Kim's Long-awaited Visit

By Carl Mazza

On October 1, 1983, twelve persons moved into the old farmhouse and began the first of over 6,000 continuous nights of homeless housing at Clairvaux Farm. One of that original group was an eighteen-year-old volunteer from the Presbyterian Church in Enfield, Connecticut. Kim was bright, eager, and enthusiastic.

She brought exuberance to that early community and much spontaneity, along with an innate love for all persons struggling to find a solid footing in this world. She understood the heart of a homeless person because she herself was a seeker, and it was her fond desire to be of true service to others.

Last month Kim paid a visit to Meeting Ground, her first in over fifteen years. Since her original year with us she has had a nine-year career with the Air Force, followed by five years with the U.S. Postal Service.

Kim's visit was like opening a time capsule. Most of the buildings at Clairvaux Farm were constructed after she left, and it was so interesting to hear her reaction to the old farmhouse where a porch she remembered is now a bedroom and the kitchen, a laundry room! But it was in our discussion of the people, a decade and half removed, that proved most satisfying. Some, of course, have moved far away and contact has been lost. But many, once homeless, are established in new homes and lives, their experience with homelessness a fading memory. (Yet one never forgotten...)

Kim went with us to Family Court when she visited, to support a young mother in her struggle to regain custody of her children. As naturally as if being fifteen years removed were nothing, Kim instinctively struck up a conversation with the woman, offering words and gestures of support and encouragement-- bolstering her confidence, giving reassurance that everything would work out.

As I watched this encounter, with a warm heart, I was reminded of that which is of first importance for a volunteer who wants to help homeless persons. It is not primarily a matter of skill which can be taught and learned, like course material. Rather, the most valuable trait a person brings into this service is their own heart and soul which, tempered by life's joy and sadness--itself draws spirit and meat simply by being, sitting with others in their need and disheartenment.

Kim later spoke about the fact that her ongoing life and work experience had a tendency to make her pessimistic, even cynical. There were many times when she wished she could recover the innocence and simple enthusiasm she had when was a young, unseasoned volunteer. I had to accept what she was saying, but I also couldn't help observing that her sincere manner of relating to persons in need had matured. It was a deeper, more confident caring.

She had retained the sincerity and genuineness of her youth, yet also reached out with understanding, and clear focus which she never had before. I couldn't help but think that perhaps the rough and negative edges of life, while seeming to feed a growing skepticism and detachment-- had, in fact, brought to the fore and strengthened her ability to help others. Perhaps, I thought, our best help and wisdom is gained through our own immersion into the tragic side of life with its illusions of fear, isolation, and loneliness.

Once, when we were all young, it seemed that loving others was always an easy thing to do. It was as if by a mere word or feeling we could and would dispel the senseless irony and sadness of all life. When did we first begin to think that love was, in fact, not so present, available or easy? When, indeed, did we begin to suspect that even blessed love itself could be fraught with cruelty, cynicism, sadness, and dreadful pain?

Maybe it is good, now and then, to take a step back--perhaps even a long step over years that have become decades. In that great, albeit brief journey we may well find the perspective that returns us to the land of our own souls, and sets us back on the path as lovers.

Perhaps we can know, in that moment, that our inborn passion is neither discarded nor diminished simply because we have begun to live long enough to plumb so much more of its essence and depth. Though itself a cause of confusion, frustration and sadness, built on the ruins of lost hopes and dreams--yet, at the end of the day--this alone stands: we are glad that we have been loved and privileged to have loved others in return.

When set to this standard, all else in our life experience--the whirl of activity beset with ambition--seems to matter, all of it, not at all. What finally counts, what changes lives, is that for which we find room in our dearest thoughts.