The process of connecting people to resources and volunteer opportunities is important for us at Resources Unite, but it’s not what drives us to be our best every single day. No, it’s about the actual connection; the relationship we hope to build with the person. Our greatest strength is probably listening more than anything else. We want to hear your story. With every answer provided, we’ve got another question to ask in hopes of learning more. Your story is important to us.

We were delivering water to complete strangers in Flint Michigan when the power of connection became clearer than ever before. Over and over again, people would refuse the free water. “Thank you, but I would prefer you give the water to my neighbor and just spend some time with me. I feel alone and forgotten.”

People were choosing connection over clean water.

At the beginning of every presentation about our work, we share what we believe about people. We know with absolute certainty that people want to get involved in their community and make a difference. This is what matters most. It’s not about how much money we make or the things we collect along the way. No, we want to be able look back on life and know that we made an impact.

There’s more to that though. A lot more. I think about the years I was in the Marine Corps. I was, and still am, very proud of my work in the Marines. There was no question that we were making a difference every single day that we laced up our boots. But what’s stayed with me more than anything now twenty years removed, is the relationships I made during that time. They became my brothers. I would be on a plane tomorrow if I received a call today from one of those guys if they called saying they were in need. Without hesitation.

And so when I think about the people who come through our doors at RU asking for resources or suggestions of places to volunteer, I know that most often they are asking for connection. They are asking for something that we all so often take for granted and don’t have the courage to ask for ourselves.

This is who we are. We are a connection center. Stop in. See what we’re all about and don’t be surprised if you leave feeling like you just made a new friend.

We’re going to Coe’s tonight for dinner. They’re in Bernard. People will go out of the way to get their bar food. I’ll be encouraging people to try the steak. The steaks are incredible and are one of the very few guarantees that I make in life. I guarantee it is the best steak you’ve ever had. I’ll eat, but I’m really not that hungry. I’ll probably have onion rings too.

Mindy from Hillcrest stopped in the office the other day. She was helping someone transition out of the Rescue Mission and into an apartment. Mindy was hoping we could help find a bed, some kitchen supplies and maybe some food for the person in need. Her client starts at Mcdonalds in a few days and is hoping to have some extra money at that time.

We know better though. “Extra money” isn’t going to happen.

I’ve moved a lot in my life and it’s always a pain. All the bags, the boxes and I never really label anything the way I promise myself that I will. It feels like an eternity before everything is in the right place. I think I still have stuff in our storage room in boxes from the last move. 12 years ago.

I imagined for a moment living in a homeless shelter and moving into an apartment of my own. I’m sure it’s a great feeling getting your place, but I would guess it’s also really depressing too. Imagine moving into an apartment with everything you are wearing, a black garbage bag half full of clothes and a bicycle. That’s it. That’s your everything.

This is what the starting line looks for many.

Mindy and I sat in my office brainstorming how to get her client the necessities. “We can get a bed and I know someone that has some kitchen supplies. Let’s work on the food,” I said.

The Dubuque Food Pantry wasn’t open, very few people know the right person to contact for the food pantries that exist in the local churches, and we didn’t have the vouchers needed for many of the other programs. I thought about giving the Epworth Food Pantry a call. How are we here again? How is it that the programs (including us) trying to connect people to resources aren’t able to come up with food for the weekend for someone in need?

Can you imagine trying to navigate this process on your own? Impossible. You’re going hungry.

There must be a better way. Food should not be a barrier. Ever. For anyone. No one should have to wait for food. Not in our communities. Not in Dubuque. If a family needs food at 2am on a Saturday morning, they should be fed. No paperwork, no waiting for office hours. And as service providers, we must improve the way in which we share information. The resources are often there, but are too often unknown by many.

Each night we laid in bed and listened to the sounds of gunfire and police sirens. I would hold Mia tight and pray that someday we would be in a better place. Chicago is my home, but we need to move. We’re not going to make it here. It’s not like it used to be. Everything changed the night Eric took everything from me.

It was my friend that suggested I apply for section 8 housing out-of-state. We all knew that it was more than a 10 year wait in Chicago. Wisconsin or Iowa. I met a friend on Facebook that was from Dubuque and she told me about the city and how her move from Chicago happened pretty easily. And so I went on the list. I was number 4,056.

Six month later I was number 1,743! I couldn’t believe it. “This is actually going to happen,” I thought. We’re going to have a new home; a new life. Mia and I started to pack. Soon we were number 148.

The owner of our building stopped one night and told me that he was selling the building. He told me I had to move out immediately. “But I’m number 148 in Dubuque,” I persisted. “We’re so close. Please let us stay until we get the phone call.”

The very next day we rented a U-Haul truck loaded with everything we owned and headed west. I’ve had it worse, I thought. I can make this work. I have to. My entire world is sitting in the passenger seat. Mia deserves better. She’s been through so much in nine years. The Asbergers, the ADHD, the Tourette Syndrome. She’s so strong though. “She’s my little monkey.”

It was a beautiful drive to Dubuque. As we drove over the Mississippi bridge my heart swelled with hope and confidence. Everything looked perfect. We’re going to make it. I just knew it.

A week has gone by and everything I was promised has disappeared. The apartment is not ready. We need to get the inspection done and section 8 needs to approve everything. We’re living in our car. I put all of our belonging into storage and we sleep in the car parked between the moving trucks near the storage units. The trucks give us a little protection from the world.

Seven days have passed and it’s getting harder to get by. I’ve called all of the local resources and we’ve been doing great for food by eating at the Rescue Mission and other churches. I only have $600 to my name outside of the SSI I get for Mia. I’ve got to make this work until we get into our apartment, I get Mia into school and I’m working again.

I can do this.

I withdrew $50 yesterday. We needed to shower and feel clean. It’s six bucks to get into the Flora pool. At least Mia can shower there and go swimming. I’m also on my period and I really need to get myself clean. My emotions are all over the place. I usually don’t cry this much. Everything is starting to come back to me.

How could Eric have done this to me?! We were friends. He raped me! I had a good job managing the storage units and cleaning houses. I had lots of friends and felt pretty good about myself. The depression got bad after what he did and I gained nearly 100 pounds. I’ve lost 50, but I still can’t shake the nightmares.

No one could believe that I kept the baby. Nine years later though and it’s the best decision I’ve ever made. I love my little monkey.

Sarahjayne and everyone at Hillcrest has been great. They’ve been helping me connect to resources and gave a me a number I should call. “I’m sorry Mariana, we just don’t have the resources to get you and Mia out of the car until you are in the apartment. But, give these guys a call.”

I lost the number she gave me. Days passed and I went into chat with Sarahjayne again. As I was leaving yesterday I asked for the number again.

Resources Unite? A volunteer center? Why would strangers help us? I’ve always been a giver. I’m not a taker. I’m the volunteer; the person that helps others. It’s so hard to ask for help.

But maybe someone can help or would just be willing to listen. We’re so alone.

I guess it can’t hurt to give them a call…

I stood on the sidewalk staring into the eyes of a two-year old that sat naked on the crumbling front steps. He looked me up and down while he drank his Pepsi while I wondered about his clothes, his parents and his future. We were there to deliver beds to a family that lost everything in a fire.

The wooden floors were worn and covered in dirt. The front door hung from only one hinge and had a missing window. Maybe it was my training in the Marines years ago or just curiosity, but I found myself scanning each room as I passed. Each room was the same as the last. Empty.

“Where was the furniture”? I thought. There was not a chair, couch, table, dresser or bed in the house. Nothing. The walls stood bare. For just a moment I imagined what it would be like to live there. I stared out the window and felt a sense of despair wash over me. I felt trapped. Hopeless. Alone.

I am proud of what our community has done for this family. This family of seven now has beds to sleep on. Progress has been made. But not enough. And that lack of significant forward movement has gnawed at me for as long as I can remember. I wonder at times if this is why I’m at Resources Unite, doing what I do, meeting the people I meet.

I am surrounded by the reminders of what could be.

I can still name each of the girls at the Florence Crittenton Center. We housed 52 teenage girls and 12 of their babies at any given time. That job in East Los Angeles 15 years ago is where I really began to examine my effectiveness as a social worker and the effectiveness of the work itself. I cringe when I think back of those girls and what we could have done for them instead of simply providing for their basic needs. We could have been so much more for them in such a critical time in their lives. We did our jobs.

I am sorry Dynasty, Desi, Shenell, Keena, Essie and so many others. You deserved better.

The girls needed an ongoing system of support. Like me and most everyone I know, they needed family, friends, mentors and anyone else to be by their side during the ups and downs of life. They needed more than beds.

Week after week we receive phone calls, emails and Facebook messages from people in need. Their needs are great. Sometimes we are able to connect them to resources and rally the community behind them and sometimes we cannot. Too often what we provide though is the band-aid versus the cure.

The people who need beds, repairs on their cars, a partner that does not abuse them, clothes for a job interview, a place to live and food all have one thing in common. They need to not feel so alone. They need people in their lives that can provide the hope they so desperately need.

There are severe consequences for allowing people to live with such despair and hopelessness; consequences for you and me.

Guns and physical abuse become the only road to power. Drugs become the only escape. Lives are lost. The future of the two-year old on the steps is never realized.