For Merideth Spriggs, life has involved a series of unexpected twists and turns.
The 45-year-old was a youth minister for over a decade before finding success as a nightlife events planner. Today, she’s the founder and Chief Kindness Officer for Vegas-based nonprofit Caridad.
“I was a pastor for 13 years before I became homeless, and then switched courses—started the homeless nonprofit,” Spriggs explains. “When I got out of seminary, I couldn’t get a job … My boyfriend at the time said, ‘Why don’t you train to do events?’ That way, I’d have a skill to fall back on.”
She started planning “bigger and bigger” events in Kansas City and eventually got hired by a national nightclub company. But her intent remained finding work through the church.
“The minute I got a church job and prospects, I moved to San Diego and quit my bar job. But then, I secretly kind of kept doing some independent hosting for [the nightclub]. … When it all came out, it was a church scandal. So, that’s how I lost my job. And my family … outed me on that.”
Facing job discrimination and being “shunned by the church,” Spriggs says, she became homeless in 2008. She lived on the streets of San Diego for a year before she founded Caridad in 2010.
Since 2014, Caridad has been in Las Vegas, working with homeless veterans, doing street outreach and, more recently, providing job training and affordable housing Downtown.
The Weekly sat down with Spriggs to learn more about her journey, and how it has informed her work in the city.
Why did you decide to start your nonprofit? It was during a suicide attempt … my radio came on, and I definitely heard an audible voice [tell me] that I needed to start a nonprofit to tell the story of the homeless, because I could tell it like nobody else. So I turned off my car, bawled my eyes out and here we are, 13 years later.
Thank you for being vulnerable and sharing that. Has that voice ever come back? Do you feel like any sort of presence or God is guiding you? There’s been things I can’t deny—that I would never have chosen this path; that doors have just continuously opened; and [that] when I felt like ‘OK, this is where we need to go,’ then that door opens … We’ve been defunded twice, and had to shut down. And we’re still standing 13 years later. That’s the story of the charity. What should have been an obstacle, a barrier or something bad has turned into something really amazing. I feel like we are the comeback story—stories—in everything we do. We’re getting amazing, amazing new hires that really care and believe in our core values.
Do you believe you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be? Absolutely … I mean, well, no. If really, it was up to me, I’d be on a beach somewhere getting tan like a lizard (laughs).
[But] I definitely know this is my life’s calling, and I wouldn’t trade it. I wouldn’t go back to working at a university. I wouldn’t go back to office work. I wouldn’t go back to church work. I just never fit in in that world.
Caridad seems to foster an environment of kindness and giving folks tools they need to succeed. Where did those values come from? For me, it’s who I am at my core. … That’s the youth pastor in me—I really do care. I used to be a grade-level pastor, so I had, like, a couple hundred kids under me. But I had my leads, and [they were] who I would invest in. … That model of investing in your leaders so that they can be great and grow—that’s really my model that I’ve always tried to use.
The nonprofit is in the midst of a monthlong rock-paper-scissors tournament, held weekly at the Kitchen at Atomic. Other Downtown venues like Cheapshot have held fundraisers for Caridad in the past. When seeking community partners, do you gravitate to the local entertainment, bar and restaurant world? All my contacts are from back in the day … like, people that were bussers and bartenders are now operators. … I know that in the service industry, a lot of those people are one paycheck away from being homeless themselves.
Everybody’s so laser-focused on the casinos. But my thing is, the bars and restaurants are better partners … because it’s somebody that’s walking with us in the journey. That’s what we need in the community.
Anyone contemplating suicide can contact the 988 Suicide and Crisis Lifeline by calling or texting 988 or visiting 988Lifeline.org.
ROCHAMBEAU FOR A CAUSE February 15 & 22, 7 p.m., the Kitchen at Atomic, $5-$15, eventbrite.com.
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