I've Been Thinking...yes, it did hurt. A lot.

I am the oldest child in my sibling group of 2.  This is no real surprise to anyone who has known me more than 5 minutes.  You may never know how hard I’ve worked to tone it down!  Some of that temperament, et al, is what led me to be interested in being a counselor.  I love it most every day.  I can’t believe that I have now been out of school 8 years (in July) and have practiced a full 7 of that. 

The first several years I carried way too much responsibility for those around me.  That is what firstborns tend to do, if you didn’t know! =)  I stressed and worried and mourned and hurt and cried and just about went crazy myself.  (Those who know me are questioning if I haven’t, but that’s okay!)  I still hold names and faces deep in my heart.  I hurt for some of the choices made by those I have loved in the name of Jesus and counseling. I am grateful and rejoice for the fights I have been blessed to engage in with others.  There were times when t(T)he e(E)nemy has been very close, yet God has protected and filled up and fought alongside.  I love the trenches.

Troy and I have been back at Westview for over 3 years now.  It has been an amazing ride.  The trenches here are deep and wide.  God is present.  It is good.  And hard.  I love “my boys” deeper than I knew possible. 

Yet in the last 3 years, I have grown able to separate myself even better.  I can sleep at night.  Almost every night.  I’ve separated because of self defense and b/c it is healthy and because it is the only real way to work past 40 without taking Xanax.  I hurt when my boys make unsafe choices and sometimes it makes me sick and weak.  I know now that I can’t make the choices for them.  I have loved some guys that will be great dads, and some that will be abusive to wives/girlfriends/children.  I have loved my guys who will have great jobs and pay their taxes and some that will live a good piece of life behind bars.  That is kind of weird for a small town/country girl who was pretty sheltered herself.  This is the life I choose. 

3 years ago this summer, I added to my job description Admissions Coordinator (or something like that).  I take this part of my job very seriously.  It is different from counseling in every way.  I get to do the investigation kind of stuff I like while building a relationship that may result in something therapeutic and long term. 

Through this aspect of my job, I have had a renewed amazement at the attempts families make to deal with their difficult situations.  Almost every day I hear a new story.  I think I can’t hear anything that will surprise me and then the phone rings.  Some days, I have a physical trauma response to the phone ringing and I have to get outside or on the elliptical machine or counsel with my current guys to breathe.  The worst are always the ones that I know we can’t help.  The ones where I think “if you had just called us 2 years or 6 months ago, we could have helped.”  Those are truly the worst.  When it “could” have been avoided, but the family didn’t know about or didn’t utilize the resources available.  We are a basic care Home, we can’t take everyone.  We have got to stick with the ones that we know we can help, for the safety of all involved, and take a risk on some too.  (The risked ones are frequently my favorites, but don’t tell anyone)

I listen to their story and get a little dirty.  I know I will.  That’s the way it works.  I try to come up with a solution or a referral.  Sometimes I can’t even do that.  I always feel a little sad.  I still am the first born who wants to save the world.  ALL of it.  I think that is a part of me that is God-like.  (2 Peter 3:9 except for the patient part, I don’t do that so well)  The dirt doesn’t go away, though.  Ever.

I am getting to a point, not just rambling…

Today, I shredded old applications of guys we couldn’t take or ones the family/guardians chose not to place here.  We keep them 3 years.  Since we always need more space I shred them at this point.  I came across one application from a boy I will not forget.  Most of the time, I don’t really remember them well until I have seen their faces in an interview.  At this point, they are mine.  (Saying “no” at that point is really hard.)  This boy I never met.  This boy was near our upper age limit and beyond our level of care.  He’d been on drugs too long and was gang banging too long.  He needed help.  His mother was frantically afraid he would soon be shot because of the choices he’d made not fully understanding the consequences.  I had been “doing” intakes only about 3 months and was green.  It was clear we couldn’t take him.  I consulted the team and we were sad we couldn’t help.  The mother begged and I regretted. 

A few weeks later, she called back.  She was angry and very sad.  Her son, at 16 years of age in Houston, Texas, USA, attending the same school my nieces attended, had been killed, almost just a number to those in the city.  She raged and cried.  I let her.  I could only say “I’m sorry” over and over.  That did no good, but I was terribly sorry.  I was sorry for poverty and Evil and fatherlessness and the supply/demand of the drug trade and young men who choose the easy way that becomes the hard way and the appearance of having no choices and…  I knew I could do nothing for her but pray, which I did repeatedly. 

I was not enough.  Again.  The recurring theme. 

Three years later, I’m still here.  So, what have I learned?

a. God is bigger than me and better at loving people and can actually fix things when I cannot.  Sometimes He doesn’t fix things and that confuses me in the short term.

b. Leaving things in God’s hands is the hardest/easiest thing to do in the world

c. Loving people HURTS and is rewarding and is the easiest/hardest thing to do on the planet.

d. I wouldn’t trade this life experience for a million of my own children, but I hope I get to have one.

e. Heaven is gonna be filled with some of my boys and it is going to be a great reunion.  I can’t imagine that I won’t miss the ones that don’t choose it and won’t at least briefly mourn that they are not there.

f. The Kingdom, in all its glory and dirtiness is the ONLY place I want to be.

I hope I haven’t bored you or outed counselors who still think they can fix everything or embarrassed my ministry partners with my honesty.  Thanks for getting this far with me.  It is the rawness of my heart today.  I am thankful to be here in ways I don’t fully understand.  I REALLY love my boys…

“...the bravest thing I have is hope.”  Brave Saint Saturn