Vancouver Urban Plunge

Oct. 26 - Oct. 30

This plunge scared me, just a small town girl heading to the big city. For some reason I was under the impression that Winnipeg would be sunshine and rainbows compared to the big bad Vancouver, home of the poorest postal code in Canada. Home of the 2010 Olypmics. Home of rampant drugs, poverty and abuse. Home of the Ivanhoe, our ‘homely’ hostel for the week. But despite my fear God used this week to teach me copious amounts about myself, my strengths and where He is in the world.

Monday. Consisted of being on the streets for almost 10 hours. Our instructions: pack 4 bagged lunches (one for each member and then an extra for someone you meet along the way), get to know the neighbourhood (which consisted of the infamous East Hastings). In the evening somehow find a free meal in the city (yup, I said it.) There were plenty of different options for my group. Dumpster diving (this was my vote but the rest of the group was not as gung-ho as I), panhandling (now illegal in Vancouver), begging (I did not know if I could be humble enough for that). But alas, by the end of the night my group was well fed from the generosity of pizza places; a little bit of money scrounging; and strangers who were curious of the three Northface clad, nicely dressed teenagers hungry and cold on the side of the street.

Tuesday. Consisted of 50 loaves of banada bread, gallons of chili, two BIG containers of hot chocolate, profound conversations, sincere thankfulness and stereotypes being broken down. I was assigned to work at the chili wagon for the day. The chili wagon was started years back by an incredible guy named Gordie who saw a need and fed it, literally. We made all the food and trekked out into the neighbourhood of Commerical Drive where we spent the next few hours handing it out and meeting rad people. It was this night that I met three young guys who were on a journey of deliberate homelessness and fighting against the woes of pop culture and a man who used to own a construction company not 2 hours from my house. And I learned: anyone can become homenless. It isn’t confined to abusive parents, drug addictions or mental diseases as I previously thought.

Wednesday. Temple Tour. Islam Mosque, Sikh temple and a Buddhist temple had me floored at the diversity of religion in the world. Sidenote: did you know that Sikhs take a vow of hospitality so whenever you show up at their temple in need of a meal and a place to stay they will do so? We ate very, very well that day. That evening we did the Rose Prayer Walk. We were divided into separate groups and dispersed in groups of three around the city with a single rose in hand. Our goal was to pray for the duration of the walk for the sex trade that is just blooming in Vancouver and to hand our rose out to a prostitute. My rose went to a man named Redman. Not necessarily a prostitute but still a human in need of a little kindness and love. He had never received a rose before (just gave them he joked.)

Thursday. Incredible. Enough said, but I will elaborate. It was termed ‘Impact Vancouver” and our instructions were to do just that. Take what we have learned and saw and experienced from the previous few days and try and make a difference. Our group decided that if anything was going to change we needed to influence those who weren’t on the streets. We needed to get through to the numb suburbanites who are so used to begging that they do not even blink. We needed to get through to doctors and city council members and those who have the voice and influence. So we implemented the “Dare Signs”. We hocked some free cardboard from the dumpsters (so I got my fill of dumpster diving) and wrote dares on them. “We dare are you to try sleeping on this piece of cardboard tonight“, conveniently placed outside of a mattress store. “We dare you to buy an extra coffee for someone who can’t afford one”, placed outside multiple Starbucks. “We dare you to give today”. “A new shirt = 10 warm meals”. “We dare you; stop pretending they’re invisible. Poverty is here” also conveniently placed on the huge Olympic countdown clock. And so on… It was certainly interesting sitting back and watching people’s reactions. Disgust, humour, thought.

Overall, Vancouver taught me much. And despite Vancouver’s exterior impression on people, once you get into the streets and meet the people it ain’t that bad after all.

Patty

There was one unique experience during the week that stuck with me. A big part of both of our plunges has been talking to people, communicating in ways that we wouldn't usually communicate in.

Patty was an artist I met at Waves Coffee shop on the corner of Main St. and Pender. She came over fondly holding a few pieces of paper that she later revealed as her works of art, as her passions. They were photocopies of her pencil sketches that she was selling. Some may have seen them as childish pictures without much talent or skill whatsoever, and maybe that is what they were. But Patty was so incredibly proud of these creative masterpieces that I had to gain a new respect for them. She was selling them for change. Change to buy drugs. Drugs to numb the pain. No cover story from Patty, straight up honesty.. which was refreshing after a few days of being lied to for money. Her pain was broad. I have heard people talk about being able to see pain in someone's eyes and until Patty I had never understood that. Like I said, her pain was broad. And deep.

Patty awed me. She had so many struggles and so much abuse that the fact she had the courage to go around and sell her 'art' was mind blowing. She blessed me with her honesty, in her stories, her struggles, her victories, her current life, her sincere interest in our program. She taught me to break down my stereotypes of street people even further (which did not really seem possible, as I was under the impression I knew everything about street life). And she showed me that I am no better than her. I may not be addicted to heroin but I am addicted to materials. I may not numb my pain with alcohol but I do ignore it. I may not define myself by my addictions but I do define myself through facebook and my cell phone. Who am I to try to understand how one deals with pain that I can barely even comprehend let alone judge them for that? Who am I to advert my eyes to her poverty or ignore her because she smells? No one. God really put me in my place through Patty. She showed me there is a human behind behind the walls and grub and addictions. A human he cares for as equally as he cares for the human behind my brand name clothing and perfectly powered nose. God's love is vast. His love is great and unyielding. It is beyond measure and it was shown to me through someone like Patty

-Laura H