“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
Tag: volunteers
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Just Put That in My Bag
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I’m Crying So Hard, I’m Laughing
When 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
That 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 -
If You Don’t Understand Fluidity, You Don’t Work With Volunteers
“How many volunteers do you have?’ Jori was asked this question by her CEO while walking through the hallway. “We have about 125 at last count.” she replied.
“Are they all active?”
“Er, yes, they are active volunteers.”
“How do you know? Do you monitor their hours, do you know they are actually doing something or are they just names on a list that at one time volunteered?”
“I carefully look at hours every month and then contact those who don’t have recorded hours for the month.” Jori said.
“But let’s say someone only volunteers 2 hours a month. Are they still active?”
“Well, yes, they have to be in order for me to record their hours on our system. It’s the way our system is set up.”
“Hmm, I see.” With that the CEO walked away.
“That was the strangest thing I’ve encountered from my CEO.” Jori mused. “I mean, what was he implying? That I fudge my numbers, or that I don’t know who is volunteering and who isn’t? I mean, do we have to have a minimum for volunteers each month? And what about my senior volunteers? Sometimes they have a surgical procedure and it takes a month for them to recover. Should I consider them inactive, not call and see how they are doing? Should I just say hey, let me know when you’re usable again, until then, don’t bother me because you’re not active in our system?”
Jori scoffed. “He just doesn’t understand that at any given day, there are volunteers in and out of the system. They’re not employees, far from it. I don’t know how to make him see that.”Gayle, one of the volunteer coordinators who works for a larger organization says its pretty difficult to keep track of 1500 volunteers. There are always volunteers who are on a vacation, out for health reasons, taking care of family members and other reasons they are temporarily missing. Then there are the volunteers who just sort of disappear. They don’t answer phone calls or emails. “We try to contact them and can’t and we don’t want to sound desperate or mean, but we keep trying. Eventually we send them a letter saying that we are going to inactivate them, but they can come back later. But how long should we wait? I’ve got folks who spend 3 months in Florida each year. I temporarily inactivate them but sometimes I’m not clear on when they leave or return unless they are really good about telling me.”
Gayle continued, “I do have real communicative volunteers, and these are the ones who I either see and spend time with, or they are just really conscientious, but then there are quite a few more who maybe prefer to do one time assignments. They may not have as many hours but they are really important when I need someone at the last-minute. I can’t activate and inactivate them several times a month, so they remain active but they have few hours. I guess they’re like our employees who work out of a pool.”If you manage more than 50 volunteers, the numbers start to get really fluid as volunteers come and go. Certainly we would love all volunteers to be regular, dependable and easier to track, but the reality is that we manage substantial groups of people who we cannot force to be at our beck and call at every moment of the week. Managers of employees can tell you exactly how many employees they have at any given moment, but it is harder for us. Employees have to be accounted for in order to be paid. They clock in and out. Maybe we should have volunteers clock in and out too. I think that would make my job so much easier, because statistics is a huge part of what I do.
Our volunteer base is like the fluidity of traffic. How many cars will stop at a specific traffic light today? Why don’t you know that number?
When someone asks how many volunteers you have, how do you envision the number? Active volunteers at this very moment? Active including temporarily out? Active including retired volunteers who have given so much they are still considered active but they cannot really contribute anymore? Active with more than 10 hours? Active, but only once in awhile? If we only allow volunteers who we can fit into a statistic more easily, are we keeping potentially great volunteers from serving and making our jobs much more difficult in the long run?Gayle then added, “And what about those few volunteers who never record their hours. Yes, I know, they need to, so I try to record for them. Am I supposed to just fire them and tell them not to volunteer anymore? I guess one day I may have to.”
Fluidity is a state of changing, evolving motion. There are so many factors that render a fluid movement in our volunteer base. And with the growing trend of episodic and group volunteering, it will only get more complicated and more fluid.
So the next time someone asks you, “how many volunteers do you have,” you can give as accurate a number as you can or you can ask them “how many cars will stop at the traffic light on third street,” or you might just say, “We can always use one more.”
-Meridian -
If You Want It Done Right…
Mari is a volunteer coordinator who, by her own admission is great at following protocol. “Look,” she says, “I’m just not comfortable going over people’s heads or taking jobs away from them. I think if we all do our jobs correctly, then things run much more smoothly and we all win. I absolutely hate it when staff in my organization take it upon themselves to manage the volunteers. That’s my job. So, I understand the frustration when someone feels like another person is meddling in their area. I just don’t do it.”
Now I know that many times I’ve experienced a staff member trying to “fix” the volunteer department with ideas that seemingly are no-brainers. It’s not that we don’t appreciate fresh, great ideas. We do, and welcome them all the time. It’s the condescending advice based on no real knowledge of volunteer services that is frustrating. When staff look at volunteer services and think that what we do is simple, that’s when they think a “one size fits all” approach works. Would I tell the finance department that they should calculate donations differently? I’d be an idiot to do so, because I know nothing about their processes.
Mari, though, had an interesting experience. She found that the marketing people in her organization would make requests that she couldn’t fill. “They wanted volunteers to hand out flyers and put them on cars in parking lots. Our volunteers have no interest in doing that. They came to volunteer to make a difference in our clients’ lives. I ask, but they politely refuse. And then, marketing wants volunteers to wear our t-shirts and go into libraries to talk to parents about our services for children. The volunteers are not interested in doing that at all.”
Mari paused. “I asked to attend a marketing meeting to talk about our volunteers and what they will do and not do. Marketing accepted and I went. I gave them a printout of the types of volunteering we could offer and I spoke to them about volunteer motivation and meaningful volunteer work. The marketers nodded and asked a few questions and I thought I made my points, but two weeks later, I got another request for handing out flyers at a local library.”
Mari sighed. “Did they choose not to hear me? I don’t know. Maybe they are just operating out of habit. Maybe they don’t want to think differently, but I wonder if they even realize how much volunteers can help if we are involved in the process. I’m stumped.”
Mari went on. “Here’s the interesting part. A few days later, I was invited to a volunteer directors’ luncheon. I took my seat and introduced myself to everyone at my table. We had volunteer coordinators from a real diverse group of organizations. It was awesome. The woman who sat a few chairs down was a librarian who managed the library volunteers. I started talking to her and laughingly told her about my marketing request for our volunteers to hang out in her library. She laughed but then we really started to talk about her library and she told me that she did not have enough volunteers to do story time with the kids. I asked her if one of our volunteers could come in and help. I just really wanted to be more community spirited and I knew that one volunteer in particular, Olivia, would be interested. She is a retired schoolteacher and had told me she loves reading to our clients and missed her story time with a class room full of children. To my surprise, not only did the librarian think that was a wonderful idea, she suggested Olivia wear our t-shirt. I was thinking, wow and then the librarian added that Olivia should bring flyers too. She said that the library would make sure the patrons knew that our organization is lending our volunteers to the library. Bingo, right there, the marketing request was met, but in a way that worked.”
Mari continued, “I went back and set up the first story time with Olivia. Because I still believe in protocol, I emailed the head of marketing and my manager to inform them of the partnership with the library.”
At this point, Mari reflected on her experience. “I ask, no plead with every department to include me in their planning. I know what volunteers we have and what they can do. If I need to recruit 20 volunteers for an event, then I need to know that months ahead of time, not two weeks before. And, what about all the things that volunteers can help with that no one asks for because they don’t include me in their discussions? My experience with the library tells me that I need to be more proactive. Now, will I be more inclined to follow protocol or will I branch out on my own and do what I know will work?”
Mari had to go and before she hung up, she said, “We’ll just see!”
-Meridian -
The Song of the Weathered Explorer
Volunteer Appreciation week has always been a chance to reconnect with volunteers. There are those you see every day, those you talk to on the phone weekly, and those you only see at meetings. Each volunteer takes the right amount of interaction, praise and mental follow-up. Don’t think for a moment that an event is easy, so if after an event your head is swimming, that’s normal. Events take finesse and each volunteer that comes up to you takes a minute or two of intense volunteer retention. It’s worth every moment but it is exhausting.There are a few volunteers who do not attend meetings, and they prefer to bob out there on the volunteering sea, wind in face, their hands skillfully steering them through storm and calm. They take little to no management interference for they have impeccable motivation, mad skills and they’ve circumnavigated the globe of helping far longer than they’ve been managed. Open their brains and a tide of experience comes gushing out. They are the historians, the pioneers, the explorers who have led the way in your organization.
I encountered Jenna at an event during volunteer appreciation week. I hadn’t seen her in quite some time so I was thrilled that she came. Jenna and I go way, way back. She was one of the first volunteers I recruited to work at a hospice house about 20 years ago. Jenna, a British transplant, married an American man and spent time tutoring local high school students in the fine art of composition. I even got to attend her swearing-in ceremony when she became a citizen. Back in the day, we roamed the halls of the house, imagining volunteer programs while caring for patients as we went. It was new territory to discover and Jenna was fired up to be in the middle of something unique and innovative.
Several years later, Jenna moved and she ended up visiting nursing homes in her new area. Another volunteer coordinator was now involved with Jenna and occasionally I talked to her new manager, Shelby, about how Jenna was doing.
“Fine, just fine,” Shelby would always say. “She pretty much keeps to herself though. I don’t have a lot of dealings with her. Sometimes I’m just happy if she comes to a meeting. But she does turn in her paperwork and the patients love her.”
Hmmmm. These conversations never felt like we were speaking about Jenna, at least not the Jenna I knew. But I always requested my hello be passed on to her.
So, during volunteer appreciation week, Jenna surprised me. She snuck up behind me as I was checking people in and popped me on the back. “Jenna!” I yelled and gave her a big hug. “Wow, I didn’t know you were coming!”
“I was in town,” she said, and smiled. “I figured you’d be here and I wanted to say hi.”
“I’m so glad you did,” I returned, genuinely pleased to see her.
Since the event took up time and effort, Jenna sat with some long-term volunteers that she knew. But after the event was over, she hung around and helped clean up.
“So, how’s it going?” I asked. “I heard you were visiting nursing homes. That must be pretty awesome for you.” I said as I crumbled up paper tablecloths.
“Yeah, it’s ok,” she offered, a bit half heartedly. “I love the patients, don’t get me wrong.” She stared at a candy dish.
“Then what is it?” I asked putting aside my cleaning.
“It isn’t, it just isn’t the same.” she said. “Don’t you miss those days when we first started? How the atmosphere was so exciting and we were the first ones to create so many things? All of us, staff and volunteers, we were in it together, we had this incredible chemistry and we did amazing work.” She traced the top of the dish. “I miss it. It just isn’t the same. I feel so, so ordinary.”
I put my hand on her back. “You, my friend, are an amazing, wonderful volunteer. We never could have done half the things we did without your vision and enthusiasm. Sure, I miss it. I miss you, too.”
She looked at me and I wondered where explorers go after they’ve discovered whatever it was they were looking for.
“Jenna,” I offered, “things have changed. Goodness knows, they’ve changed a lot and we couldn’t do today what we did back then. But you have so much to offer. Look at all you’ve done. That Jenna is still there. Still waiting to reconnect and imagine.”
“I think I might want to try some different volunteering.” She said it almost as a question, as though she might be disloyal.
She looked like a little girl who has been down in the claustrophobic cabin of the boat, itching to get her hands on the wheel and steer somewhere exciting.
“You should. Go for it, you don’t have to cling to this. Go out and find a fledgling volunteer group and do amazing things.”
She gave me a hug. “Thank you. And thank you for understanding.” As she popped a chocolate in her mouth she asked, “you do feel it, don’t you? It’s not the same, right? I’m not crazy.”
“No, you are most certainly not crazy. I feel it. But things never remain the same. And neither do we. So, grow, my friend and don’t look back.”
With that she walked out. I’m certain she will find another spot to volunteer. Whether she can recapture the excitement of newness and innovation remains to be seen.
So, until I hear from her, I will just picture her, spray in face, hands on the wheel, steering for the horizon and whatever new territory lies out there.
-Meridian -
Oh, What We Don’t Do
Sometimes, don’t you just wake up on an otherwise lovely morning and stare at the universe and ask why?
Last Monday, the start of volunteer appreciation week, I woke up with a cold. Not just a sniffle mind you, a full-blown, sore throat, low-grade fever, laryngitis cold. Ehhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. So, what does a volunteer manager do when faced with issues that keep good people home? Yep, we walk it off and go to work. After all, the volunteers are counting on us, and we feel this deep responsibility to our organizations, our volunteers and our work. Lame, huh?
So, after fistfuls of cold medicine (pinks and whites, no blues, they put you out) I attended all the events planned. In between balloons I sipped cough syrup while greeting volunteers. At night, I went to bed at 8pm (with the kindly help of the blue pills) and hoped the next day would be better. But the human body is a funny thing, it requires rest while healing. And rest is to volunteer appreciation week as dieting is to the doughnut shop.
Now during that week, there’s one big event. It’s a luncheon at a hotel complete with cloth napkins and those huge claustrophobic banquet walls. You would think that a luncheon would be easy, but it’s not. There’s seating and lists of who’s coming and checking people in and parking issues and who’s eating what and special diet requests and greeting and finding their fellow volunteers so they can sit with them and hearing how bad traffic is and listening to ‘how about moving this thing closer to me’ and fussing over emeritus volunteers and making sure the speaker has the proper sound and smoothing over hurt feelings because we don’t have you on the list and admiring new dresses and ties and stopping to answer an inane question by a staff member who is attending (no offense, that’s mean I know, but really guys, can you not help?) and pressing staff members to get in there and mingle for cryin’ out loud, and making sure coffee is served quickly and intervening when the wrong food comes out and well, you know.
So, I have this thing; I guess it’s a reputation or myth or something. But I am the one expected to get the party started if you know what I mean.
Yeah, I’ve dressed up in costumes, done skits, sung (and I can’t sing, not a note), did break dancing and the riverdance, once did an entire improv skit on why Daffy Duck is smarter than Donald Duck, worn outrageous outfits, sat in a lazy boy while in the bed of a pickup truck tossing out flyers, (don’t ask), worn various colored wigs at events, and brought my rubber chicken purse for good measure. You know, you’ve done it too. (fess up). Well, I’ve got the dancing started in lunches past and the volunteers loved it so of course they want to dance this year too. “Oh no, no one else can start the dancing, we want the warm familiar feeling of Meridian starting the dancing.” (now, I’m picturing myself doing this when I’m like 80 and all the millennial volunteers whispering “what the heck, is that woman having a seizure, should we call 911?)
By this time, I’m having a coughing fit, the pills have worn off and my throat feels like the bottom of the pop corn maker at the movies. The trio that is entertaining has been playing soft background music during lunch when I see a volunteer sneak up to the keyboard player and whisper in her ear. The trio immediately launches into the beginnings of Ike and Tina Turner’s “Rollin on the River.” It is a slow, slow industrial build up and everyone is pointing at me. So, what am I, a good volunteer manager supposed to do? I slowly walk onto the floor, taking my rightful place in the universe and begin to sway to the iconic introduction. After a moment, I turn around and look at the keyboard player and playfully ask in a throaty voice, “Is this all you got?” She smiles at me wickedly and returns, “No way, but can you take it?”
“Bring it” I shoot back and turn to the room full of expectant volunteers. (what the heck am I doing, a voice says that sounds oddly like my dear departed mother. I should be home in bed).
There is a pause and then boom, the fast and furious Tina Turner version wafts over me to fill the room. As if a volunteer manager switch has been flipped, my legs are flying and I am whirling around and around on the dance floor. I’m oblivious to the crowd who is yelling. But heck, this is what I am supposed to do. This is what they have come to expect and within 30 seconds, they’ve flooded the dance floor, laughing and pointing at each other. Ah, they are having fun.
Even though my chest hurts and I know I will pay for this tomorrow or probably the rest of the week, I dance on. My uninhibited crazy dancing is more than just a wacko spectacle. It is my signal to them that we’re family, we’re comfortable with each other, that we can be our lunatic selves with each other. It’s also a subtle way to say, “take a chance, don’t be embarrassed, we don’t judge.
So, after volunteer appreciation week, here’s to all of you who work with volunteers, you, who got there at 5am to start decorating, you, who stayed up late making goodie bags, you, who carefully created posters and printed pictures, you, who drove miles to find the right balloons and you, who danced like lunatics.
Here’s to you, who find that this week’s work is bigger than you anticipated and to you, who are sore and maybe just beginning to feel that scratch in your throat. Let’s try to get some rest, and take care of ourselves, at least a bit. Let’s look at our weariness as a badge of courage or conviction or maybe just craziness. And perhaps that extra picture you decided to put on the poster meant everything to that one volunteer.
Then, see, it was all worth it.
-Meridian -
One Does Not a Plurality Make
Do you ever catch a staff member lumping all volunteers into a herd, like sheep?
Richard graduated college with a degree in psychology. He took a job as a volunteer manager for a mid-sized organization that places volunteers in area agencies. Richard has plans to continue his education and will apply to the college of social work in two years. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate being a volunteer trainer and manager. I really do, it’s that I’ve had this long-term plan for quite a while. I hope, as a social worker, that I’ll be able to work closely with volunteers.”
Richard recounted a team meeting that he attended a few weeks back. “It was one of our mandatory meetings for all staff. The CEO, all the senior managers and all of us workers were there. They had presentations, financial reports, and upcoming events. You know the type, there’s some rah-rah stuff where they tell us we’re the best at what we do, and then there’s problem solving talk about things we can do better.” Richard paused. “I was half paying attention, I gotta admit, then one of the marketers got up and started talking about the need for everyone to be more professional. People were raising their hands, giving advice and testimonials. One of the senior managers stood up and said that the volunteers we train ‘were not acting in a professional manner’. My ears started burning. What? I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. The volunteers I train were not professional?” Richard’s voice went up an octave. “I mean, she was basically saying I didn’t do my job. I take a great exception to that. And here’s the real kicker; no one disputed her!”
Richard went on to say, “I mean, here’s a senior manager tearing down the volunteers in front of everyone. She painted a picture that all volunteers are unprofessional which is so far from the truth. It was demoralizing and completely bogus. Just because volunteers are an easy target is no excuse for her to foster that impression.”
Ahhh, Richard, I’ve been down this road so many times. When people generalize about our volunteers, they do enormous harm. Most staff have very narrow views of volunteering; they know the volunteers in their area and sometimes they only come in contact with one or two volunteers. To broad brush an entire force based on here say or one isolated incident is devastating, insulting and frankly demoralizing. I’m embarrassed to say that I’ve had staff say to me, “the volunteers don’t know what they’re doing”, or “the volunteers aren’t very reliable”. In every case, the staff member heard these claims from another staff member who either exaggerated or recalled an isolated incident.
So, I have learned to nicely confront the person who has painted the picture that our volunteers are sheep in a herd of incompetence. The outcome has been more awareness of broad statements. The last polite confrontation went something like this:
Me: Sheila, I just wanted to ask you a question about something Dave told me he heard you say in your meeting yesterday. Dave told me that you said ‘our volunteers don’t even know who our CEO is’. Is that accurate or did he misunderstand?
Sheila: Oh, well, I, I don’t remember exactly, but I might have said something about a volunteer receptionist not remembering the name of our executive director. It really wasn’t that big a deal.
Me: No, but I would really like to follow-up with that volunteer so that I can make sure she will have the correct information. We wouldn’t want anyone to be embarrassed. Do you remember who that volunteer was?
Sheila: Well, no, I mean I was told this by one of my staff, Corella who observed your volunteer forgetting in front of a client.
Me: That certainly is distressing. May I ask Corella who the volunteer is so that I can give her the correct information?
Sheila: Well, sure, I guess, but really it’s no big deal.
Me: Thank you, I will follow-up with Corella. Our volunteers are an asset and we want them to act in a professional manner, and believe me, volunteers want to do a good job.
Sheila: Ok, fine.
Me: Can you tell me about all the other instances of volunteers not knowing the CEO’s name?
Sheila: I, I don’t know of anymore.
Me: Well, that’s certainly good to hear. Fortunately one incident does not mean the majority of volunteers don’t know the CEO’s name. But if I may, in the future, we would really appreciate your coming to us if you have a concern about one of the volunteers so that we can address it. It’s not helpful to air these concerns in a general meeting because it gives others the impression that we are not doing our jobs and that the volunteers are incompetent which I know you know they are anything but.
Sheila: All right, I will keep that in mind.
Me: Thanks again, you’ve always been so supportive of our volunteers and we appreciate your help in making everyone aware of the great work the volunteers do.
Now if you think I don’t actually use that formal business speak, I most definitely do. In order to make my point, I remove all emotion, and speak in a very formal, direct, businesslike manner. My extreme businesslike attitude subtly points out their unprofessional treatment of our volunteers.
I’ve done this ever since I became very tired of doing nothing about these blanket statements. Embarrassing a senior manager in a meeting by “correcting” his or her broad statements in front of everyone is often a career killer. But, one on one, we can point out the error and ask for help in recognizing the impact our volunteers make.
Volunteers are not sheep, or children or just little old ladies with no skills, they’re a microcosm of the best our communities have to offer. Volunteers have earned respect, so let’s help our respective fellow staff members remember that.
-Meridian -
The Fabric of Volunteering
Sometimes I think about the complexities of our jobs and am amazed at the interconnectedness with volunteers, clients, pairings and life stories. I don’t know about you, but I think the universe smiles kindly on what we do. Like the time I was asked to find a volunteer who could speak Armenian and the very next phone call I took was from a volunteer who worked mainly in the office but mentioned that she just returned from visiting her family in Armenia and yes, she spoke Armenian. The Universe clearly heard the request, but more often we spend thorough and thoughtful time assigning volunteers as we weave the fabric of human connection. Some fabric is soft and warm, some rough, more nubby with little pills of emotion. Each is a wondrous creation in its own way.
But we are not creators only, no, we are part of that fabric. Maybe it’s a bit of our blood as we prick our finger with the needle or maybe there’s a strand of our hair that just happened to land ever so slightly into the cloth as it’s woven, but we are in there as well. Because the volunteers and us, well, we are woven together just as surely as they are to our clients.
Sometimes I look at volunteers, feel the deep connection we have and marvel at how they teach and inspire me and how I hope I’ve given them something in return. I think maybe so. I wonder, as I talk to Betty, whose daughter died ten years ago if she imagines as she speaks to me what a conversation with her daughter would be like had she lived. Am I a substitute daughter? No, but maybe her ability to speak freely to me is a rip in time that mirrors what her conversations would have been like had her daughter survived. (Betty, are you telling me the things you would have shared with your daughter? I kinda hope so, because I feel so connected to you right now)
As I listen to Ben speak of his battle with alcoholism I hear the regrets, not in words, but in unspoken pauses. Because we believed in him, Ben has flourished, his soothing demeanor forged from pain. He laughs freely, and to him, life’s fabric is whimsical, full of ducks with sunglasses. Fortunately, our patients can lean heavily on him; he’s borne his share of sorrows. I wonder if our relationship as volunteer and volunteer coordinator has a symbolic meaning, where I represent some of those people he disappointed all those years ago and perhaps our patients represent redemption.
I think of Jolee, who lived with her mother for all of her life and when her mother died, Jolee retreated into a shell. She decided to volunteer and wants to hang around past her appointed time, because as she says, “I just love you guys. I feel so comfortable here.”
But it’s not always us providing for volunteers. I remember a time when my kids were outgrowing me and I acutely felt the tug of parental letting go. It must have been evident, because one of my favorite volunteers, Paul, sat and had coffee with me one day. He Looked at me for a moment and said, “I want to tell you a story.” He told me about his son, Doug, who back in the early 1970’s, was just evolving into a free spirit. Paul, a decorated WWII fighter pilot, could not understand nor get along with his rebellious son. “It became impossible, the relationship between he, myself and his mother,” he remembered, “and so one day Doug got in my car with his knapsack and I drove him to the edge of the freeway near our house and he got out, not knowing exactly where he was going. As I drove away, I looked in my rear view mirror to see him, thumb out, his long hair whipping in the wind. It was the hardest thing I ever did.” Rugged Paul, misty eyed, smiled. “he went to California, later became a financial analyst and we reconnected. But that day, that day was so hard.”
He had no idea how much his story enveloped me in a warm blanket of experience where I felt the okayness of being scared. Neither does Myrna know how much she weaves around me with her wicked jokes when things are stressful. She has been in remission for several years and though her cancer is just a conversation away, she always tries to make sure I’m doing ok. I am when she’s around.
But that’s what fabric does. It blends together so skillfully that only on close inspection can you see the individual threads. I really feel meshed with the volunteers and their lives. And so, in some small way, I feel deeply connected to their work with our patients and families as if a few of my threads add a bit extra depth to their work.
Together, we, volunteers, those we serve and I are a cozy wool, a cool blend of satin or a breezy colorful cotton, These may be fabrics that exist only in a slice of time, but they have a certain beauty, even if just for a moment.
-Meridian -
The Book and Its Misleading Cover
“Three strikes and you’re out!” That’s my rule and I tell myself all the time, “don’t be a patsy; hold people accountable.” It’s not like I’m a pushover because I’m in the helping business anyway, is it? For cryin out loud, just because someone wants to volunteer, doesn’t mean I have to bend over backwards for them, right?
Well, ok, there I said it. Sounds good on paper. At least it did until I had a call about two weeks ago from a college student named Justus. He left a garbled message for me about his fraternity doing volunteer work, and so I called him back and left him a super happy sounding reply. “Hi there, this is Meridian and I am so excited and can’t wait for you to volunteer with us!” Ok, no, my return messages don’t really sound like a used car salesman, but sometimes I wonder if there is too much desperation in my voice.
On my desk I’ve always kept a yellow legal pad that chronicles the phone calls I receive and make. It is full of graffiti from color highlighters, shorthand and initials, like LM for left message, WCB for will call back, MA for made appointment. I can flip back and see anything that has languished a bit by the highlighted portions. When done, I line through them. It’s not a perfect system, but it’s better than all the post it notes I used to have stuck to everything (including my skirt as I walk away).
For days I went on about my business and then when flipping back over my legal pad, I found Justus’ number with the LM indication. Hmm, he did not call me back so I called him again. This time he picked up and I introduced myself and reminded him that I had left a message. “Oh, right,” he said and hesitated so I added, “You called about volunteering with your fraternity.”
“Yes, yes,” he said,”I got your information off the internet and would like to talk to you about our group doing some volunteering.”
“Ok,” I said, “why don’t we meet? I can come up to your school when it is convenient for you.” There, see, I made it easy for him to get involved. I mentally patted myself on the back and recorded our appointment on my calendar. Done, good.
Our meeting day arrived and I drove up to college and walked to the library where I plunked myself in the first set of easy chairs. I felt ancient, what with all the skinny jeans walking by, but I was “official” so I belonged there, kinda like the mom who polices the slumber party. I looked around at all the students and wafted back to my college days. Library, study, no difference except for all the devices. 9am became 9:15 then 9:30. Hmmm. I pulled out my phone and the slip of paper with Justus’ number on it and texted him. “Am in library, are you here?” At 9:45, I gritted my teeth and left, driving all the way back to the office, thinking of the work that had just piled up because I went on a wild goose chase for some college kid. Drat those irresponsible college types that don’t yet know how unforgiving the real world is!
The next day I had a message from Justus. “I’m so sorry, something came up, can you call me?” “Grrr,” I sputtered as I dialed his number. He picked up and cavalierly apologized and asked to meet. “Well,” I said, “can you come here?” He agreed that he could make the drive and we set a time, 2:00pm, for that Thursday.
Thursday at 2:00? You guessed it, no Justus. At 2:30 I got to serious work and forgot that I was stood up again. But he called at about 3 and said that something came up and could he meet me at 4:30 on Friday. 4:30 on a Friday? Oh, this will be a disaster, I told myself. Normally, I leave at 5:00 if I’m lucky and besides, every Friday at 3:00 I just literally lose all capability for rational thought. But, sighing, I agreed, while internally chastising myself for putting up with such youthful irresponsibility.
Friday was tough, busy, full of problems and issues and at 3:00 exactly, the brain stopped functioning properly. I checked my calendar and groaned. Instead of winding down, I had to gear up for Justus, that is if he actually showed. At 4:20, I walked to the front lobby to see if he was dutifully waiting there, but it was empty. I returned to my desk and finished up. At 4:50, I got a call from the front desk volunteer, Jan. Justus was there to see me. “Thanks, Jan,” I sighed. “Send him back, please,” Since it’s hard to literally kick oneself, I punched myself in the arm for agreeing to the time.
He came back and I waved to the small conference table near my office. “Nice to meet you ” I said, offered my hand and added, “you’ve got ten minutes.” He looked at me, saw my obvious annoyance and sat down.
Justus folded his hands and without prompting, began to tell me about his childhood in Africa and his family’s emigration to America when he was twelve. He talked about the expectations his parents placed upon him and their unwavering commitment to serving whatever community they lived in. He explained how, when he was in high school, he started his own food drive to feed local families in need. He said that he was studying sociology and foreign affairs and hoped to be an ambassador some day. He had earned a full ride scholarship to college and was elected the first Junior year president of his fraternity. His tenure, he told me, would be about serving the community. He had three semesters to make it happen. “I want my fraternity brothers to work hard, to sacrifice. to appreciate all they have when others have so little or nothing. I want them to learn what my parents taught me.”
I looked at the clock. 5:25. I wasn’t interested in going anywhere anymore. I was mesmerized by this young man. (and not in a creepy cougar way, so don’t even go there) At one point, I looked at him and said, “Who are you?” (no, really, I did say that and I got a smile) Clearly, I need to hear more. Mentally I made note that a whole lotta work was coming my way, but hey, how could I pass up this intriguing individual and the fraternity he is guiding?
We shook hands and agreed that I would come out and talk to his group in two weeks. I’ll show up on time and forget about our shaky start. I’m past that silly book cover and having read chapter one, can’t wait to read more.
-Meridian
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