To Do or To Be

"Get up early. Go to bed late. Attack the inbox. Make lists. Relate. Send texts. Keep up with friends. Don't miss opportunities. Make it to the end. Accomplish. Plan. Go fast. Work it. Shoot for the moon. Don't be last. Run. Go. Don't eat that. Lead the meeting. Cover the shift. Go to class. Mish-mash." - Relevant

My life is fast, cluttered, and full of noise. I'm usually good at keeping up with it all. I go and go and go, I run myself ragged, and the clamor is what keeps me going. I hear the noise everywhere, from everyone. And then this week I made a decision that is going to significantly alter my life. It will increase the noise, the responsibility, the stress, the expectations.

I feel like I have so much to do to get ready for the upcoming craziness. And yet, I am seeking quiet and rest. I want to take care of myself, my heart, my soul. I need this time to be strongly connected to Jesus. I need to remember my priorities, what really matters. So I've spent a lot of time in silence, on my couch, in the Word.

This is what the Sovereign Lord, the Holy One of Israel, says: "In repentance and rest is your salvation, in quietness and trust in your strength..." -Isaiah 30:15

Light Brings Warmth

When the afternoon light comes pouring through my large window, sun rays drench my couch in warmth. It's my favorite place to sit quietly or to take a nap. The sun and the comfort of my couch warm my soul.

The Sound of Silence

Sometimes there are a thousand words running through my heart and through my mind. However, when I try and get them out my mouth, there is nothing but stammering and stuttering. Everything is incomprehensible. That is where I am tonight.

So much to say.
So FEW words.
Words
are replaced
with a
THICK
SILENCE
Silence full of
confusion
sadness
fear
guilt
hurt
I wonder.
I wonder
if you sit long enough
will you hear the
SILENCE
Will
you
understand?

New Mercies Every Morning

It has been a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

"At the end of every night a new day grows."

I'm ready for my new day.

Status Updates

Me: Mom, would you freak out if I moved to Africa for a year?
Mom: Not at all but you need to know your dad and I will be visiting and you will need to arrange a wildlife safari for us. I've always wanted to do a safari. This could be my chance.

Sometimes my job is hard, but sometimes it is so freakin' awesome. Today I reconnected a teenager with his dad whom he hasn't had contact with in 17 years.

I never realized just how much of my life facebook took away until the last two weeks. My facebook cleanse was a wonderful idea.

No diet coke= headache.

I'm ready for warm weather because it brings everyone outdoors again. I've seen more of my neighbors in the past week than I have since November.

My boss goes on vacation tomorrow. Yea for him.
My boss goes on vacation tomorrow. Boo for me. When I wake up tomorrow I'll be completely in charge of 16 teenagers and 8 staff. Aughhh!

It's amazing how well a sticker chart works, even for adults. My roommates and I are actually working out because we like to reward ourselves with stickers. Ridiculous, I know.

The Puzzle

It's taken a long time, but I am starting to see the image formed as the puzzle pieces connect...

- many years ago I watched the documentary Invisible Children and the stories of child soliders in Uganda tugged my heart strings.
- I read a book called The Middle of Everywhere about refugees in America. I was intrigued on many levels but put the book aside after reading it and gave it no more thought.
- 4 years ago I met Sitey, a Somali Bantu refugee. I tutored her in English and got to know her family. The book I had previously read was incredibly helpful.
- 2.5 years ago I started my current job as a mental health therapist. My organization requires more than behavior modification. Instead, we deal with deep trauma.
- this fall I started volunteering with two Congolese refugee families by transporting them to/from church. Over the last few weeks I have spent a lot of time researching the Congo and what they may have experienced. I've looked at horrific pictures and read traumatic stories.
- this fall I met "Grandpa Bill" when he joined my community group. The night I met him and heard about his heart for Uganda, I told a friend "I'm going to Uganda with this man".
- I am reading a book called Radical. It's messing with me on multiple levels.
- I stumbled across a blog written by a young woman from Uganda. She went for a short-term missions trip and then never left. She is now raising 13 girls who call her "mommy".
- Last week I read Mark 8:35- "For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for me and for the gospel will save it."
- Saturday night I journaled about trauma and how much trauma work I've done recently with my clients. Trauma often causes therapists to burn out. Instead, I see hope and am encouraged by the work that my clients do.
- I sat down at church on Sunday and sitting in front of me was Grandpa Bill. He introduced me to his friends- a couple that works for Global Refuge International. After learning what I do, one of the first questions the man asked was "do you do trauma work?" He then proceeded to tell me about his organization and the need for trauma workers.

It's a glorious mess. Jesus is wrecking my life, one puzzle piece at a time. I am confident the final picture will be beautiful.

The "T" Word

Once upon a time ago, I left work at work. Sure, I shared stories about the craziness that is my job, but the details were left at work. I could effectively leave the heartache, the pain, the trauma at work.
Not so much these days. Trauma sits in the passenger seat during my drive home. Trauma makes itself at home in my mind and settles in my heart. Trauma teases my tear ducts. Trauma haunts my dreams. Yes, I'm a therapist that specializes in trauma but I wasn't prepared for the amount of trauma my kids are dealing with right now. They share stories, poems, collages, journal entries. Sometimes it all feel surreal- almost like I'm watching a movie. But when I focus in on the voice and the eyes in front of me, it is all too real.
I don't believe that Trauma is leading toward burn-out. Instead, Trauma is reminding me why it is I do what I do. I have created a safe place where teens can share the worst of the worst. I have been gifted with the ability to ask the right questions, and to keep my mouth closed when I need to listen. And I have hope- hope that one day Trauma will no longer win.

When Worlds Collide

"Can I go to church with you?" What a simple question with an answer that should also be simple. Instead: "Uh, yes. I guess. Okay. Are you sure? It's a long service. Really? Oh shit."

While in college, both undergrad and grad school, it was drilled into me to set firm boundaries with my clients. This meant no contact with clients outside of the work setting. If I see someone in the grocery store, just walk on by and don't acknowledge them. Don't let clients know anything about me. If they ask a personal question, turn it back on them. Keep my personal life personal and my work life completely separate. I was taught that this was necessary for my own sanity and a way to practice self-care. So that's what I've done for many years.

Until now.

As far as I can tell, Jesus would tell me what I learned in school is crap. How can I love people and minister to them if I don't know them and they don't know me? How can I point people to Jesus when I don't let them know that incredibly personal part of my life? So when one of my clients asked me if she could come to church with me, I said yes. And then I invited another kid. And then I almost hyperventilated.

When I walk into PBC on a Sunday morning, it's more than just a gathering of believers. It is time to reconnect with my family. It's time to be okay with not being okay. There are tears and laughter. I question, I am challenged, I learn. I have responsibilities, I have people to minister to. I open my heart and am vulnerable. Allowing my teenage clients into this part of my life was almost too much. I questioned where I sat, what I said, what I did. I was afraid of being me in some ways. And then I got mad. I was mad because they were intruding on my life, in my space, with my people. So then I felt guilty. Guilty because of my attitude and my actions. I recognized my selfishness and it cut me to the core. How dare I miss the opportunity to point people to Christ because it makes me uncomfortable. Jesus clearly said that following Him meant giving up one's own life.

It's still a battle waging war in my mind and in my heart. Jesus is wrecking my life... thank goodness.

Those Eyes

Those eyes captured my heart the first time I looked into them. Those eyes are full of life and still have the twinkle of innocence that can only be seen in a child. Those beautiful brown eyes are always watching, taking in the world. Those eyes belong to my sweet niece.
As adults, we are aware of what children hear. We listen more closely to television and radio stations and change the channel if the content isn't appropriate. We whisper. We spell out words. We filter what we say. And we expect the same from others.
Somehow, we forget about those eyes and what they see. Today, I was reminded just how much young eyes see. Malaya and I were talking about smoking cigarettes and how gross smoking is. I casually asked her if she was going to smoke when she grows up. Although I expected her "no" answer, her reasons shook me to my core. She doesn't want to smoke because I don't smoke. Not only that, but she is not going to drink coffee or wear much make-up because I don't do those things. And even more, she is going to be a "regular adult" like me and not have children. I laughed and hugged her tight, but there were tears in my eyes. Those eyes are watching everything I do, even the mundane details of my life. What am I showing her? What does she see as my priorities, what I value?
As I've processed through these thoughts, I'm painfully aware of the areas in my life in which I'm not showing her good things. She doesn't see me pray. She sees me spend too much time on the computer. She doesn't see that I care about others (outside the family). She sees my frustration with my brother. She sees too much diet coke.
She sees. She watches. She learns.

The Hidden Homeless

Gabriella was 17 years old when I met her. She was a teen mom, and was struggling everyday. She came into my life not by her free will- she was court ordered to the residential program I worked for. During the time I worked with her, she shared her story- one full of pain and heartache. Her father was absent. Her mother was an alcoholic. Her son was born with significant delays, most likely due to Gabriella’s substance use when pregnant. She had lived on and worked the streets. Before she ended up in jail, she was homeless. But she was one of the hidden homeless… she wasn’t standing on the street corner with a sign, she wasn’t lined up the homeless shelter.

(#2 in a series about homelessness in preparation for Night In A Box)

The Man Who Changed My Life

I was just a freshman in college when I sat down to dinner and the man who sat next to me changed my life. His name was Ron.
I was at Agape Meal, a weekly meal provided to the homeless in Fort Worth. The meal was not your typical soup-kitchen experience. The dining room was set up for family style meals. Tables were covered with tablecloths and real dishes. Large dishes of food were brought out to each table. Volunteers either served the food or joined a table for dinner. I really wanted to serve food, keeping myself at a distance and staying in my comfort zone. But I was compelled to sit.
Ron sat down next to me. Over the course of dinner, he shared his life story with me. The next week, I went back and Ron sought me out with a big smile and a hug. This went on for weeks as I learned more of his story and his dreams. He slowly broke down many of my stereotypes of the homeless. He challenged me and encouraged me. Over time, life got busy and I stopped going to Agape Meal. But the experience never left my mind and each Thursday night I remembered. A year later, I went back. I was sitting at the table meeting new people, learning new stories. A volunteer asked if I wanted more water, I nodded, and then did a double take. It was Ron. That same smile appeared on his face. That night he updated me on his life, and how he was working, had a place to live, and came back to serve others.
Ron made a difference in my life because he challenged my perceptions of the homeless. He made a difference because he was willing to teach me. He made a difference because one meal a week meant the world to him. He knew he was loved, he was offered grace, and he didn’t lose his dignity in the process.

(#1 in a series about homelessness in preparation for Night In A Box)

Tough Decisions

I'm sorry. I'm sorry I don't always know what you need and when you need it. I'm sorry that I can't read your mind. I'm sorry I can't take the hurt away. I'm sorry that life has been so very unfair to you. I'm sorry that I don't always say, and often can't say, what you really need to hear. I'm sorry that you see me as one more person who has rejected you, abandoned you.
I hope. I hope you know that I have your best interests at heart. I hope you know that my care for you is unconditional. I hope you hear what I do not say. I hope that you see how beautiful you are, how worthy you are to be loved. I hope you stop blaming yourself for the hurt you've endured.
I pray. I pray that you are healed. I pray that you are right where you need to be.

Adventures In Missing the Point

"I'm free!" she exclaimed standing outside the Denver city jail, her arms raised to the sky. "Look at the sunshine, the blue sky. Freedom!" These exuberant cries of joy were coming from an innocent-looking, blonde haired, blue-eyed 18 year old girl. Granted, she had only spent 3 days in jail, but the relief in her voice was sincere.

I, on the other hand, had a very different expression on my face. I rolled by eyes at her dramatic expression of freedom. I was irritated that I had to pick her up from jail after she ran from our program. I had previously offered her help and she had rejected it. She had been free and knowingly chose to put herself back in jail. Now, in retrospect, I completely missed it.

I know this young lady's story. I know about her mentally ill father and alcoholic mother. I know the horrific teasing she experienced as a child. I know about her sexual assault, her meth addiction, her broken heart. I know her diagnosis, her desire to be loved and accepted, and how she seeks these things out through sex. But I completely missed it.

She has never been free. In that moment I had the opportunity to listen to the real cry of her heart. I had the opportunity to show genuine love and compassion. I had a moment to share Truth and Hope- hope that there is a Savior who can set her free. But I missed it.

I do not want to miss what is stirring in my own heart. I have opportunities to share truth and hope every single day. The face and the stories may change, but the need for truth and hope greater than this world will never change. The need for the Savior will not change.

And I do not want to miss the obvious reality that I consistently forget that I am free. In reality, I long to be that girl. Sure the story would be different, the scars of life are very different. But I long to feel the deep joy that led to her shout aloud "I'm free." Instead, I am complacent in acknowledging my freedom. It's just another part of every day and life is moving so quickly that I miss the truth. Today I am committed to not taking advantage of my ability to stand daily with my arms raised to the sky proclaiming "I am free!"

"Therefore, there is no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus, because through Christ Jesus the law of the Spirit of life set me free from the law of sin and death." Romans 8:1

I.AM.OVERWHELMED.

I can't do it all, even though I feel like I'm expected to. Expected to keep my house clean, my car clean, my bed made, my dishes washed, my clothes washed. Expected to keep food in the fridge, gas in the car, and money in the bank. It's time to move, study, buy a house, celebrate the holidays. I'm behind at home. I'm behind at work. My coworkers need me. My clients need me. My family needs me. My friends need me. My church needs me. I want to give and give and give- I just have nothing left.

Truth and Hope.

Truth and hope, truth and hope, truth and hope. This is the mantra repeated at my place of employment. Truth and hope is what I am to offer teens and to families. But sometimes it's so hard.

Truth. R's mom has end-stage organ failure. He has no idea. Even though his mother has said the words to him, he is limited and doesn't understand what she is saying. He thinks her medicine is what is making her sick. So my job is to tell him the truth. To sit down with him and tell him his mother is dying. To walk alongside him over the next few weeks or months as he says goodbye to his mom and watches her go. How do I tell him the truth knowing the pain he will endure?

Hope. I don't like S, which is a huge problem being that I'm her therapist, her #1 advocate, her support. I have spent hours and hours with her, and yet I can't seem to connect. I wonder if I'm just a bad therapist. Today we staffed her case at length. We questioned if she has a heart, if she has a soul. Or has her abuser managed to steal it away from her? Unfortunately, I think he has. She does not care for herself at all, and is therefore incapable of caring for others. How do I have hope? What do I hope for?

"And now these three remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love." (1 Cor. 13:13). I have faith, I offer hope, I speak truth and I love because I am loved by the Savior.

Honest to God

I've been tagged to write 10 completely honest things about myself. Here goes...

1. No one knows about this blog of mine, and I'm not sure I want to share it.

2. I subscribe to the newspaper. One of my favorite Sunday pasttimes is curling up on the couch and reading the Sunday paper in this order:
Front page/front section
local news
sports (only during college football season)
travel (only if the feature location is some place I'm interested in)
arts & entertainment
Parade/US Weekly newsmagazines
Ads
Coupons
Comics (which I read at bedtime)

3. I love to read, but hate buying books. They are ridiculously expensive, especially when I can get them for free at the public library.

4. If I lost my job (or if I quit), I would get a job on a cruise ship and spend a year traveling the world, experiencing new things.

5. I used to think I had my shit together. Now I'm not so sure.

6. I have a bookshelf full of therapy books that I never look at, but desperately should read in order to be a better therapist. But by the time I get home, I don't want to "work".

7. I can waste obscene amounts of time surfing the internet and reading certain blogs.

8. I want to buy a house within the next year, mainly because I want a dog.

9. I love the mountains. They are a place of rest, of worship, of play.

10. I am not sure what it means to be content. I don't struggle with wanting more "stuff", I struggle with wanting to be more, to do more.

If you somehow come upon this secret blog, then you're automatically tagged to post your own list of 10 honest things about yourself.