volunteerplaintalk

Tag: part time volunteer manager

  • Should I Be Crying?

    cry-your-heart-out-1Last week, I was talking to a brand new volunteer manager, who has been on the job for three months. I’m ashamed to say, but I’ve completely forgotten what it is like to be new to volunteer management, so listening to Amber talk about her experiences was enlightening. “I really love working with the volunteers,” she said. “They’re so, well, good.” She went on to say that the person who trained her, Simone, retired a month before. “Everyone loved Simone,” Amber mused. “They all came to her going away party. It was obvious the affection they had for Simone and she had been there for so long, that everything has her stamp on it. Replacing her is proving to be a tall order. I can see the volunteers trying hard to not compare me to Simone, but at times they just can’t help it. Simone was really great in helping me get to know the volunteers and for the most part they have welcomed me, but I know they miss her.”
    Amber continued, “Just after Simone left, I had this volunteer, John come into see me. Evidently he was given an assignment by Simone and I just didn’t know I was supposed to follow-up with him. He was really mad and started berating me for not following up. I was so taken aback, I didn’t know what to say, so I just sat there and took it. But it really shook me up.”
    Then Amber’s voice trembled. “I have to admit, I was so upset, I started to cry. I think all of it, the enormity of what I need to do, the aloneness I feel and then the yelling at me just overtook me. I went home and cried. Should I feel like this, I mean, should I be crying? Is this how it’s going to be?”

    When you get used to the workload, learn to be kind but professional, cease to take things personally and develop your own methods of working with diverse populations of volunteers, the hard introductions to this profession are easily forgotten. As we grow into our roles, we become volunteer managers, or better yet, leaders of volunteers. As our passion overtakes our trepidations and our comfort levels increase, we become the people our volunteers need us to be. And we put away the tough times we had when we first started. I wanted Amber to know that.

    Here’s what I told her:
    On my bulletin board is a note from the daughter of a former volunteer. It is an well worn note, wrinkled, dusty some, a frozen piece of time from when I wondered if I was in the right job. At that time, I was feeling that so much was being asked of me, so much was expected without resources or help. Everyday requests were weights on my weary shoulders. Volunteers who said no disappointed me. I didn’t have a smile handy for anyone.
    And then the note came. It was a scribbled phone message. It read, “Call Jessica, daughter of Ben Chapman.” Ben Chapman was a volunteer who had moved away to live with his daughter about seven years before. I hadn’t heard from him in a long time. With heavy heart, I called Jessica who informed me that Ben had died two days earlier. I had known this instinctively, as if we still had the long thin thread of connection. Ben was one of my all time favorite volunteers, a man who made me laugh and inspired me with his love for family, muscle cars and animal jokes. His persona would arrive before he did, like joyful radio waves filling a room. When he left to live with his daughter because of early Alzheimer’s, a song ended.
    Jessica wanted me to know that he had died peacefully in the arms of his family. She told me how much his volunteering had meant to him, how much he loved coming, how much he felt a part of something meaningful. After all this time had passed, she thought I should know.
    I told Amber that her moments would come, those moments that only she would feel and know way down in her soul that she was making a difference. I told her that she would experience long-lasting connections, the triumphs of pairing the right volunteer with the right clients, and the gratitude of a daughter who loved her father. I told her that she would orchestrate the ripples that move soundless across helping waters and that her diligence will give her volunteers buoyancy. I couldn’t lie to Amber. I told her that there would be days when it felt like no one understood, no one appreciated the quiet work or the persistent trying. Those days however, would be overshadowed by notes from a daughter and I asked her to keep her notes close by to reminder her.
    And, I told her, you will acutely feel a myriad of emotions. Yes, you will cry, from frustration and sometimes anger, but mainly from being touched so deeply, you didn’t know you had those places open.
    -Meridian

  • Volunteering’s Big But

    spaghettiChad is a volunteer for a public school system. A retired engineer, he has been working with students in the same fourth grade classroom for many years. Chad loves the challenge of helping students better understand complex math and he oftentimes serves as a surrogate grandfather. The kids call him “Chaddie”, a name that stuck because of his chatty nature. Jorge, the current fourth grade teacher chuckles when he speaks about Chad. “His enthusiasm is awesome and the kids love him. He has a great rapport with the kids and he certainly knows the subject inside and out. Sometimes though, he has these great ideas and he wants me to implement them, like for instance, he wanted to start a fundraiser for kids who couldn’t afford these cool extra math books and I told him, look, Chad, every fundraiser has to go through the PTA. We just can’t make up our own fundraisers. Chad can’t see that, he doesn’t deal with the bureaucracy like I do and frankly he shouldn’t have to because he’s a volunteer. When I tell him that we have to go through channels, he gets disappointed and says, ‘but the kids need it now.’ Sometimes I think he thinks I just don’t want to help him, and that’s not it. It gets frustrating when there are things out of my hands and a volunteer sort of argues with me. I get butted a lot because I don’t have the authority to just make things happen. I wish I could.”

    Marie volunteers in a large nursing home. She is new to the facility and her activities director, Anna is happy to have her. “Marie is great, she sings to the residents and helps us with our activities twice a week, so we are really, really thankful. I think, though, because she’s new, she really doesn’t understand the tremendous rules and regulations we are under. Marie wants to be overly involved with some of the residents and is sometimes meddlesome in their family affairs. I try to explain to her that we have rules in place and really I wish she would just stick with singing and doing activities. She wants to do more and says, ‘but these people need more help.’ I can’t really disagree with her and yet, I can’t give her the green light to get involved. It’s difficult to explain to her and I don’t want to lose her. It’s frustrating.”

    I was at a meeting with a group of volunteers last week. Each volunteer was reporting progress on their activities and when we came to Stan, who is a relatively new volunteer, Stan had a list in his hand. See, Stan brought his fresh ideas with him in a wheelbarrow of enthusiasm. He wanted to create a volunteer marketplace, kinda like a craigslist for volunteers. He wanted the organization to purchase camcorders to record volunteers in action, and on and on. “But, I’m a man who gets things done, he proclaimed and I smiled. Clearly I should be frustrated, but I wasn’t.

    See, in the old days, these “buts” would frustrate the heck out of me. I would try to patiently explain to the unknowing volunteer that things moved slowly, that not all ideas would be accepted, blah, blah, blah. The explaining would frustrate the volunteer, which in turn would frustrate me. I began to picture a child asking a parent why he could not fly and the parent sighing while saying, “because that’s the way it’s supposed to be.” Now, I am in no way comparing a volunteer to a child, but I am comparing their raw enthusiasm to the wonderment in a child’s eyes. Volunteers who sign up to help do so with the wonderment of providing meaningful work. We, the volunteer managers are often put in the position of quashing that enthusiasm by dumping the spaghetti bowl of rules and policies on their heads. How sad, for them, for us and for the clients who would benefit from that sense of wonderment.

    I’ve heard a lot of buts: “But it’s the right thing to do,” “but he needs the help,” “but who will know,” “but what’s the big deal” and “but are we here to help or not?” What’s frustrating now about the buts is for the most part, I agree with them and find myself having to “spin” replies in order to tow the company line, for instance, saying, “It’s a great idea, Stan, but we must go through several committees for approval before we can do anything.” I think our frustration at having to curb enthusiastic volunteers comes more from our own frustration at our respective organization’s spaghetti bowl of rules and policies than from our volunteers wanting to purely help. I think for me, at least, when I hear a volunteer say, “but we should be doing more”, I completely agree.

    Royal_Guardian_Jameson_by_faxtarI often picture volunteer managers in my head as the guardian, shield in hand, protecting the volunteers from the nonsense, aka, the politics of an organization so that the volunteers can comfortably do the pure work. The less nonsense we share with them, the better their experience.
    For my own sanity, I’ve learned to not let the buts frustrate me. Instead, I let the buts carry me back to the days when I was new and full of wonderment. I loved those days and frankly, why should I give them up when they fill me with joy and wonder? I’ve now made it my mission to try and help each volunteer see their idea at least be heard and tried in some form if at all possible. This means I may not get to those reports as quickly or to that pile of paperwork in a timely manner.
    Now, don’t get me wrong, those reports and paperwork are part of my job, but they contain no wonderment at all, do they?
    -Meridian

  • And the Award Goes to…

    kid-with-trophyPeriodically people send me forms to nominate a volunteer for some sort of recognition and award. Immediately I think, “oh good, a chance to showcase the volunteers,” then I start to mentally scroll through the volunteers, looking for that perfect one to nab that coveted engraved plaque. Over the years, I’ve come to realize that the retelling of a volunteer’s deeds is as much a part of their winning as the actual deeds themselves. Their story needs to grab the judge, or it should show the overcoming of the odds, or it needs to be some unusual type of volunteering. It seems as though dismissing the every day volunteering in order to award reality TV type volunteering is the antithesis of good, solid volunteering, but everyday good work is just not very exciting, is it?
    There are any number of volunteers who would make great candidates for that cute trophy, but their day-to-day boring altruism does not quite merit a second look by judges who can’t experience their stories firsthand. These volunteers will never walk up on that podium and never hold that lump of highly polished metal, but in my mind’s eye, they hold so much more.

    So, here and now, I nominate these volunteers for “Heroes Amongst Us.”

    I nominate Madge, for the Hero With Guts award. Madge told me a few weeks ago that she would be cutting down on her volunteering in our crafts program. See, Madge was at a gas station where she met a man, Harold. buying a sandwich. They struck up a conversation in which Harold said that he had just lost his home and was living in his van. Harold appeared to be in his late fifties, and had fallen on hard times after losing a job and dealing with cancer. “He was so honest,” Madge said, “so completely void of complaints that I asked him if he would accept a few dollars from me and he refused. He said he had a bit of savings left, but needed to completely recover from cancer before he could find a job again. And I don’t know what possessed me, but I told him to follow me home, that I had a spare room he could sleep in until he got on his feet.” Madge shook her head at what the rest of the world would perceive as folly and smiled. “His cancer came back with a vengeance. He has no one, so I’m going to care for him until he dies.”

    I nominate Sheri and Paul for the Heroes Who Love More award. Several years ago, Sheri took a job in a large nursing home as a receptionist. Widowed for a number of years, Sheri had raised her four children and was now an empty nester at age 53. Having worked in a corporate world, she wanted to slow down a bit and savor a job that took a different set of people skills. She embraced the residents, and in between duties, spent time listening to each one as they wheeled by her station. “And then one day, I saw him,” Sheri said, her eyes coming alive at the memory, “Paul, a resident with MS. He was being wheeled into the dining room by one of the staff. He looked up at me with the most devilish grin. At that moment, I knew I had to talk to him.” And talk they did. Paul was only 48, a younger man with no family in a sea of another generation’s Big Band Music and Ice Cream Shoppes. They got to know one another in between her phone calls and other duties and Sheri fell in love. “He didn’t belong there, not in my mind,” she said. And so, she married him, took him out of the facility and into her home. That was ten years ago. Sheri and Paul volunteer together. Although they are careful not to take assignments that might physically tax Paul, the two of them are dedicated inspirational volunteers. Paul is one of the funniest men ever and it is easy to see why Sheri lights up when she takes his arm. “We have faith,” she says, “faith in a higher power’s order of things and faith in each other. I don’t know what will come in five or ten years, and I don’t care. We have one another.”

    These are our volunteers. They are folks from down the street, across the bridge and beyond the sea. They look at life as how they fit into the scheme of things, how they can make the world better for unseen children. They cast a wide net of kindness and we are lucky to occupy a small corner of that net.

    There’s Brad, who cared for two wives with debilitating illnesses. When I would talk to him on the phone, he’d be soothing his wife so gently that I couldn’t believe this was the same man who ran a company.
    There’s Simone, who, after volunteering for a single mother, went out and started a small non-profit to help single mothers.
    There’s Ginny, who, at the young age of 17 is helping care for a sick brother while attaining straight A’s in her studies.
    I could go on and on and I bet you can too. What awards will these volunteers ever hold? How many hours helping mankind are not counted and are we, the volunteer manager who sees their kindness spread like cream stirred into coffee, content with just the knowing?

    Volunteer Awards are normally based on what is done. If, instead, awards were based on the core of a volunteer’s being, on who they are, it would be impossible to pick any one person over another. And maybe, that would be the point.
    -Meridian

  • Little Gray Lies

    you cant handle the truth“Ok, lying is bad, we need to be upfront, honest, transparent, blah. blah, blah,” said Jeff as he exhaled. “But sometimes, you just have to bend the truth to protect the volunteer. I found myself having to tell a little white lie not too long ago to a volunteer who did nothing wrong. You see, this volunteer, Hal, is a real stand up type guy. He’s honest, hardworking, well, you know the type, a guy you’d want for a next door neighbor.”
    Jeff is a manager of volunteers who deliver meals to home bound seniors in a small rural enclave. “So, this particular client of ours, a lady who is getting other services besides meals delivered, called her social worker and accused Hal of stealing a statue from her hall table. Before I had the chance to question Hal, the social worker went to her house and found the statue, which had somehow found its way to another table. It was case closed. But she didn’t want Hal to come back and honestly, I wasn’t going to let him go back there anyway. So basically, I told Hal that the lady was moving and we had to take her off the route.”
    Jeff paused. “I don’t like lying in any form, but why would I tell Hal the truth? For what, it was a mistake, so what could be gained by telling him? Would he not then be leery of all his clients? Would he wonder what accusation could come next? Would his whole experience be tainted?”

    The other night, I watched a 1960s comedy in which the main character overheard his doctor on the phone speaking about another patient who was just diagnosed with a terminal illness and of course the main character thought it was him. Part of the misunderstanding came when he overheard his doctor say, “tell him? No, he doesn’t need to know, it will just upset him.” This reminded me of Dr. Eric Cassell, the author of “The Nature of Suffering” who candidly spoke about the days when he was a young doctor and did not tell patients they had cancer. “We didn’t do it because we were liars,” he said. Instead he asserts that they told little white lies to protect the patient from the truth, because the patient would ask what can be done and doctors had nothing to offer.

    Noble little white lies: I have told them to volunteers too. Occasionally a family will not want a volunteer to come back. “She talks too much,” or “we just don’t get along,” or “he isn’t the type to enjoy my Dad’s jokes,” are just a few of the really benign reasons a family may not want the volunteer to come back. Did I pass that along to the volunteer? Nope, I like Jeff, shielded the volunteer from the non pleasantries of being dismissed due to a perceived character flaw. One volunteer innocently shared a personal story with a family and they were insulted. Their social worker told me that this family was highly sensitive and assured me that the volunteer did nothing wrong. I told the volunteer that the family found help elsewhere and that we would reassign him to a new family that needed his considerable talents more.

    Kind, noble little white lies: In the old days, I, like Dr. Cassell, decided to use a white lie to protect volunteers from anything less than my idea of volunteering, which was unicorns and puppies. There were volunteers who, in my humble opinion, were not right for assignments, like speaking to a group, or representing us at a ceremony. I told myself that by noble lying I was sparring them from the knowledge that I didn’t think they were good enough for the job. But, as these falsehoods started to feel like an oil slick on my tongue, it began to dawn on me. What, really was I doing by telling these kind, noble white lies?

    Self-serving, kind, noble white lies: One day, I had to counsel a volunteer on her behavior. This was a volunteer who worked on Sunday in a hospice house. As we all know, weekends are harder to fill than weekdays, so really, weekend volunteers pretty much have to set fire to the joint to get fired. This was not the first time I had heard a complaint about this volunteer’s behavior. I had spoken with her before, using my kind, noble white lie to shield the volunteer from the unpleasant accusations. After all, this volunteer didn’t deserve that, or did she? Ahh, the little annoying voice in my head wanted to know if I was being noble or (horrors) being selfish. Who, me, kind, noble volunteer manager, selfish? Was it really about protecting the volunteer’s feelings or was it more about having to replace this volunteer, a task that would take a lot of hard work? Was my lie so noble, so kind, so pure? (I hate you, little annoying voice.)

    Having to do the right thing is never easy. I reached back and straightened my spine and spoke frankly to the volunteer and to my surprise she did not quit. She took the criticisms seriously and promised to curb her brusque nature. But, did she actually change? Yes, not completely and not right away, but the complaints stopped. As I checked in with weekend staff on her progress, I found that she was honestly trying. I added a call to commend her for her efforts and after a time, she and the staff forged their own relationship. It took extra work, but it was the right thing to do, not only for our patients, but for staff and the volunteer as well.

    Gray Lies: Do we tell lies to protect the volunteer or to protect us? I think in most cases, it is both. We may have a noble reason to shield volunteers from negativity, but aren’t we also shielding ourselves from the presumptive fallout? Honestly, we are. Are we bad people for doing that? No, we are just human. So why even bother to explore our reasons for these gray lies? Because if we value honesty, then we first and foremost have to be honest with ourselves. Why am I using noble lies? Am I relying on them to minimize conflict so that everything runs smoothly? Is that really my end game or am I just afraid to deal with confrontation and too weary to help fix it?

    No Lies: Hmmmm. Will we ever get to this point? We can, if we have the best interests of our clients at heart, and if we truly view our volunteers as adults who can handle the truth. If we want our volunteers to succeed, we have to help them find success by working with them, not around, in back or detached from them. So, the next time I want to shield a volunteer from the truth, I’m going to have to examine if I’m really shielding myself.
    -Meridian

  • Ma! Ma! Ma! Ma! Ma!

    mustangThe open door policy, oh boy. If you oversee two or more volunteers, you know what I mean. Volunteer managers pretty much are required to have an open door policy, which is great for keeping informed but is also a killer of productivity. So says Celeste, a volunteer manager who manages more than one hundred diverse volunteers working in a thrift store. Her store is large and is open six days a week. Donations flow through the store all day long, and in between customer service, cashiering, straightening, receiving goods, sorting and pricing, her volunteers are bustling from the moment they arrive to the time they leave.
    “No one can ever question the dedication or work ethic of our volunteers,” Celeste says. “They come in when they have relatives visit them, when they have a slight cold, when they get done with doctors’ appointments. They’re amazing. See, we foster a real sense of team here, and part of that is my open door policy. Believe me, the volunteers are so dedicated, they stop in to check and see if we’ve sold a big-ticket item, or if we’ve got the manpower to sort through that large donation quickly to make sure the good stuff gets to the floor. They even keep lists of customers to call when certain types of items come in, like a particular brand or type of cookware.”
    While it sounds like Celeste has it made, behind the scenes it took a great deal of work to create such a well oiled team of volunteers. And with that team comes the challenges she faces maintaining that team. It’s not like Celeste can go into her tiny back of the store office and watch “Days of Our Lives” while eating power bars and drinking green tea. She, and her volunteers have created a system that works like a fine automobile with Celeste’s availability, encouragement and direction much like the wheels that carry the car.

    With her open door policy though, comes a tiny percentage of volunteers who need more time and space than the others. “I’ve got these two volunteers, Irma and Jean,” Celeste says with a laugh. “They really take the open door policy to a whole new level. It doesn’t matter that I might have someone else in my office, or that I am on the phone, or that I’m really, really busy with bookkeeping, they come in and interrupt me ten times a shift. I think they just have no idea that I don’t have the time for questions like, ‘what happened to that green blouse with the stripes,’ or ‘did you know there’s two identical blue McCoy pottery pieces, how odd is that?’ I suppose it’s a compliment that they feel comfortable with me, but sometimes I feel like the mom who answers her phone and the kids immediately all need attention and start yelling Ma! Ma! Ma!”
    Celeste went on to say, “I’ve heard all the advice from so many people. Close your door, ignore Irma and Jean, leave the office when they are working, interrupt them and politely say that you have work to do, and ask them to please stay out of the office, but it’s easier said than done. Besides, Irma and Jean are great with the customers, and are always willing to work an extra shift when someone calls out. They’re indispensible really, so why shouldn’t I put up with a bit of inconvenience? Heck, I’ve got Joe, who is hard of hearing and makes the customers shout, and Marge, who puts women’s clothes in the men’s section, and Philomena who over prices knick knacks. Oh, and there’s George, who can never seem to remember to turn off the lights and Babe, who can’t see the rips and stains on clothes and puts them out. Am I supposed to nitpick all the volunteers? I can’t do that. We make it through each day with humor and positive thinking, and I appreciate each one of them. And to all those who think that I can make these volunteers eliminate their quirky habits, I say, you have never worked with volunteers. ”
    Ahh ha, how smart Celeste is. If we were to judge our volunteers on their shortcomings we’d have no volunteers. And all that well-meaning advice by those who don’t work with volunteers just does not make sense to us, because we know that perfection does not come without piecing together imperfection. Our volunteer teams are made up of real human beings with gifts and shortcomings. The well oiled machine we produce is vintage. It doesn’t have all the fancy new techie stuff and it may creak here and there and it may take a few minutes to warm up and the windows may hand-roll slowly, but it works. It moves down the street with the air of the artisans who created it. No, our machine was not mass-produced by robots, it was put together with the sweat of the volunteer manager who polished every piece. And in those moments when the throaty sound of that engine revs up, we know that our machine is unique and perfect.

    Let’s face it. A great deal of what we do is a trade-off, and a part of our volunteer’s “pay” is our overlooking of inconvenient things, like the volunteer who interrupts us, the volunteer who needs more of our time, and the volunteer who needs reminding over and over. Should those inconveniences that may look to an outsider like we don’t know how to “control” our volunteers, cause us to lose productive volunteers? I, for one, would rather not lose great volunteers just because they require a little extra of my time.
    Our volunteer teams are created by vision, artisan spirit and a heck of a lot of our time and effort. That well oiled machine is made up of restored parts, and we may have to work harder on some of those parts than others to keep them running properly, but they’re necessary parts.
    I’m off to work now, to drive in my lovingly restored well oiled and polished machine. I may have to do some maintenance and occasionally change out parts or stop for gas, but driving down the street, it is a thing of beauty.
    -Meridian

  • Management 601

    Belushi“Hey, not everyone is cut out to be a manager,” said my friend, Rennie, who works in the finance department of a large charity organization. She occasionally uses a volunteer to help with end of year reports, and adds, “the volunteers are always so wonderful to work with and our volunteer manager, Chase is awesome. But volunteers are not my problem. My problem is we have a new senior manager in our department, Bridget, who was hired to make our financial processes flow more smoothly. And since she’s gotten here, our department is miserable and everyone talks about quitting. It’s demoralizing.”
    “What is it about her management that is so bad?” I asked.

    “Well, when she first got here, she gathered our department together and told us what a great bunch we were and how excited she was to be working with us. She said she’d heard great things about us and that she wanted to learn from us.”
    “That doesn’t sound so bad.”
    “Yeah, but that was then. Now when our department meets, she tells us what a great bunch we are and then proceeds to rip into each one of us for something we did not do correctly or on time or according to her schedule. It’s apparent that the praise is just generic lip service while the criticisms are specific and targeted. We used to be a happy, productive department. Now, we are just defeated.”

    I feel for Rennie. Her senior manager seems to have been sleeping during management 101, which got me to thinking about volunteer managers. Where are we in the management curriculum, if 101 is your basic course? I’m thinking that the vast majority of volunteer managers passed the first five years and are completing management 601 on the way to a master’s degree.

    Why do I think that? Well, I’ve compiled a list of the skills we have honed by working with volunteers. Here’s just a few of those skills: See if you agree.

    Volunteer managers have mad leadership skills. We inspire, encourage, cultivate and mentor people. We believe that our volunteers will do amazing things and we develop their strengths instead of focusing on their weaknesses.

    Volunteer managers immerse themselves in outcomes. We keep statistics and prepare reports, but our bottom line is always about the human results. Because our eyes are on the work of the mission, we instill the joy and meaning of helping in our volunteers which creates excellence. When our volunteers do pure work, the stats and reports just naturally follow.

    Volunteer managers think “in the long run” terms. We build teams for long-term help, and not just for today’s assignment. Our hard up front work is meant to retain satisfied volunteers. Because we can’t just hire a replacement for a volunteer who quits, we make sure that our existing volunteers have what they need to succeed. We don’t “use” volunteers, but rather, we support them so that they remain committed to our cause.

    Volunteer managers stimulate growth. We are open to new ideas, new ways to help our clients and routinely look to recruit people with diverse backgrounds and fresh ways of doing things.

    Volunteer managers are expert mediators. We are the middle men in almost every assignment. We negotiate between clients and volunteers, and volunteers and staff. We quickly learn the art of persuasion, and the ability to deliver a negative message without hurting feelings. We are skilled at compromise to get jobs done.

    Volunteer managers operate with clarity. We know we will not keep volunteers if messages and instructions are not clear, so we frame every instruction so that it is clear. We know that muddied messages can ruin a volunteer experience and cause the volunteer to quit.

    Volunteer managers are critical thinkers. We have to meet challenges in a timely manner and so we have highly developed problem solving skills in order to succeed. We keep file cabinets full of pertinent information in our minds and databases so that we can cross think to find the best solution to any volunteer involvement. We can offer the best volunteer for a job, because we know that volunteer’s skills and abilities and can match those to a situation.

    Volunteer managers are chameleons. We can adapt and change quickly. We know what tone to take and can switch from light-hearted to serious in a moment as the situation warrants. It’s silly, but we are kinda like the Christmas tree lights with so many different settings and we’re constantly on the “all” setting so that we can fit into any mood.

    This list is just a portion of the skill set possessed by volunteer managers. There are so many more and unlike our compatriots in human resources, we must develop and use many more people skills to recruit, lead and keep our volunteers.
    People ask what is our volunteers’ substitute for a paycheck? We say that it is the meaningful work that keeps our volunteers coming back. But also, please remember, that in part, it is the vast skill set of the volunteer manager that fills the void of not receiving a paycheck.
    Instead of monetary compensation, our volunteers receive a meaningful volunteer experience thanks to the leadership of volunteer managers who are constantly growing in skills to help make that meaningful experience happen.
    -Meridian

  • There Are No Shortcuts

    two pathsThere’s one thing every volunteer manager knows. There are no shortcuts to volunteer management. Nope, no easy path, no automatic pilot, no kick back and let it go. No, we actually put some effort into matching volunteers with assignments. Yep, we actually go so far as to try to get as much information on the assignment so that we can not only find the best volunteer, but also to make sure the 80-year-old volunteer who just had knee surgery doesn’t end up standing hours in the hot sun at a health fair.
    We trust our instincts, and our instincts tell us not to take shortcuts, to check, recheck, and then follow-up. It’s called retention, or self-preservation, because if you put some good up front work into volunteers, you hate to lose them because they were given bad directions and instead of arriving at a client’s house, they end up at the wrong house where a “deal” is being made and then they are never seen or heard from again, but their car is fished from the lake three days later.
    The shortcut path of just simply handing volunteer Dave an assignment is fraught with pitfalls. One or two “what am I supposed to be doing, exactly” and “who’s in charge here” and poof! Dave falls off the rope bridge into the piranha infested river of “I quit” below.
    Jolene is a volunteer coordinator for a small hospice. “Recently, we started a pet therapy program,” she said. “I recruited my first volunteer, Beth and her dog, Chick. Beth works for a local veterinarian and has a lot of contacts with the therapy dog groups in our area so I was really pleased to recruit her. When we talked, Beth told me about a few horror stories she’s had trying to take Chick, her black lab, into hospitals.”
    Jolene continued, “I could see that Beth was hesitant about bringing Chick into our program, because she was afraid that we would give her poor directions or ignore her when she needed us, the two things that happened to her on her own. So, I assured her that this would not happen with us and I set up a time to meet her at a nursing home where we see patients. At the time, we were taking care of three patients in this nursing home, I’ll call ‘Shady Rest.’ So I called Shady Rest and asked to speak to the activities director, Deena. Deena took my call and I explained that I would be meeting a pet therapy volunteer at her nursing home and that I would love it if Deena could join us. She agreed. So, a week later, I pulled up at Shady Rest a bit early so that I could talk to Deena about any pitfalls like residents that might be afraid of a dog and so forth. I walked into the nursing home and there was no one at the reception desk. I stood for a moment, and nodded to the few residents sitting in the lobby and then walked around a corner to find someone to ask where Deena’s office was. I found a woman in an office on the phone, who pointed and said, ‘down the hall’, so I headed down the hallway, looking for a sign. I found the activities room, but it was locked up and the lights were off, so I returned to the lobby. There was still no receptionist, so I returned to the lady in the office who had directed me and she agreed to page Deena. I went out to the lobby again, checked my watch and sat down and waited. A few minutes later, the lady from the office came out and said that Deena was really busy right now, but to go ahead and visit the patients.
    As I was listening, I kept thinking about Beth and how she would have perceived all this if she had come alone for the first time. This was probably the kind of experience she had already. I was so glad I was there to walk with her down this path. By the time Beth arrived with Chick, I had scoped out all the patients’ rooms, had found a place where other residents were gathered and talked to a few of the staff. I walked with Beth through the facility and we had a decent time. Deena managed to come out for a few minutes to introduce herself so that was good. Beth felt comfortable enough to decide that she could come once a week and so it was a success. But had I not been there, I can’t imagine that Beth would have stayed long enough to figure things out. Good thing I was there.”
    While volunteers are capable people, they still require specific directions and when they do not receive them, the volunteers will eventually quit. Knowing how much effort goes into recruiting volunteers, we have no time for poor directions or faulty treatment. We’ve all had to apologize to a volunteer who has had a bad experience because their assignment was not properly planned out. We’ve had the morning visits from volunteers who were inconvenienced the day before. Sometimes you just know you need to pick up every phone call and greet with, “Hello, let me begin by apologizing to you right up front.”
    When I try to explain how important clear directions are and why I spend so much time on the check and recheck, I often have staff members ask, “yes, but if the volunteers can’t adapt to a little inconvenience, then they really aren’t meant to volunteer, right?”
    To which I say, “that’s not it at all. Volunteers come to be of help, to know their volunteering has meaning, not only for our clients but to help the burden of overworked staff. Being sent on wild goose chases says to the volunteer, ‘THIS JOB IS NOT THAT IMPORTANT’.”
    Our volunteers are not prima donnas. They don’t look for special treatment. But they are looking for clarity and meaning. It’s the very least we can give them.
    -Meridian

  • Just Put That in My Bag

    junk drawer“Freebies,” volunteer coordinator Sara lamented. “Our staff thinks of volunteers as freebies. They think I have a bag full of volunteers and when one is needed, I just reach in and pull off the wrapper.” Sara continued, ” I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love freebies, like the BOGOs (buy one get one) or get a free cruise if you listen to our sales pitch or a free flashlight to the first 100 customers. Freebies are great, but they’re just, well freebies. I didn’t pay for them, and maybe I didn’t want them in the first place. I certainly don’t value them that much.”
    That conversation got me to thinking about how we view volunteers in our organizations. Sara is right. There is very little investment on our part in freebies. Someone hands you something in the mall or at a conference. All you had to do was show up, therefore, you place little value on that item, because, after all, it’s free.
    So how do organizations view volunteers in this context? Do organizations view volunteers as the junk in the bottom of the plastic bag after attending a conference? You know, the free trinkets handed out like the assortment of band-aid holders, wet wipes, and lip balm which is all just more stuff to deal with in a busy life, stuff that has no real meaning except to advertize a logo?
    Are volunteers the rubber jar opener that we throw in the junk drawer until we might need it one day? And, if so, how do we make volunteers the substance of an organization and not the free stuff? Let’s take conferences and symposiums for example. There are conferences and symposiums which are geared specifically towards the volunteer sector. That’s really nice, but who is attending these symposiums? I doubt very many administrators of non-profits are attending. We, the volunteer managers are attending.
    Our own volunteer themed symposiums are pretty much like the lip balms and band-aid holders holding their own symposiums year after year. “Yeah, how do we make a better lip balm, maybe one with more sunscreen?” “Maybe we should make the band-aid holders green instead of yellow this year.” And yet, the lip balm and band-aid holders end up in the bottom of the bag once again. Do symposiums not geared solely towards volunteerism have substantive volunteer components? Would a conference on health actually feature volunteers presenting a workshop? Horrors, volunteers aren’t experts, are they now?
    When will volunteers and volunteerism be truly integrated into the missions and not just a freebie afterthought? When will the “free stuff”(volunteers) be more than fluff?
    Well, I was chatting with a retired business executive, Charles, who is married to a friend of mine. He politely listened to me lament about the “silo” of volunteering, taking in my ramblings as he slowly raised an eyebrow at my frustration. ” You know, we were in the business of selling our products and all things worked towards that end,” he said. “You want to sell your product, AKA, volunteers, to the rest of your team and to the community around you. Some of the ideas we used to sell products might work for you too.” He went on, “businesses give out free samples to high influence customers, newspapers, bloggers and reviewers in hopes of getting a positive review or testimonial. Those positive reviews are proven to work, to create buzz, to make people want your product. People trust reviews by others who have actually taken the time to do a review. Maybe you can do the same with volunteer services and staff.”
    “I have no idea how to do that,” I admitted.
    “Look,” he said, “you want everyone in your organization to appreciate all the things volunteers do for your clients. But, does staff actually see or hear about all these great things? Do they engage with all the volunteers? Are they aware of how much volunteers help, aside from some meaningless statistics?”
    “No,” I said, “they don’t.” And, I thought, they don’t want to sit through some lecture about all the great things volunteers are doing. So, how to engage them, show them? Well, there are volunteer managers out there doing some pretty creative things.
    A volunteer coordinator I know says he has pictures of his volunteers in a book for staff and visitors to look at and get to know each volunteer as a person. He calls the book, “Volunteer Team Members.”
    Another volunteer coordinator polls her clients for testimonials to showcase how much volunteer involvement means to the people receiving it. She shares these testimonials at every staff meeting.
    Another coordinator publishes a monthly menu of volunteer services so that staff can pick from the different offerings and subsequently get to know all the great things volunteers are doing.
    A tech savvy coordinator has a twitter hashtag specifically for his volunteers to share their amazing work. He encourages all staff to check in on the hashtag.
    And yet another volunteer manager takes videos of volunteers telling stories about their favorite volunteer memory. These are available to staff on a private channel.
    Some coordinators publish newsletters, make scrapbooks and invite volunteers into meetings to share their stories.
    Others ask staff to help with training, so that staff has a “stake” in volunteers from the beginning.
    All these great examples are helping to make some headway into integrating volunteers as productive members of their teams. Truth be told, we have an uphill battle here. How can the lip balm and band-aid holder become more than “junk drawer bottom dwellers?” When non-profit staff think of volunteers as equal members of the team.
    When will I know that’s happened?
    When I walk into a mainstream conference and see a session given by volunteers.
    -Meridian

  • I’m Crying So Hard, I’m Laughing

    ice crackingWhen volunteer Dorrie enters a room, the walls just seem to pulsate with her energy. Her appearance is a no makeup, no hairstyle, and no-nonsense. A former kindergarten teacher, Dorrie has a way of simplifying everything, without insulting you. She loves her patients, especially the men. Dementia doesn’t bother her; Alzheimers is just an inconvenience. She carries colored socks to sort, has had wine parties with grape Koolaid, and has brought beach towels to simulate a day at the seashore. If she visits a nursing home, she has kitten parties, where she brings shelter waifs to share with touch starved elders. She is fearless in the face of age and confusion and dwindling mental capacity, which normally scares the bejeepers out of even the most stalwart volunteers.
    At one point, Dorrie had 17 cats and dogs living with her. All fosters, she takes in the unadoptable, the dregs, the unlovable and strives to find them homes. She equates her misfit animals to the failing humans she visits. “I love them all. They can’t help who they are and how they got there.” There is a comfort level with Dorrie that makes me wonder if she had been a misfit as a teen, but I don’t ask.
    When Dorrie called me last week I was just finishing up some emails. “What’s up kiddo,” I said.” We’ve known each other for over ten years now, and I’ve spent many an hour soaking up her stories. She’s always there to train a new volunteer and to speak to new classes. I love to turn the floor over to her and retreat to the back, silent, watching the effect of her message that dying isn’t the worst thing in the world but dying alone with no one to care is the worst thing. Each time she speaks, she has to warn the class that most of what she does could be construed as against the rules, so maybe they should cover their ears. I play along and sternly wag my head as the class looks at me so I smile and scold Dorrie. But her confidence is infectious, her matter of fact attitude is comforting and her breakthroughs inspiring.
    “Hey,” she said, “I’ve got some news for you.”
    “What’s that”
    “I’ve got to take a break for a while, but I’ll be back.”
    “What’s going on Dorrie?” I feel close enough to her to ask.
    “Oh, just some medical issues I need to take care of.”
    Huh. No, this was not her normal demeanor.
    “Do you feel like telling me about it? I don’t mean to pry.”
    “No, that’s ok,” she returned. “I’ve got some tests coming up.’
    Ok, now I’m concerned. “What tests, Dorrie?”
    “There’s a spot on my lung. I’ve had lung cancer before, but been in remission for years and it’s back now. I went to Europe last year, and came back with a cough. It didn’t go away. I had a test, but they didn’t find anything and well, now they did. It’s inoperable.”
    I felt like her words had fists and each one took a turn seeing how much damage they could do to my heart.
    “Oh my goodness, Dorrie.” What else can I say? Dorrie is only 63.
    “Yeah, it sucks,” she returns. I can hear her dogs in the background. “Shish, Bezus, we’ll go out in a minute.”
    Dorrie is always busy, on the move, like a wind-up toy. I wonder now if she had a premonition all these years.
    So we talk. She tells me that I can use her stories in class. She says she’s loved every minute of her volunteering. We reminisce about her patient with Alzheimer’s who loved to go topless. Dorrie would tell her that her boyfriend was on his way which always worked. We recalled the time Dorrie had to call us because she encountered a huge hairy spider on the wall of a patient’s home. Turned out it was fake and there to scare anyone who dared to enter. She told me again about Bad Brad, the patient who was so confused he would put items in the microwave and his socks in the toilet. “Bad Brad!” Dorrie would tell him in jest and he would just smile. The stories were always funnier in the retelling because of Dorrie’s take on everything. There’s a shrug in her voice that dismisses anything crazy as perfectly normal.
    I fantasized that Dorrie was making it all up. I’ve been down this road before with volunteers I care deeply about and staring at the dark, treacherous way, I don’t know if I have the courage to do it again. Dorrie though, represents stability, strength. I thought she’d always be there, not just for the patients and families and future volunteers, but for me, too. My world trembled, as cracks in the ice beneath my feet.
    That’s the thing about this job. Volunteers aren’t props or tools or faceless voices at the other end of the phone. They’re Dorrie, and I’m going to miss her more than I can entertain right now.
    Oh, she will keep it light, keep us laughing to keep from crying.
    For her, I hope I have the strength.
    -Meridian

  • Of Swords and Cranes

    swords and cranesThat morning was filled with the chaos of emails and phone messages and the flitting of staff whose requests and questions settled onto my desk. As I scrolled through the emails and deleted the spammy junk, I then moved onto the “cute” emails from volunteers. I love that they feel close enough to send me their chain emails, even though the sheer volume is cumbersome. I came across a video from a volunteer about the random giving of 1000 origami cranes to strangers. Lovely music accompanied the surprised looks on the faces of strangers as a young woman shared her kindness with humanity. I’ve gotten plenty of videos before, random acts of kindness shared by the network of people in our volunteers’ lives.
    As I closed the email, I looked up to see Stuart standing in front of me. Stuart is a volunteer who seldom requires any attention or help. As a matter of fact, I actually feel rather inadequate in his presence. A former Army officer and professor, Stuart has ridden the wings of power in circles I can only imagine. A tragedy brought Stuart to volunteer. His own personal grief, shared only in carefully guarded pieces has made him one powerful volunteer. Sometimes there is an incredible fusion in volunteers, almost like a big bang theory of worlds colliding that can produce an amazing giver. Stuart is one of those people.
    “Hi Stuart,” I said, “what brings you here today?”
    His face was intense, purposeful. “They called me in to sit with a patient.”
    “Oh, of course.” In a millisecond, I switched gears. See, volunteer managers can change personas at will. It’s a skill that serves us well as we morph into the role we need to assume.
    “Let’s go find out where they want you to be,” I said, getting up and heading for the nurses’ station. Stuart is an 11th hour, or vigil or whatever you want to term it volunteer. These are volunteers who sit with the dying who are alone at the end of the journey. These folks are incredible, and they take their jobs to heart with the fierceness of a soldier battling the forces that are trying to keep the dying alone.
    Stuart was led to a room where a man was actively dying. He was alone, because his family was in route and Stuart would be the human presence until they arrived. The man was young, dying of melanoma and he had taken a turn for the worse during the night. His parents were on their way.
    So, Stuart entered the room, inhaling the scene. He pulled a chair up close and sat down, his eyes riveted to the human spirit struggling to escape the failing body. Stuart took in the whispered instructions from the nurse then looked up a me and nodded once. “Go, I’ve got this, I’m on duty.”
    As I walked back towards my office, I had to stop, so I paused at the water fountain. Such intense moments cannot be shrugged off so easily. I needed to feel the weight of a life ebbing away, to process the intensity of a volunteer giving of himself completely.
    I returned to tasks, somewhat distracted, still feeling the energy of what was happening a short way from my workspace. I thought back to the class Stuart had taken on the imminently dying, and how, looking over the faces of the volunteers in attendance, I was struck by the sheer power of their will. Each one had their own story, their own reason to give so intimately and the humility of it all had been overwhelming.
    These feelings lingered and I kept glancing at the door to see if Stuart would check in before he left. If he didn’t, well, I understood the why of that decision only too well.
    A short time later, when thankfully, no one was waiting to chat, Stuart did come in. “Please don’t let there be any interruptions,” I said under my breath. He looked drained.
    “They arrived,” he said, speaking of the parents. “They are with him now and he’s close.” Stuart’s face was lined with the responsibility of holding a soul in his hand.
    “And you?” I whispered.
    He smiled. “I’m good. I’m glad I could be here.” The myriad of inner emotions stayed inside where he prefered them to remain.
    “Thank you Stuart.” I said, knowing that any other statements or questions would be lame, flat.
    “Call me anytime.” He stood up, and shook my hand. “Anytime.” With that he turned and walked out.
    There will be no You Tube video of Stuart. He has no message to share with the voyeurism masses. His is an intensely private journey.
    Later, I checked with the nurse, and the patient’s parents were with him when he died. In their mix of hard emotions, the parents might not even realize that Stuart was there, not yet anyway. Would it matter to Stuart if they never did know that he spent that time between life and death with someone he did not know, yet cared about so deeply? Or would his reward just be the knowledge that he had spent the most intimate of moments with another?
    I started the morning looking at a woman giving cranes to strangers, and ended the morning witnessing a soldier wield his proverbial sword to keep a stranger from dying alone.
    Volunteering is of swords and cranes and sometimes, they mean the same thing.
    -Meridian