Becoming the Clampetts, If Only For One Day
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Becoming the Clampetts, If Only For One Day

The Unity, Hard Work, and Joy of Volunteering at Love INC.

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Becoming the Clampetts, If Only For One Day
Nags Head Farm

I recently had the great privilege and pleasure of volunteering for a day at Love In the Name of Christ (Love INC.) in Sacramento. This was my fourth time volunteering there, I believe—I could have the number wrong—and though I am always on the lookout for negative experiences and holding low expectations, this time I was just as rewarded and amazed as I was at the others. My church, St. Peter’s Lutheran Church of Elk Grove, was the Church of the Week along with Capital City Church International and Vineyard Downtown.

I want to share this day with you to emphasize just how amazing this kind of volunteering is—I always end the shift humbled, amazed and very, very content. I’ll take the day chronologically; that might be the easiest way to show you what a great day it was.

The New Clampetts

I arrived at the warehouse at about 9:45 a.m. (the shift was ten o’clock to two) and began helping stage items—set them up on in the parking lot, grouped by who they were going to. As more people showed up I saw one man whom I knew from previous volunteering, who was from Capital City and who, as I helped him and others stage and load furniture, said in reference to my hard work (I guess), “We should take her with us!” (I am forever grateful for that comment—way to make a person feel accepted). I also got to know others: two middle-aged men from Capital City, whom I helped load the first group of items into a truck; and two middle-aged men from my church, whom I helped load the second group of items into a truck and flatbed trailer.

I had signed up for outreach, which means you deliver items to the people in need—a delightful task. I was a bit disappointed, then, that I didn’t get to go with the first two men. But the second pair had a large load to take—we filled the bed of the truck and the trailer with mattresses, box springs, furniture, a bed frame, bookcases, a very bulky armoire, and more—and I ended up going with them, squeezed in the middle of the cab, to deliver the items. We blasted the A/C, listened to classic rock, and joked that we felt like the Beverly Hillbillies.

How Many People Does It Take to Unload an Armoire?

We traveled to North Sac and pulled up in front of a block of apartment buildings. Thankfully this building was only one floor—there is no way we would have gotten that armoire up stairs. The woman who had asked for the delivery was just leaving, but said her son was home, so we began unloading. Except I couldn’t undo the very tight and bulky bungee cords holding the dolly to the back of the trailer—and I thought bungee cords had been a good idea.

But we got those undone and went for it. The boy was enthusiastic and nice; he wore fantastic bright yellow Pokemon slippers, and I learned he attended Sac High and was interested in video game creation and design. He and I carried in the twin bed frame that was supposed to go in his room, but got stuck in the hallway. We tried turning it around; I tried going into his brother’s room with the headboard; but the curve in the hall just didn’t allow us enough room. His older brother, a tall guy with long dreadlocks, offered to unscrew the headboard, but couldn’t find a grip for the screwdriver. So we had to leave the bedframe in the living room while we unloaded everything else.

That armoire was scary. We steadied it on the dolly with one man pulling it, one holding on to the back of it, and me on the side keeping the doors shut. It was a heavy sucker.

Finally though we got all the stuff unloaded (and the headboard unscrewed), and prayed with them and gave them a Bible and some papers.

You Deserve a Break Today . . .

Hot and sweaty, we blasted the A/C again on our way to McDonald’s, where we got lunch and confirmed with Jeff, Love INC.’s Executive Director, that we were still going out to West Sac to pick up a donation. I had never picked up a donation before, and it was already one o’clock. We were going to run way over our shift time, but who really cared? We had a job to do.

Rolling Down the Highway

We took Highway 160 to the I Street bridge and then to Jefferson Boulevard, talking about sports (the new Golden One Center that will save us all—we’ll finally be winners!), where we were from, traffic, and weather.

At the location, the driver backed the truck in while the other man and I began checking out a few mattresses. There was a house as well as an old mobile home on the property, and stuff in both residences that the older woman (the sister of the homeowner) wanted to donate. We couldn’t take some things, such as a stained mattress, a couch with wires sticking out of the back, and a large TV. But we took what we could, as did the other group of guys from Capital City who randomly showed up, the one small man with glasses handing me a clipboard and telling me to record on the receipt with what we were taking. Yes, sir. I went around writing, clarifying, and checking.

It was rather hectic, but we finally secured what we could take (the other group was staying to get another mattress and box spring). The older woman, along with a family friend, was very nice, and kept thanking us for what we could take. In those moments, the pressure to take anything and everything (a table, chairs, washer and dryer, TVs, couches, etc.) subsided, replaced by gratitude and contentment at being able to help someone and make her life a little easier.

By then it was three thirty, and riding back in the truck with freezing cold air blasting in my face, I felt very tired and sweaty, but very satisfied. I had helped people.

After All This, I Can’t Take Sitting in My Car—But I Can Take Sore Muscles

Back at the warehouse we unloaded our items and signed out. Driving home, I got stuck in an horrendous backup on Elder Creek (darn those Watt Avenue commuters!—even though I used to be one), and didn’t pull into the garage until about five o’clock.

But it was all worth it. Manual labor is amazing. I’d like to think I could do it every day, though I probably couldn’t. The day after, all my upper-body muscles ached: my trapezius (upper back/shoulder—remember I am a scienc-y nerd), deltoids, biceps, and all those muscles in my forearm (that are too varied and long to list here). But there is something so real about it—so tangible, so satisfactory. Our goal was to load furniture, sheets and other items into truck beds, and then deliver them. So we did that, and we delivered the items and talked to the people who were getting them. At the end of the day you know you’ve accomplished something—you can see it.

Also, sweating is a simultaneously nasty and delightful feeling.

You also get the chance to view up-close-and-personal the lives of everyday people, most of whom you might never usually meet, and most of whose neighborhoods you might never usually enter. As I writer, I love this aspect of volunteering at Love INC., but as a human being I do too: it increases my empathy and compassion. Isn’t that what volunteering is all about? To help—to want to help? To love? I think so.

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This article has not been reviewed by Odyssey HQ and solely reflects the ideas and opinions of the creator.
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