A girl in our home just ran. Again. She was mad about feedback she received. She's been in our home a year and I'm not sure if they'll let her come back again. Or even if she should come back again. She represents so much time and energy and love. She's a rewarding kid at times and a pain in the #$# at others. But she's been ours for a year. I use to think that if we could only have time with our girls we'd see God heal them from all of their past. I've been growing up for a while now. Now I realize that whatever God decides to do through us, is only allowed to be offered temporarily and is merely a stop on a long path of stops that make up their, thus far, jaded life. A page in their book.
I find it rather easy right now to give her up. Wow. That seems so harsh. But it's not like I don't care. I do. I know that no matter how much I want her to see truth and love God and know his touch, she isn't gonna do what she isn't gonna do. I can't make someone love to be loved any more than I can make someone love God. This is really a hard job. Are we lying to ourselves? Is it really possible to go through life seeing that many messed up kids and not turn calloused. Is it okay to insulate yourself from the pain you're trying to engage? Hard questions for me.
-j
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Streeeeeetch!
So every post seems to be further removed from the previous one, but I'd like to change that. About a year ago we were just getting back from the PI and engaged a whirlwind of change. Now, a year later, we both both see so much change in our lives.
We're stronger. Michel commented once that she never knew her capacity for engagement in every aspect of life could stretch so much. If life seemed intense before (it didn't too often) we are certainly seeing things from a whole different plane. And now THIS life is normal. I like that...I like seeing our capacity stretched beyond recognition, pregnant with new potential.
Speaking of pregnant, we are. God decided now would be a good time to give new life. Maybe with all the trimming it's taken to mature, this child will enter the world with more room to grow. I don't know. I hate to take a selfish glance at parenthood - that's primarily what brought most of our girls to Boys Town - yet holding this new child, I believe, may work as a balm to our spirits. It proves anew that God is kind; that he does give His children bread instead of rocks. Our differed hopes have made our hearts sick.
Not to say God hasn't been good. We would be fools not to recognize THAT, when surrounded by all of this pain. We've now cared for eight girls in the past year. We wanted to touch the broken, and we have. Every day we wake up to girls who have been robbed of the most tender, beautiful experiences of life; the ones with which childhood should be teeming. That's what makes our life so stinkin' cool! They get to see themselves in ways that were NEVER true before they came here. Michel loves on them deeply, while defining boundaries they always wanted. Her touch, literally, melts these girls. I get to love my bride and my beautiful son every day in front of hungry, fatherless eyes. They soak in the wordless moments that spouses share. And they watch how safe Hudson is when he is not allowed to continue in foolish choices. And I get to speak truth into bruised hearts. Each of our girls have decided that what we tell them about themselves must be true, because they've learned we don't waste words, and we don't lie. We've thrown sweet-sixteen birthday's now for girls who have never had a party to celebrate them. We laugh at their goofiness, and we take their hurts seriously.
So what if every girl that has left struggles badly. Does that make love any less potent? If you are reading this, think of how you are loving. Get out of your head. It's scary out here. It takes tighter accountability. But this is where eternity exists.
-j
We're stronger. Michel commented once that she never knew her capacity for engagement in every aspect of life could stretch so much. If life seemed intense before (it didn't too often) we are certainly seeing things from a whole different plane. And now THIS life is normal. I like that...I like seeing our capacity stretched beyond recognition, pregnant with new potential.
Speaking of pregnant, we are. God decided now would be a good time to give new life. Maybe with all the trimming it's taken to mature, this child will enter the world with more room to grow. I don't know. I hate to take a selfish glance at parenthood - that's primarily what brought most of our girls to Boys Town - yet holding this new child, I believe, may work as a balm to our spirits. It proves anew that God is kind; that he does give His children bread instead of rocks. Our differed hopes have made our hearts sick.
Not to say God hasn't been good. We would be fools not to recognize THAT, when surrounded by all of this pain. We've now cared for eight girls in the past year. We wanted to touch the broken, and we have. Every day we wake up to girls who have been robbed of the most tender, beautiful experiences of life; the ones with which childhood should be teeming. That's what makes our life so stinkin' cool! They get to see themselves in ways that were NEVER true before they came here. Michel loves on them deeply, while defining boundaries they always wanted. Her touch, literally, melts these girls. I get to love my bride and my beautiful son every day in front of hungry, fatherless eyes. They soak in the wordless moments that spouses share. And they watch how safe Hudson is when he is not allowed to continue in foolish choices. And I get to speak truth into bruised hearts. Each of our girls have decided that what we tell them about themselves must be true, because they've learned we don't waste words, and we don't lie. We've thrown sweet-sixteen birthday's now for girls who have never had a party to celebrate them. We laugh at their goofiness, and we take their hurts seriously.
So what if every girl that has left struggles badly. Does that make love any less potent? If you are reading this, think of how you are loving. Get out of your head. It's scary out here. It takes tighter accountability. But this is where eternity exists.
-j
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Still Here, Still Learning
Been a while since last post. Quite honestly hasn't been a priority. Now that all of the crazy "new" details are out there it's just life. I like life, but it's the daily stuff most of us don't really want to read about. I know I don't usually.
We now have six beautiful teenage girls that live in our home. Each with their own story, terribly sad at least until now. We've just locked up for the night. It's quiet. Really quiet! And sitting here (not usual), so am I (also not usual). So what am I learning... I love laughter. When I see our girls smiling, when they aren't trying to get their way or manipulate, but just smiling 'cause for a moment they are at peace and feel happy, and their mountain of pain feels so much smaller, I think I touch heaven. Those moments seem all the more precious now, and we fight for them. Michel's a master at getting them to laugh. She'll be goofy and catch them off guard, and their puzzlement turns to laughter. I just smile and worship.
I think we make too much sometimes of crying with those who mourn. Not that I don't think that crying is equally important, but often I want to cry way more than laugh because of their hurt. Crying takes up too much space. Crying can't really heal someone. When we laugh with them, though, I see their strength growing. We want more laughter than tears.
But when they do cry, and we don't run from their pain, they can really be sad about what hurts them. When we are sad with them it let's them know what they have seen is not good. It is not right. Their stories would make any caring person want to cry. I shouldn't have to pretend that it doesn't suck, and neither should they. So when they can't be with their Grandma to help with Thanksgiving dinner for the first time, we hurt for them. When their family chooses not to take interest in their lives we get upset, too. It's not right!
But with all of this the clouds have to part! If they stay, it will suffocate them. Drown them. If we don't push through, it will suffocate us, too. But laughing we can do. Smiles are currency. We try to give freely.
-j
We now have six beautiful teenage girls that live in our home. Each with their own story, terribly sad at least until now. We've just locked up for the night. It's quiet. Really quiet! And sitting here (not usual), so am I (also not usual). So what am I learning... I love laughter. When I see our girls smiling, when they aren't trying to get their way or manipulate, but just smiling 'cause for a moment they are at peace and feel happy, and their mountain of pain feels so much smaller, I think I touch heaven. Those moments seem all the more precious now, and we fight for them. Michel's a master at getting them to laugh. She'll be goofy and catch them off guard, and their puzzlement turns to laughter. I just smile and worship.
I think we make too much sometimes of crying with those who mourn. Not that I don't think that crying is equally important, but often I want to cry way more than laugh because of their hurt. Crying takes up too much space. Crying can't really heal someone. When we laugh with them, though, I see their strength growing. We want more laughter than tears.
But when they do cry, and we don't run from their pain, they can really be sad about what hurts them. When we are sad with them it let's them know what they have seen is not good. It is not right. Their stories would make any caring person want to cry. I shouldn't have to pretend that it doesn't suck, and neither should they. So when they can't be with their Grandma to help with Thanksgiving dinner for the first time, we hurt for them. When their family chooses not to take interest in their lives we get upset, too. It's not right!
But with all of this the clouds have to part! If they stay, it will suffocate them. Drown them. If we don't push through, it will suffocate us, too. But laughing we can do. Smiles are currency. We try to give freely.
-j
Monday, September 29, 2008
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Those Who Seek Him Shall Praise Him
For evident reasons, I've been reading passages of scripture with a bent towards the oppressed and abused. Especially this month. Yesterday I read Psalm 22. I have always found the parallels between this psalm and the cross to be beautiful. If you are not familiar with the passage, it's considered a Psalm of prophecy, and it gives us an intimate look into Christ's thoughts during his passion and resurrection.
Mom called yesterday and shared from Isaiah 40. She sensed I needed to hear that God's rule is throughout every corner of space and history. His authority is complete. I did need to hear it. A large part of our conversation lately is that while fear is so crippling, fearing God is not. But as I was reading from Ps. 22 another parallel thought struck me.
I don't think it is hard for me to believe God's rule is established over the nations. I've not met a president, presidential candidate, or someone interested in becoming either. I'm disconnected enough from all of the earth's rulers that in my mind God's domain could easily include them. I think it is much harder for me to see that God's authority includes what happens in the putrid, dark corners. Filthy back allies. Perverse homes where little people are dehumanized. What about the afflicted? Does God rule over them with wisdom as well?
I've been a part of so many sad stories over the past couple of decades. There are way more sad ones that redemptive ones. Abused people tend to abuse. Abused people tend to go back to their abusers. Abused people see their infliction as their identity. It's so disheartening. Even if you rescue them, can you save them?
I don't know. Yes sometimes, no others. But David says "...He has not despised or abhorred the affliction of the afflicted" and "The afflicted shall eat and be satisfied." Because of Christ's great affliction he is now Lord of the afflicted. That makes sense to me. He heavily invested in the abused, by being abused himself in dehumanizing ways.
Christ does rule completely. "For kingship belongs to the Lord, and he rules over the nations." With the abused there is merely another place, the place we're called, where God's truth and justice and peace are given. This is a thought in progress.
-j
Mom called yesterday and shared from Isaiah 40. She sensed I needed to hear that God's rule is throughout every corner of space and history. His authority is complete. I did need to hear it. A large part of our conversation lately is that while fear is so crippling, fearing God is not. But as I was reading from Ps. 22 another parallel thought struck me.
I don't think it is hard for me to believe God's rule is established over the nations. I've not met a president, presidential candidate, or someone interested in becoming either. I'm disconnected enough from all of the earth's rulers that in my mind God's domain could easily include them. I think it is much harder for me to see that God's authority includes what happens in the putrid, dark corners. Filthy back allies. Perverse homes where little people are dehumanized. What about the afflicted? Does God rule over them with wisdom as well?
I've been a part of so many sad stories over the past couple of decades. There are way more sad ones that redemptive ones. Abused people tend to abuse. Abused people tend to go back to their abusers. Abused people see their infliction as their identity. It's so disheartening. Even if you rescue them, can you save them?
I don't know. Yes sometimes, no others. But David says "...He has not despised or abhorred the affliction of the afflicted" and "The afflicted shall eat and be satisfied." Because of Christ's great affliction he is now Lord of the afflicted. That makes sense to me. He heavily invested in the abused, by being abused himself in dehumanizing ways.
Christ does rule completely. "For kingship belongs to the Lord, and he rules over the nations." With the abused there is merely another place, the place we're called, where God's truth and justice and peace are given. This is a thought in progress.
-j
Saturday, August 2, 2008
Beyond Capacity
I think most people at some point in their first couple decades of life, find themselves dreaming of doing something big. Something that effects change in the lives of people well beyond their reach. There may be something noble about it, but never entirely. And we fight that battle, ashamed to admit that as much as we want to do something huge in the lives of people, we want more, even if only slightly, to be seen above our accomplishment.
That's another reason why I believe in the God of Christianity. To serve God we love beyond our capacity (through divine intervention), and in the process who we love becomes more important than the fact that we love. There's no room for arrogance when you are so far outside of your own ability to function (people don't think you're extra special for breathing on a respirator).
I think I am becoming more and more okay with the idea of loving because it is beautiful to love, seen or not. We are surrounded here by people who are confusing to their own families, forgotten at times by their closest friends, and losing the "best years" of life to people ungrateful for the work most of the time. That is what staff know here. Their recognition is small. They work harder hours than most of corporate America. Their standards of conduct are stiffer than any preacher in any pulpit, from functionally living in a "glass house" environment. The pay could hardly compensate for the rigor of their lifestyle. And yet so many here love what they do (and so do their own children). If we could soak this in, we would know a way of life full of grace, though to the rest of the world it would look more like walking with a limp. I think my way of dreaming is changing.
-j
That's another reason why I believe in the God of Christianity. To serve God we love beyond our capacity (through divine intervention), and in the process who we love becomes more important than the fact that we love. There's no room for arrogance when you are so far outside of your own ability to function (people don't think you're extra special for breathing on a respirator).
I think I am becoming more and more okay with the idea of loving because it is beautiful to love, seen or not. We are surrounded here by people who are confusing to their own families, forgotten at times by their closest friends, and losing the "best years" of life to people ungrateful for the work most of the time. That is what staff know here. Their recognition is small. They work harder hours than most of corporate America. Their standards of conduct are stiffer than any preacher in any pulpit, from functionally living in a "glass house" environment. The pay could hardly compensate for the rigor of their lifestyle. And yet so many here love what they do (and so do their own children). If we could soak this in, we would know a way of life full of grace, though to the rest of the world it would look more like walking with a limp. I think my way of dreaming is changing.
-j
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