thinking about this whole project. I’m certain that other organizations would like to have it for their clients too, so I think that I would eventually like to market it. That is, after we’ve seen how it is received here and after some modifications.”
Boom, the eagle swooped in and ate me as I was nibbling some cheese. “Oh, how interesting,” I managed. Now, at that point, my brain started shrieking at me, “What!!!! Are you kidding???” And as I let those initial thoughts burst and flutter like confetti in my mind, I looked back into those blues and said, “Coretta, that is your prerogative. This is your work, your ideas, your poetry and art. You own that.”
She nodded with an artist’s smile and I continued, “if you want to do that, then we absolutely can’t use it here and stamp our logo on it. It is yours and you are entitled to keep it and protect it. But I cannot in good faith continue with this project.”
She studied me for a bit and said, “yes, well, I appreciate your honesty.” I could feel her talons caressing me, the me that spent precious time helping her. “I appreciate all your hard work and have thoroughly enjoyed learning about your organization.”
I didn’t say anything to anyone, especially anyone (well, everyone if you must know) who has been making fun of me for wasting my time with this pompous (their words) lady. Honestly, they wanted nothing to do with her.
See, here’s where I sometimes get myself into big trouble and then sometimes I uncover a golden volunteer nugget. I have to do more than just get to know people who want to volunteer. I have this weird side that feels like I’m digging for the next great volunteer. I’ll bet you have a side like that too.
While I’m not sure what will happen, because Coretta may rethink and decide to give her works to us, but really, I doubt that will happen. Did I waste my time with her and did she just want to use me to develop a product to sell? Maybe, but I’m choosing to think not. I’m choosing to think that she had good intentions, at least at the start. And we all know that there are plenty of volunteers with good intentions that don’t continue for some reason. We can only move on.
So, the question becomes, do we continue to dig, oftentimes alone for those volunteer nuggets even though we occasionally come up empty-handed? Until the day volunteer nuggets rain from the sky, I guess we’ll have to.
-Meridian -
The Door Shuts
This is a tough story to tell, partly because it’s hard to find those keeper nuggets of truth that help the rest of us navigate our jobs. Sometimes, I think things just are and maybe really these experiences are like everyday life. You can’t predict them and the only way to prevent them is to stop living.
Cara is a wonderful volunteer coordinator with a big heart as almost all volunteer coordinators are. She’s been doing this for years, has mentored and seen at least a thousand volunteers come and go. She has wisdom and has honed her instincts like a blacksmith with a prized sword.
Several years ago, Cara met a young woman, Gwen, who showed an interest in volunteering. Gwen was hesitant, but hopeful and Cara encouraged her, letting Gwen take small steps to find her niche. Gwen rapidly blossomed into what Cara describes as “one of the most gifted volunteers I have ever encountered.” Gwen was magic with clients and had a presence that allowed even the most downtrodden individual a voice. Words such as “angel,” “like my own grandchild,” and “my confidante” came floating back on waves of gratitude.
Cara quietly mentored Gwen, preferring to stand back and let Gwen’s innate ability flourish. As they spent more time together, Cara learned that Gwen had a difficult childhood. She was estranged from her mother and Cara, ever the professional, did not step in to fill those missing shoes. Instead, she listened and encouraged, much the same as she did with all of her volunteers. But this one, this one was like the Derby winning horse in the stable. Gwen was worth the extra effort because the clients deserved the best volunteer help.
As the years went on, Cara heard more and more about Gwen’s chaotic life outside the organization. She had a family and a job and troubles seemed to swirl around her in a cacophony of drama. But Gwen still had that touch with clients, and although Cara’s radar now went up, she carefully kept watch on Gwen’s volunteering.
Occasionally, Gwen would drop in and cry for twenty minutes. Illness, fights with her husband, disagreements with her boss, run-ins with parents of her children’s classmates would knock her world out of orbit. Concerned, Cara suggested counseling and one day Gwen came into the office sobbing about her counselor. Cara immediately removed Gwen from any and all volunteering. She told Gwen to please concentrate on herself for a change. What Cara did not say was that she now thought Gwen an inappropriate volunteer.
Their relationship morphed into Cara’s trying to help Gwen but with none of the volunteering. I asked Cara why she continued with Gwen and she said, “you know, it’s not that easy, just giving up on someone who hasn’t done anything wrong. Clearly she needed help and I had forged a relationship with her. I couldn’t just turn my back on her. And besides, when you see flashes of brilliance in someone, you can’t help but think that they are salvageable.”
At some point, Gwen became angry with Cara, and stayed away for a bit, but then came back and Cara tried to help again. At this point, it had been two years since Gwen had done any volunteering. The second time Gwen got mad, Cara shut the door and now has no plans to re-open it. “I’m done,” she says. Does she miss the opportunity to help Gwen reclaim greatness? Not as much as you might think. She says, “it was like I could feel the flutter of a page turning. I feel finished, and I’ve done all I can. Besides, I have other volunteers to mentor.”
I asked Cara if she thought once Gwen got her life under control, would she be able to return? “Honestly, no. I think that was a time in her life when volunteering fit and made sense. It will be impossible to recapture.”
I’ve always thought that volunteers have a shelf life. Whether illness, moving away, disinterest or inability to function in the best interests of the client are the reasons, it won’t matter. When it’s time for a volunteer to stop, either by our request or theirs, then it’s time.
Can we compare volunteering to art? I think so. Some genius is tempered with madness. I don’t think it’s a stretch to apply that to our brightest volunteers. I’ve seen them. Brilliant volunteers who paint masterpieces like van Gogh but are burdened with issues that often become too much. It’s sad and we walk a fine line between encouragement and interference. We want not only what’s best for those we serve, but also what’s best for the volunteers. Sometimes, even we can’t make that happen. We can only do the best we can with what we have to work with. And who knows how well service fits within a volunteer’s view of the themselves and the world. We have to be able to let that door shut when volunteering no longer works for the clients and for the volunteers.
If we can’t, then we’ll go mad.
-Meridian -
The $100 Tip
A friend of mine who is going to school and waitressing on the side messaged me a picture of an $89 food tab with a $100 tip written in. I asked her what she did differently to garner such a lavish reward and she said, “Nothing really, I just did my job.” As we talked, laughingly speculating whether it was a mistake, a “bucket list” checked off, a stalker and other hosts of wildly imaginative scenarios, we finally left it at “one of those special out of nowhere moments that cannot be explained, not fully. It’s the sun peeking out of the clouds, glorious and full, the five dollars you find in your pocket when you’re talking yourself out of that latte, and man who chases you down after you’ve dropped your new phone.
It got me to thinking. Volunteer managers work tirelessly, mainly without praise. We can empathize with the mom who drags herself out of bed at 5 each morning to drive her son to hockey practice, then puts in a full day of work. The Stanley Cup will go to him as she stands, far back in the crowd, her tears borne from sleepless dreams.
But then, there’s the $100 tip. It comes when you least expect it, but need it most. A volunteer wins an award and someone thanks you for mentoring that volunteer. A project that took you years to finally iron out takes off and someone claps you on the back. You’re at a general assembly and something you initiated years ago is highlighted and the speaker finds you in the crowd and says, “you started that way back, didn’t you?”
Or, a volunteer phones you to tell you that he broke through to a client that everyone wanted to help but couldn’t seem to find the right phrase or the perfect moment.
Why does that moment show up when we’ve just told ourselves that we could make more money with less work selling jewelry? Why does it seem to know exactly what we need when we need it? And how often do we need it?
I’m always struck by how volunteer managers are not driven by praise or someone else’s definition of accomplishment. It seems our measure of success lies internally from the instinctive knowledge that accompanies each and every volunteer assignment. Although “big” accomplishments are nice, we revel in the day to day small accomplishments of each and every volunteer. It’s like standing on a bluff and looking at the beauty of the forest below. It takes each tree to create the breathtaking scene.
This doesn’t mean that I don’t like getting an unexpected tip now and again. Nope, I love it, and frankly need it as much as the next person. But I also have to realize that I’m not working for $100 tips. I’m working because I know that the forest of things volunteers accomplish mean a lot to the people they are helping. It’s not flashy nor opulent. But then, neither are my expectations.
-Meridian -
The Mulligan Volunteer
If a Mulligan is a “freebie”, then Phil is my Mulligan volunteer. All right, I actually have more than one, so don’t tell anyone. I keep Phil on the active volunteer list even though he hasn’t done any volunteering for ten years. Yeah, he’s active only in my mind. Why do I hold on to him?
Well, let me tell you about Phil. I have known Phil now for oh, about 17 years. He came to volunteer when I was just an idealistic blob of volunteer coordinator tissue to be molded by good old-fashioned experience and opinionated volunteers. I was hopeful, scared and curious all at the same time. But I digress.
When I first met Phil, he was an old pro at volunteering. A retired executive, Phil had smarts, energy and that electric smile. I leaned on Phil a bunch. He took difficult cases. He made me laugh and learn. He once drove 30 miles to bail me out on an assignment. I never, once, heard a negative breath come out of that man. Inspirational? I’ll put him up against Gandhi in the Inspiration Olympics. Caring? Let him get in the Care ring with Mother Teresa, cause she better look out for his right hook. Willing? Well, you get the idea.
Phil has been getting older. He’s had to pare down his volunteering activities to about seven. No kidding, that’s how much he does. And, as he weighs what he can do, it all boils down to convenience. At his age, that’s a huge consideration. So, the fact that he can’t really help us out anymore is no reflection on our mission or treatment of him. This, I understand.
But let me tell you the real reason I keep him on the active list. Phil takes in homeless people. Yep, takes him into his home to live. Homeless vets, homeless families, he quietly takes them in to let them get back on their feet. His friends (and even some of our volunteers) have warned him that he could be inviting trouble, but Phil just shrugs. “Someone has to help.”
How do you measure a man like that? I’m always astounded at how Phil lives his life. He’s not going to be featured on any news show. He wouldn’t want it anyway. He’s not going to be elected Mayor of his town. He’d hate that. He lives his life by serving. I was just lucky to have him cross my path for a while. He’ll always be “active” to me.
I think we all need our Mulligan volunteers. In my organization, we have emeritus volunteers. These are volunteers who can’t help anymore, but they are invited to every function we have. They’ve earned it. Phil earned it the first week he volunteered. I think of so many of them, who give their all and when they can’t anymore, have to bow out. For the sake of my own soul, I cannot let them fade away. They love to teach others, speak to orientations, mentor newbies, write policy and mainly just chat. Although the chatting part takes a lot of precious time, after a conversation with one of them, I always end up feeling like I’m home. And because I’ve been doing this so long, I fear that no one else will remember. I sense these valuable volunteers slipping away like forgotten stories never written down.
I think of all the phone calls I need to make and it’s overwhelming. But I have to find the time and energy. If Phil can open his home to homeless strangers, I can certainly open my heart to emeritus volunteers. They are a as much a part of volunteering as the fresh face. I can’t let them feel anything but honored and never forgotten.
And though I won’t get any productivity out of the time spent reconnecting with emeritus volunteers, I know it is the right thing to do. And how much of our jobs is about doing the right thing?
I think I’ll start with Phil.
-Meridian -
Go Ahead, Be Brutal
No, I’m not masochistic. Not even close. My little world is filled with kittens and marshmallows shaped like flowers and moonbeams streaming through the forest. (after all, why else would I be in this job?) But, I also don’t want volunteers to lead me on. You know, tell me that I’m wonderful, that you want to spend time with me, buy me flowers… (oh wait, that’s a different conversation, oops).
But in volunteer management, I court the volunteer, right? I woo them with tales of how wonderful it will be, I walk beside them, listen, adjust, mentor, guide, run interference, and heck, put a bunch of time in, making sure volunteering will work for individual rewards. After all, it’s what volunteers want, right?
So, here, I think is my biggest frustration. I’m thinking of Yancey who had/has such potential. She is young and vibrant and full of compassion. She paid strict attention in training, and bright eyed, couldn’t wait to start. She was mentored by seasoned volunteers, and is truly magical with patients. She writes comprehensive reports. She passed every background test. She is perfect. Well, was. That is, until she just stopped.At first, I assigned Yancey to a volunteer friendly nursing home. Both of the two current volunteers were leaving, but for different reasons. They had built a great relationship with the nursing home staff and together, they introduced Yancey to the patients and the employees. It seemed like a good fit. Yancey was excited. I called her frequently, answered any questions and assumed things were working out.
Two months later, she stopped sending in reports. She did not return my calls, nor did she answer emails. Then an email I sent bounced back at me. Still no word. I checked with the facility and they had not seen her in weeks. I finally, reluctantly removed her name from our list and started searching for another volunteer to take her place.
Was I mad at her for not wanting to volunteer anymore? No. This is, after all, volunteering. Would I judge her for her reason to stop? Absolutely not. If volunteering isn’t adding to someone’s life, they shouldn’t be doing it. Did her stopping ruin my life? C’mon.
But, do I wonder what happened? Would I rather hear the reason even if it means finding out I failed her somehow? Absolutely. How else can I correct a situation or behavior if I don’t know about it? I suspect that Yancey couldn’t fit volunteering into her busy lifestyle, or more accurately, volunteering with those patients wasn’t rewarding enough to fit into her busy lifestyle.I could have told her that this is not my first experience. I’m used to volunteers leaving for so many different reasons. At least for some, I know why. That helps. For others, they float away like an unfinished manuscript dropped in a river. If only….
I may pen her a letter but I truly wish I could have spoken to her and offered her something else or a more flexible schedule. It may have worked. But if not, at least I could have assured her that she was welcome back at any time in the future. I could have told her that she was a good volunteer and that she needn’t be embarrassed about quitting. I suspect that may be the case.
But I don’t know. I wish I did.
-Meridian -
The Robot Volunteer
If you’re a sci-fi fan or even just a fan of good old science, you know the advances being made in robotics. From the robot vacuum to the automated assembly line, we are seeing robots take over repetitive jobs. They’re everywhere; their little stiff knees are walking them into all aspects of our lives.
So, I know you’ve imagined it. I know you’ve thought about it: The day when they create a robot that takes the place of volunteers. Here’s how it goes. You just program in exactly what task you want the Roboteer to perform and voila! The task is completed with no calling in sick, no lengthy vacations, no listening to it talk about it’s Roboteer life, no questions, and no job that you have to re-do.
You need a Roboteer to mentor a child? Just program it to have a digitally compassionate voice. You need it to help set up an event? Just program it to go all day and never sit down for a glass of water. What about meals on wheels? Well, just program it to not only deliver the meals, but to spend 15 minutes giving the shut-in some socialization. And when the 15 minutes are up? It shuts down on that needy shut-in so that it is never off schedule. What a perfect solution it is. Why not? You wouldn’t have to pay volunteer managers and besides, volunteers are ancillary anyway, right? And they do repetitive jobs, don’t they?
I’m picturing it right now. Somebody (not me, I’ve been laid off) gets a request for a volunteer to visit a patient in a nursing home. That somebody opens the closet, turns the key on a spiffy metal pal with a name like Compassion Nate 3000, and programs the coordinates in. The eyes open and it hums, “I am ready to serve”. Then it’s off to the nursing home, where it zips into the patient’s room. Our patient, Miss Aida, who has been dozing, wakes to see a metallic face peering down. Miss Aida starts screaming as Compassion Nate grabs her wrist and in a soothing electronic voice says “calm down, I am here to serve you” over and over. The patient continues to scream until one of the nursing home robots, Facility Friend 800 comes in and tries to remove Roboteer Compassion Nate. Nate, being the newer model, pulverizes Facility Friend, turning her into scrap. Miss Aida, now traumatized, is subdued by real humans.
Well, if it comes to that, I’d like to offer a suggestion. I’d rather they make cyborg volunteers, you know, those creatures that are a combination of robot and human. And for the human parts, I’d like them to clone some of the volunteers I know. So if they can make the Cybunteer, here’s what I want them to do:
Take a piece of Dottie, who will mentor any new volunteer. She just mentored two yesterday, at different times in different locations. “It’s important.” she says matter of factly.
Add a piece of Bryan, who will drop everything and make sure a dying veteran gets a visit.
Throw in a hunk of Jules, who calmly says “don’t worry, I can handle it.”
Then put in a pinch of Anna, who always asks for detailed instructions, because “I want to do the right thing.”
Maybe take some of Jerry, who although only 16, says, “I need to give back. I really believe we all should.”
Oh, and steal some of Glynn who always arrives on time and asks if she can do anything extra.
But don’t forget Jose, who always fills out his paperwork because “I know this is crucial to your reporting.”
Top it off with a bit of Cara, who simply glows when she is with patients and families.
If they can do that, we may have a suitable substitute for our human volunteers. Gone will be the mistakes, the anxiety of learning a volunteer role, the need for reassurance. Gone will be our jobs making sure that it all runs smoothly. Our great grandchildren will ask, “what’s a volunteer coordinator?”
Ahh, the future. Or maybe, just maybe, volunteering will go the way of kneading pie dough, painting a waterfall on canvas or sewing a quilt. Machines can do those things, but we choose to do them, because they invoke feelings of connection and accomplishment. Which then makes me wonder. Can we separate the task portion of volunteering from the reward portion? Or is volunteering more about breathing in unison with a dying patient to establish that perfect moment of imperfect human connection? I’d like to see Robopanion 200 do that!
-Meridian -
What Do Our Desks Say About Us?
One of the steady stream of little articles that I just got via my work email (you know all the “stuff” you get, especially from volunteers-old age funnies, dog pictures, IQ tests, heartwarming stories, riddles, cartoons, even the occasional inappropriate joke) was an article on desks. What does your desk say about you? Hmmmmmm. Messy? Maybe you’re too disorganized. Inspirational quotes? Maybe you’re a bit neurotic. Personal odd objects? Maybe you’re a kook. Occasional protein bar wrappers? Maybe you’re a slob. Old mismatched furniture? Maybe you don’t care.
Now here’s the best part. Any of the above can keep you from being taken seriously and being promoted.
Well.
If you were to look at my desk, right now, here’s what you would see:
Two nice chairs for volunteers to sit down on. My chair is ripped. Clutters of papers everywhere. I’m working on all of them and will get to them sometime today, I hope. A few inspirational sayings in frames. For the volunteers of course. Several open calendars. Each one is color coded for different areas and projects. Post it notes in purple. The purple ones were on sale. A really old phone. I’m used to it and it has several lines, picking capabilities and sometimes the speaker phone works. My desktop. Not bad, really. My business cards on a funky doggie card holder given to me by a volunteer. They are at the corner because I knock them over constantly.
Under my desk is: My laptop (Trying to get a newer version). My camera (it actually is now stuck on playback, mainly because it has been dropped multiple times, so I pretty much use my I phone for pictures). A manual for volunteer orientation (I’m constantly scribbling in it as I want to “update” orientation so that it is fresh). A tote bag with pens, papers, brochures, business cards (for that last-minute invite). A pile of papers that don’t fit on the desk (seriously, desks are not big enough). An old, old Rolodex (do you even know what that is?-ok, it’s sentimental, left over from no data base days).
Now, as you scan all this, you may notice on or about the desk and walls:
a small worry doll from Nicaragua, a gift from a volunteer who thinks I worry too much
a dusty dolphin screen saver, a gift from a volunteer who loves anything sea related
a tiny carved coconut monkey, a gift from a patient who carved-he was one of my favorites
a Gemini key chain, a gift from a volunteer whose wife shared my birthday
a watercolor of a… well, I’m not sure what it is but it was a gift from a volunteer’s daughter who loves to paint
a trio of small glass elephants from a volunteer who thinks I forget too many things
a hand painted rock paper weight from a volunteer-flowers adorn one side, on the flip side is a finger flipping me off-our joke
a mug that says, “I survived volunteering”-inside joke from a volunteer
a beautiful inlaid box from India-gift from a volunteer from India who was incredibly inspirational
a picture of a Cocker Spaniel-a volunteer’s beloved dog that died
a “soul saver” pack-a joke gift from my stand-up comedian volunteer-it’s guaranteed to save my soul she says
a Murano glass paperweight from Italy, a gift from a world traveling volunteer-I live vicariously through him a lot
an engraved shell casing from a, well I’m not sure which rifle -a gift from a veterans group who is now volunteering
a USB aromatherapy plug-in, guaranteed to make you calm-gift from an office volunteer-is she trying to say something?If you look into my top desk drawer you will find all the items from volunteers who have died or left, some office supplies, my favorite stapler (the kind that looks like pruning shears). Maybe I’m an office hoarder, I don’t know. And maybe that volunteer sent me that article because he was trying to tell me something. And maybe, yes, I’m a bit neurotic (hey, I’ve got lots on my mind), a tad kooky (Ok, so I sometimes just burst into maniacal laughter), and a great deal disorganized (hey, I can find that form for changing a volunteer’s address-just give me a minute).
Well, maybe I’ll not get that promotion or be looked at as someone going places. Maybe my work space looks like I’m not trying. Or maybe, just maybe, it looks like the daily workload of a volunteer manager.
-Meridian
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