Apprehension. That’s what I felt the first time I taught volunteer training. I believed in our mission. I’d witnessed the remarkable work being done by our volunteers. I had solid materials to work with. So why was I overwhelmed? I imagined a classroom of new volunteers, all eyes staring at me for 20+ hours, craving excellence. They’d want each minute to inspire them, and each time I opened my mouth, they’d expect to hear the lofty reasons they should donate their time. What if I couldn’t answer a simple question? What if I couldn’t capture the life-changing experience they were embarking upon?
Honestly, in the first class, I was nervous. I struggled with how to tell them volunteering would impact our mission and enhance their lives. Even if I had the words, was that message enough? As I went over the material, glancing at the clock every hour, I hoped no one would walk out. But the most amazing thing happened. They all returned, not only for the second session, but for all six. They finished and became volunteers.
Volunteer training quickly became my favorite part of my job. I happily drove to outlying offices, clubhouses, schools, and places of worship, sometimes on weekends, sometimes at night, to onboard a new group of volunteers. Instead of being terrified when new classes started, I was excited. Was it because I was so good at it?
Nope. What I witnessed early on was a pattern. New volunteers would arrive and find a spot at the table(s) to sit. Some looked down. Others nervously watched me. A few said hi to their neighbors. I’d shut the doors, and together, we’d begin a journey. I can’t count the number of “ice breakers” I’ve tried over the years, nor can I tell you what worked and what bombed. Every group was different. They were the proverbial “box of chocolates.” I never knew what I was going to get.
But I will tell you this: They came back. They looked forward to our time together. I’d love to take credit for that, but I can’t, because something truly magical happened, something out of my hands. They embraced the mission. They bonded with one another. They shared, they absorbed, and they created a community.
I remember one class in particular: I’d always invite established volunteers to come in and share their stories. In one session, a volunteer with a wealth of inspirational experiences veered off into personal struggles. I sat there, squirming, watching the group, unsure of how they would react, but I held my tongue. When he finished, an astonishing thing happened. Each new volunteer opened up and shared their own personal struggles. No one laughed. No one judged. No one interrupted. They practiced their active listening skills by empathizing with each other. In that session, they applied the material they’d learned to their immediate situation. Was that appropriate? I don’t know, but from witnessing the energy in the room, I knew they felt a confidence in the material that we had studied. (That experience helped me appreciate the value role-playing brought to orientation.)
On September 11, 2001, I was in my hospice care center office when the first plane struck the World Trade Center. I stepped out to see what caused the buzzing in the hallway and saw the frantic faces. We made our way to an empty patient room, where the TV was on, the images so incomprehensible, we stood there, numb. My first thought was, “I have to get home.” But after checking in with my family, I stayed at work.
I had volunteer training scheduled for that afternoon. I considered calling every new volunteer to cancel, but knowing they were all busy phoning loved ones, I waited, expecting no one to show up. At 2pm, five hours and 14 minutes after the first plane struck, I was standing in the classroom when the first, then second person arrived. They all came. They came because they, too, were numb. Maybe they needed some semblance of normalcy. I know I did. We spent the afternoon consoling one another. They talked about relatives in New York or D.C. or Pennsylvania. They talked about their grief for their fellow citizens. In the safe space that our organization represented, they talked about how precious life is and how they wanted to make their own lives meaningful. We cried together as we got updates on the unimaginable loss of life.
These volunteers came because they had forged a bond with one another and with our organization. Years later, one of them became a staff member and a valuable employee. I believe that spending that time together was cathartic in some small way. I know it was for me. In the days that followed, we finished our training sessions with a renewed sense of purpose.
Systems tell us we orient people, place them in roles, rinse and repeat. Volunteer engagement tells us that people thrive on connections, on empowerment, and on a sense of community.
Training for me became more about facilitating and less about “teaching.” The information we needed new volunteers to embrace had to resonate with them. Information infused into group activities made it personal. Time and again, new volunteers told me that orientation improved their own relationships. (I know I learned how to be more empathetic through the materials I used, the examples we examined, and the questions volunteers asked). Having experienced volunteers lead group discussions broke through the “top-down” teaching dynamic, created a peer-to-peer bonding opportunity, and gave each new volunteer confidence, knowing they were joining a group that understood and ‘had their backs.’
One thing became clear during onboarding: there was a reason these brave people gave up 20+ hours of their free time, sitting through sessions, not knowing what to expect, wondering if they could do the work. They came because they believed in the mission, whether they’d had a personal experience or because they felt we were doing something right in the world. Even those with community service hours, requirements for graduation, or additions to resumes chose us because they felt we would fit within their personal worldview. That is a powerful motivator.
One new volunteer came to a Monday class and, with pride in her voice, told the class a story. Her friend’s husband had died, and her friend was planning his funeral. Our volunteer said, “I thought some of her plans sounded odd and non-traditional. In the past, I would have said something, maybe tried to steer her in another direction, but after our training, I just supported my friend’s choices. I could see how much that meant to her.”
I remember another participant in one of my classes. She sat at the end of the table and spoke only when spoken to. After three sessions, she hadn’t engaged with the others as I’d hoped. But during one activity in which a long-term volunteer shared his experiences with difficult situations, she shared bits of her life. Loss of significant other and job. Having to move. Knowing no one. Two women, friends who’d come to volunteer together, sat next to her in the fourth session. They chatted with her during breaks. They gently encouraged her. When training was over, I thought about what the organization needed, but decided to place her with these two women, who had created their own little community, and she flourished.
The patterns continued to amaze me. By the sixth class, volunteers entered the room with familiarity. They joked, they shared, and they took the material seriously, recounting how they practiced it in their daily lives. They looked forward to beginning their journey. When they expressed disappointment at not seeing each other, I scheduled a reunion, a chance to reconnect and catch up.
As the years went on and it became apparent that volunteers wanted flexibility, convenience, and less red tape, I made a change. My first class was framed as an introductory session with the option to start volunteering or to complete the remaining five sessions. I think about 50% opted to start; the other 50% completed the comprehensive training. It gave us the ability to onboard volunteers for needed roles while assuring that those who volunteered with patients were ready and confident.
I know we have to navigate a new world in which flexibility, virtual, and short-term volunteering are key. Folks want volunteering to fit into their lives, which is challenging. Shorter, introductory “welcome to” sessions, even virtual or recorded, can onboard new volunteers who need flexibility. But I believe there is a place, and maybe even a longing, for in-depth onboarding, or at least ways in which to give new volunteers bonding experiences.
As I look back, I think what made me love all the work, time, traveling, and often odd hours that went into comprehensive volunteer training was this: the privilege of watching communities being built, piece by piece, made up of individuals bonding with the mission, with established volunteers and staff, and with one another as they embarked on their volunteering journey.
It didn’t get better than that.
Meridian
