Tuesday, May 31, 2022 Y.E.S.

As I have mentioned before, I went to college 7 years for my 4-year degree. Along the way, I was pressured to choose a major and started out with music therapy. I like music, I like the idea of helping people using music – seemed like a good fit. After a couple quarters of that, I decided to switch to social work although I don’t remember now why I rejected music therapy. I was still in the realm of helping people, though. During my brief tenure as a social work major, I needed to get some volunteer experience, so I decided to check out a place called Y.E.S., which stood for Youth Emergency Service. It was a 24-hour crisis help line. I didn’t like talking to strangers on the phone, I was the very last person you’d want around in a crisis, and I didn’t tend to handle unknown situations very well, but in an astounding moment of bravery or stupidity (probably both), I signed up for the training.

There were a few training sessions and I was in a small group of about 4-5 people getting trained. We learned about the kinds of phone calls we’d likely be getting, we learned what kinds of responses would be appropriate, we discussed what kinds of situations would be the most difficult for each of us to handle. The training sessions ended with something I feared and dreaded most of all: role playing. I HATE ROLE PLAYING! I had told the group that I thought it would really be difficult to talk to someone who was harming their own children, so of course that was the situation I had to handle during role playing.

Somehow I passed the training and started to get assigned hours at the center. I think we worked 2-4 hour shifts. It was located in an old house on the second floor. There were always at least two people on duty, and we were required to fill out forms for each phone interaction that we had. I wasn’t a praying person at that time, but I used to fervently hope that the phone wouldn’t ring while I was there. In spite of that, I had to handle some calls. One young man called and was beside himself with grief because his girlfriend had broken up with him after he got a haircut she didn’t like. We had been instructed not to give out counsel and advice, but merely to serve as a listening board, giving helpful feedback when appropriate. It was hard not to butt in, though. I suggested that perhaps a girlfriend that could cut off a relationship because of a haircut was perhaps not that great of a prize. Since we weren’t a Christian center and I wasn’t a Christian, I couldn’t even give any sort of meaningful, life-giving encouragement either.

Another time I got a call from a fellow who told me his troubles and everything I said to him seemed to hit the spot. “Put me in, coach, I’m hot!” was how I felt. He was very appreciative and kept me on the phone for quite a while. I filled out my form feeling like I’d done something truly helpful in this sad and sorry world. The next time I came in, my feedback form had been written on by our supervisor. The guy I had talked to was a regular – keeping us on the phone however he could was his way of being manipulative. I’d been had.

The only other call I remember distinctly was when a young mother called because she couldn’t stand hearing her baby cry anymore – it was making her so angry she was afraid she’d hurt her baby. She was a single mom. I don’t remember much of what we said during that call, but I think I commended her for reaching out rather than lashing out. Just talking to someone else seemed to help her sort things through and get a handle on her emotions. She understood how important it was to get help. It was a scary call for me to take. I hoped I’d done something truly helpful in this sad and sorry world, but I didn’t know how her story ended.

Within a few months, I knew that this was not the work for me. I felt unspeakable dread every time I had a shift. I remember confessing to a co-volunteer that I hated hearing the phone ring, and he was surprised. For him, each phone call was an opportunity to help someone. Perhaps that’s when I knew I was in the wrong place. When I left, my co-volunteers and supervisor seemed genuinely sad to see me go, but I felt like an oppressive weight had been lifted off my shoulders. It felt good to say NO to Y.E.S.

Tuesday True Stories has returned! I haven’t forgotten about telling my story about coming to faith. Part 4 will be coming soon!

I’ll probably delete this – wait a minute – is that the phone ringing? Must go hide…