Before yesterday, I can't remember the last time I woke up at 5am and was enthusiastic about it, but when my alarm clock went off, I hopped out of bed, excited to spend my morning with Salvation Army's Project HOPE doing homeless outreach.

Years ago, back when I was in college, I volunteered with the Salvation Army's breakfast truck in Des Moines, Iowa. We went to homeless camps under bridges, the YMCA and YWCA shelters and some other places where homeless people gathered and gave out hot breakfasts, so I had some idea of what to expect. I also knew, though, how inspired I always am when I see people whose lives are spent giving back to others. I was not disappointed.

The Project HOPE office is located at 27th Street and Washington in downtown Phoenix. The warm yellow paint on the outside of the otherwise stark building makes it stand out just a little from the surrounding industrial feel. But it's inside where the magic happens. The staff is small, but thousands of people come through the doors looking for help with job placement, resume development, skills training, food, clothing, emergency shelter and transitional housing. They work on a grant from the City of Phoenix, partnering with everyone they can to provide these services, including local shelters (not the best option), food banks, churches, medical clinics, businesses, and programs like Homeward Bound (very cool program).

Director John Landrum explained their goal is to really make a difference for people, not just pat them on the back, give them a hug and tell them to stay safe. I have a ton of respect for that.

I went out with Steve, who is pretty amazing himself. He's about 60ish and has been doing this work for his own reasons for seven years. He drove us to local parks, where it didn't take us long to come across our first homeless man. Steve and I casually approached him, and I observed his worn dress pants, wrinkled polo shirt and bed head. His stomach was very distended, although he was thin everywhere else. He was fairly clean-shaven, and, I thought to myself, if he'd been wearing clean clothing and had a shower, I would never have pegged him for a homeless person.

Steve told him we were with Project HOPE and asked him if he needed assistance with getting a job or benefits, or if he needed a place to stay. The man told us he was going to be going back to Chicago as soon as he got enough money, so he didn't really need those things. He went on to tell us that he used to be a real estate developer and that he once had a $2 million house in Chicago. He and his brother came out to Phoenix and invested everything they had here, and lost it all in the housing crash. I have a good BS meter, and he was entirely believable. "I never thought I would be, you know, someone out here in the park," he said, "but I ... I ... I'm going to go back to Chicago when I can and get going again. It just takes time, you know?"

The man talked and talked while Steve and I stood and listened. I wondered how long it had been since someone stood and listened to him without judgement. He could have been anyone - any one of my friends or business people I've met over the years. Steve told me later that there are many people out on the streets now whose stories are similar.

We talked to probably about 20 or 30 people throughout the morning. At one point, there was a group of pretty rough looking young people - three girls and four boys - that we passed between. Steve and I both detected the danger. We said hello and kept walking, and I listened as the boys degraded and belittled the girls, then sent one out to work. They were trafficking the girls. All of them were high on either meth or heroin. I also thought of Steve doing this work by himself most days.

There were older, roughened men, most likely veterans who'd made homelessness their way of life and seemed content. There were people whose drug and alcohol addictions were getting the best of them - people like Ted, who are funny and nice, but who failed at rehab in the past and have given up on themselves. And there was a handful of people who didn't want to be out there, but had nowhere else to go. For them, Steve and his smile and brochures full of resources offered a glimmer of hope. And they are who were were out there for.

Toward the end of our morning, we came across a man sitting despondently at a picnic table. He had an old bicycle weighed down heavily with sleeping bags and packs of his belongings. He'd showered recently, had a haircut and only had a couple of days of whiskers. When Steve told him who we were and asked if he needed help, he hesitated, then turned it down. We talked briefly, then walked away. Steve turned to me and said, "90 percent of our communication is in body language."

I looked at him, confused. "I thought he wanted help," I said.

"He did," Steve replied. "And that's why I'll be back out here next week."

I greatly admire those who are giving hope to the hopeless, and who sacrifice for others without complaining - or even really acknowledging the sacrifice. The more beautiful people I meet, the more I feel energized and renewed to make a difference in my own way, and I hope that those who hear their stories feel the same way.

We are all passionate about something, and that passion is both a gift and an invitation. By channeling that passion into compassion, we not only make the world a better place, but the love, wisdom and happiness that return to us are worth more than anything money can buy. You don't have to wait until the time is "right" or give up everything you know or have worked for. All it takes is making that decision in your head that you are going to be that person you were always meant to be.