Every time I open my phone, I see this picture:

Taken at the annual remembrance of the homeless who have died on the streets of Denver earlier this year, it reminds me of two things: hope and why I’m studying to be a social worker. The remembrance happened on the longest night of the year and the coldest night that we had felt so far. As the long list of those who had died were read, I spied a kid, about 7 or 8 flame of his candle. Entranced by his candle and enable to keep my own lit, I snapped a quick, albeit poor quality picture.

My family occasionally volunteered at a soup kitchen with my church when I was still in elementary school. I didn’t understand who these people were whose skin was weathered by the sun, had missing teeth, and sometimes spoke roughly. I was simply there to wash dishes and serve dessert. I, of course, did not realize that there were children my age that were like these people, without a home and often without food.

Later in high school, I volunteered at a day shelter in downtown Denver. I saw more weathered skin, missing  teeth and limbs, but I also learned to observe some of their struggles with mental health issues and heard in passing tempestuous relationships with the criminal justice system. What gave me hope as a teenager with a home and no trauma in my past was their smiles and their “thank you.”

It is hard to hold onto that hope of a 15-17 year old as I work with a plethora of people who have been homeless, who have had traumatic experiences, have lost the support of their families because of their substance abuse and/or mental illness, or have been mistreated by so many social systems that are supposedly there for them.

But the thing about that tenacious candle, was that it was held by a child, who perhaps did not quite realize what the memorial was for or what homelessness means, but was there anyway. That child was influenced by his parents, just like I was (and am), to bear witness to the homeless. And perhaps, he, like I, will be inspired to become more than an observer. Perhaps he will become their storyteller, their doctor, or even their social worker. This, in an administration of increased ignorance, gives me hope.