these days

These days, free time and sleep are at a premium. I have taken vacation time off of work just so that I can get papers written and a few extra hours of sleep. I like to think that my life is just very structured right now. I go from one thing to the next: work-internship-class-homework and repeat.

As a working grad student, there are a few unique things that I have noticed.

For example, I leave the house in the dark and come home in the dark so I never know when the grass needs mowed, or rather when to remind Kb that the grass needs mowed.

I need more tupperware. Breakfast, check. Lunch, check. Snack, check. Dinner, check. When I finally get around to doing the dishes, all I'm cleaning is tupperware. Speaking of cleaning, I really need to clean my car, where most of my eating occurs.

The only exercise I've been getting occurs at my cubicle. I do not get a lunch break, but I get two fifteen minute breaks during the day. That is the perfect amount of time for me to stick a workout DVD in my laptop, grab my exercise ball, and move without getting too sweaty.

 I must take a little time to work the right side of my brain. The left side is pretty occupied these days. This project took twenty minutes and was inspired by my mom. She provided the letters and the used dryer sheets (aka ghosts). Apparently, we do not use dryer sheets. I wouldn't know; Kb has taken over the laundry.

Lastly, I intentionally seek out beauty and grace. It is easy to start thinking too much, analyzing my schedule, and overwhelming myself with tasks that need to be done. When I take the time to look around, breathe deep, and soak up the present, I can see more clearly. I have a job that gives me purpose (and pays for me to go to school!), an internship that gives me opportunities to gain new experiences, and professors that are supportive and challenging.

There's a lot of good going on these days. I just wish there were more hours in a day to get it all in!

poverty and neglect

I made it. I emerged from my weekly, monotonous tunnel of work, school, sleep, work, school, sleep...

Apparently, whoever thought of cramming so many classes into the summer has never experienced bare feet on green grass and cheeks kissed by the sun.

I do enjoy school, nonetheless. It challenges my mind. And my time-management skills.

During class this week, we discussed the issue of poverty at length. We made graphs of systematic barriers and oppression. We mulled over glaring statistics and debated over effective solutions. We're the bleeding hearts working for social change, equality, and justice.

Yet, I sit in the middle row, to the left, cynical and indifferent.

I know about poverty; I see it every day. It's kids with dirty clothes and black-stained feet who have lice and empty bellies, whose parents trade their food stamps for spice at the gas station on the corner. The parents who tell me to put their kids in foster care because they are too proud to accept help or go to the homeless shelter. Or the mom who refuses to work and moves her kids and their scant belongings from one man's home to another.

And so I sit and smugly provide my two cents..."it's a mindset...an issue of motivation...a mismanagement of personal resources..."

The thing about social issues is that they are complex and won't leave my mind. Thus, while browning hamburger at midnight (crazy things happen in the tunnel), it finally occurred to me.

I see a lot of injustice at work, and I may see many parents and kids who are poor. But I don't see poverty. I see neglect.  

My job has changed me. It's made me skeptical and pessimistic, with little hope for humanity. I look for the flaw, the wrongdoing that was committed so I can place the blame and alleviate the pain.

But it is unfair to apply my investigator perspective and experience universally.  The absence of money and resources does not imply fault or maltreatment. There are over six thousand people in poverty in my jurisdiction, and I only see a small portion of those people. The reality is that my exposure to and knowledge of social issues is small and rather insignificant. I have so much more to learn in the classroom and in the field.

If nothing else, school has forced me to examine my biases and have a greater sense of self-awareness.

an unlikely mission field

The semester is winding down. After one presentation and a few minor papers, I will be rewarded with three weeks off. Then, summer session begins, and we're back at it.

For the last several months, I've been working with a substance abuse therapist at a local community mental health center as a part of an internship. She is very experienced and has a uniquely effective way of relating to the clients. I have learned a lot from her professionally and personally.

One day when I was sitting in her office, I noticed several great Christian books on her bookshelves, such as Love and Respect, The Five Love Languages, Changes That Heal, and The Secret Things of God. I was initially stunned. I mean this is a room where clients come for therapy and there are items indicating Christianity!

I subtly (or not so subtly because I do not do subtle very well) asked her if she uses spirituality with her clients. As she responded, I continued to be stunned. She told me about how she went to a Christian university, and they talked frequently about how to appropriately and ethically use their faith to help clients.

God bless my secular, liberal education.

In fact, she said that she would be remiss if she ignored spirituality. In her ten years at this agency, she has found that faith has allowed more clients to thrive than any other technique or psycho-therapeutic theory. She's not pushy or confrontational. She does not proselytize or have an ulterior agenda. Just like any good missionary, she uses doors that the client opens.

Community mental health is the nitty-gritty, the bottom of the barrel. This therapist has struggled here and has had to combat burnout. She has considered moving to a comparatively cushy job in the private sector or a Christian agency. But her calling is to serve the neediest, the least of these.

Community mental health is her mission field.

sunday rest

Don't forget to slow down and take a break.

These warm October days are treasures. I just want to soak them up and sit in them forever. But the chilly mornings and evenings are a reminder that winter is coming. I'm thankful that we get to ease into it this year.

Spur and I went hiking today. There's no denying that beagle blood runs through his veins. He had his nose to the ground the whole time. We'll also blame his beagle blood for pulling my flowers out of their pots and eating my pumpkins, while we're at it. We stood on our tip toes, but the prettiest trees were just out of reach across the bog.

We'll hit the trails again tomorrow, here this time. I'm even feeling ambitious enough to bring Bo along. Thanks to Christopher Columbus, I get the day off. Unfortunately, much of the day will be spent researching marketing strategies and (hopefully) making progress on a paper. I'm thoroughly enjoying grad school, but marketing?  Yuck.

Speaking of school, I was able to remain unaffected by the Government shutdown until late last week. The census website is down so I could not research or cite demographic data. I wonder if my professor will accept the Government shutdown as an excuse. Politics are hard. I don't want to talk about it.

It's a good thing God is still here and still working.

I can see it in the trees.

not my circus

A few weeks ago, while perusing pinterest, I saw this pin:

Apparently, it is a Polish saying. It means that if something is not your business or your property, than you do not need to worry about it. I have caught myself repeating this phrase in my head (or out loud) a lot while stuck in my cubicle over the last few weeks.

I have enough trouble managing my own cases, I do not need to be policing others'. And as far as my own cases go, repeating this phrase reminds me to keep a healthy disconnect. I can't get wrapped up in family drama, custody battles, and angry people. 

It's catchy, a little humorous, and sure enough, it helps me to remember that I can only control myself.

In case you're worried about the church

We are in transition around here. Summer is sadly fading, and fall semester will begin next week. Kb's employment was in limbo there for a little while, but last week, he started working a social work type job with adolescent boys. Clearly, we are not dreaming of tropical vacations and shiny cars. It's meaningful work, though, right?

His new job is also second shift. So the boys and I have ample bonding time. Kb and I, on the other hand, will need to boost our communication and find creative ways to soak up time together.

I am thankful that Kb and I can still go to church together. This morning, while sitting in the balcony pew, a fear surfaced within me and was squashed in one fell swoop.

It's something that I do not think about much, but now and then, I'll hear a news story or see a headline and get a nervous streak.

It seems as though Christianity is becoming increasingly unpopular. I don't get into all of the political banter, but casual observation proves that governments are assuming more and more control.

I fear that one day Christianity will be eradicated and the Church will be abolished.

How this coincides with the Lord returning is thankfully beyond my scope; however, as that time nears, I expect that I will not be popular or comfortable. I expect that I will suffer.

While that may be true, I need not fear that the Church will cease to exist.

And I tell you that you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of Hades will not overcome it.   Matthew 16:18 

Red letters? Yep, that is Jesus talking. And this Church, this community that gathers all over the world, is His. And no overpowering government, no charismatic individual, and no force of Satan will overcome it. 

Study Break

Attachment theory is fascinating, which is fortunate because I have read more articles about it than would be necessary for anyone.

On a brighter note, class wraps up this week. In true social worker form, we are having a potluck to go along with our presentations on the last day of class.  Then, we will break for a couple of weeks before we start over again with the fall semester.

Want to see me weepy? Sit me down with a little girl in a hospital for a couple of hours. Then, watch her ask me in her sweet, innocent way if this means that I am back in her life again.  Ouch.

I dug out the sweatpants and hoodies this week. Certainly this cool snap won't last, right? Summer can't be over yet. It concerns me. Namely because I have not accomplished anything on my summer to-do list. 

A ham and cheese omelet drizzled doused in maple syrup is an adequate study break breakfast.

I just swooshed away a fly that was devouring the puddle of maple syrup on my plate. All of a sudden, it seems like a herd of flies has attacked my house. Drives me crazy. Yesterday, I snapped at Kb for not flicking the fly swatter quick enough. Geesh. Growing up at the Amish house, I honed my fly swatter skills and would get a nickel for every fly I killed. They also had one of those yellow sticky tapes hanging above the dinner table. I'm not to that point. Yet.

And by the way, if you're a druggie and I come to your house, hiding under a blanket on your bed does not fool anyone.

Back To School

This week, I started graduate school. Freshman jitters were in force. But I packed my school bag the night before class, arrived early, and successfully found my classroom. Score!

Is it just me or do school books shrink as you progress through school?

My first class was interesting. The professor began with an explanation of the syllabus (typical). Then, we proceeded to have an hour long discussion about whether or not all people have free will. It's a topic that most have an opinion about, but there is really no perfect answer.  Especially here in America, it is easy to say that yes, everyone has a choice to do whatever they want. There are influencers and consequences, but people still use free will and make choices. The conversation becomes increasingly sticky when issues such as poverty, serious mental illness, and addiction are mentioned.

After the intense discussion, our professor briefly introduced an assignment, and class was dismissed. I felt jipped. The three hour class did not even hit the one and a half hour mark.

Oh well, I've recovered and I've come to realize that simply throwing out a possibly controversial discussion question is a great way to begin a class. The professor gets a feel for how boisterous her class is, and we get to know each other a little bit.

I am also beginning to realize how graduate school may differ from my previous schooling experiences.

I was impressed that my professor provoked us to discuss the topic freely. She did not promote or even share her opinion. Also, everyone in the class was able to have a respectful and intellectual discussion. Most of us have matured a bit since undergrad and have more life experiences under our belts.

The assignment that the professor introduced was for us to attend a cultural event or participate in a cultural activity. There is no writing or reflection paper associated with the assignment. We just have to do it and come to class prepared to talk about it. Perhaps, now that we are in graduate school, we can be trusted to complete an assignment on our own. Yay for less busy work (and less reflection papers)!

There may be less busy work, but there is a lot of reading, which I need to go do!

Lettuce and Failure

Lately, I've seen blog upon blog boast of how they can regrow romaine lettuce. We eat lots of the green stuff, and it seemed easy enough so I gave it a shot.

The green stub seemed to be off to a good start. A few new shoots quickly emerged from the middle of the heart. But weeks later, it's seemed to have stalled.

Yes, I do change the icky brown water every other day. Still, it doesn't seem to be growing. Plus, the outsides of the stem becomes brown and slimy. It gives me the willies each time I trim it off. I think I may be chucking the green stem out and chalking it up as a failure.

Failure is a sore spot for me. I imagine it is for most. Sure the lettuce may be a wash, but being cut from the high school basketball team? Now that reality still makes me shudder and quickly change the subject.  That pain is sticky and doesn't wash off easily.

This aversion to failure is why I have not divulged something that I have been up to for the last six months. Because if I don't talk about it and put myself out there, then only a few people will know if I fail.

Late last year, I began an annoyingly difficult application process for a Masters of Social Work program. In January, I drove to the unfamiliar campus and somehow successfully found the Social Work Department. I deposited my thick application with a smile and departed the building slowly, taking in the familiar sight of sleepy students pouring over books and typing away on laptops. I realized that I really wanted this. The nerd within me got all sorts of excited. 

But when you really want something, somehow failure seems even more evident, especially when all that is left to do is wait.

Before long, the letter came. Admittedly, it did sit in the mailbox for a few days. But on a Sunday morning, I read the letter hastily and picked up on one word: ACCEPTED. I was so excited, but my pursuit was not complete.

Working for the state does have a few benefits, including a program that will pay for employees to achieve an MSW. Now that I had been accepted into the MSW program, I completed an additional application process for the state funding that consisted of more essay writing and a strange interview at the government center in Indy. Only 20 employees are granted the funding each year so I tried not to get my hopes up. But given our current budget situation, I knew I needed to get the funding if I wanted to start classes this year or at all.

After waiting for too long, I received a short email. I had been granted 100% funding. A contract would be to follow.

I had achieved admission into the program and a full ride scholarship! But instead of excitement, I felt a strong wave of relief. I was relieved that I did not fail. The mysterious panel of professionals believed that I was capable and competent. And my self-worth was all wrapped up in their opinion.

It is quite apparent that this issue of failure is one that needs some meditation and exploration.

Nonetheless, classes start on July 1st, and I am full of the excitement and anxiety that accompany the start of something new!

Hungry

Tomorrow, the postal service holds its annual Stamp Out Hunger event. Simply, haul your cans to your mailbox. It's a brilliant idea for us lazy Americans. The advertising campaign constantly reminds me that 1 out of 6 Americans are unsure where their next meal is coming from.

1 out of 6

That's a pretty staggering statistic. So staggering that it's caused my inner skeptic to rear its ugly head.

Frankly, I do not have the energy right now to conduct proper research to profess a specific stance. 

But I do encounter a lot of poor people. I spend much of my time in the trailer parks and on the "bad" side of town. I'm familiar with the scourge of poverty.

 

But it is rare that I enter a home where there is no food or very little food. Actually, I can only recall one occasion where there was not sufficient food in a home, even though many of my investigations include concerns of a lack of food.

On that particular occasion there was only a bag of pretzels in the kitchen and a few condiments in the fridge. The mother, however, worked a full time job and received food stamps. She was too distracted by alcohol to ensure that there was food in the home for her three children. The lack of food was due to neglect, not an absence of resources.

The families have food stamps. The kids get breakfast and lunch at school and even receive a food backpack for the weekend. Some of the schools also have breakfast and lunch programs during the summer.

I am sure that there are people that struggle with providing food for their family. Certainly, many people benefit from food pantries. But with all of the poverty that I encounter, I don't see it. 

What I do see is freezers full of tv dinners and frozen pizza. I see pop and chips and cookies.  I cringe when I walk into homes and find the baby sucking on a candy bar, a stick of Laffy Taffy, or a kool-aid filled bottle. I see big, flat screen tv's and Xbox's, instead of milk and vegetables. 

May I be so bold as to suggest that the crisis is not one of hunger; it is, instead, a crisis of nutrition and resource management.

May Day

When this song came through the car speakers on my way to work yesterday, I could not hold back the tears. It was not the first time I had heard the song, but it gave words to the emotions and thoughts swirling through my head.

This week, I'm worn. My caseload is high. I'm behind on paperwork and behind on my investigations.

A mother of a baby born full of drugs tells me that she is an adult and I can't tell her what to do.

A father refuses to take a drug screen, storms out of the house, and puts his babies in the car, while I rush in front of the car, informing him of the consequences that will occur if he proceeds.

A mother who's home was raided and meth and drug paraphernalia were found throughout, tells me that all that stuff was there when she moved in (a month ago).

A mother tells me that she was buying Sudafed for her neighbors, but she received no compensation, and she had no idea what they were using it for. 

A doctor examines a little girl that I brought into the ER and tells me that the little girl, who was living in a home where meth was manufactured in the basement and the fumes were vented through the heating system, has pneumonia due to her toxic environment.

A mother promises me that this time is the last time that she and her ex will fight in front of their young child.

And a little girl who is now in relative care wakes up at night screaming and says that she feels different than all the other kids at school.

And the week is not quite over.

I feel like I'm losing the fight against child abuse. And as I am in their houses or in that jail listening to parents' lies and excuses, I can't beat the discouragement.  I may be able to protect kids from future abuse, but the real fight is for the parents. What those kids really need is their parents.
 

Let me see redemption win; let me know the struggle ends, 

that you can mend a heart that's frail and torn. 

I wanna know a song can rise from the ashes of a broken life

and all that's dead inside can be reborn.

I need to know that a person can change.


But yesterday, after my emotional drive, I arrived at work and found this.

It was May Day.

Flowers and a box of goodies might seem insignificant, but it reminded me that my work is appreciated by the community. I was able to take a few deep breaths and acquire a perspective that stretches beyond this stressful week.

I can let the unanswered questions rest. Not everything will get done today that needs to get done, but that is ok. I'll be back tomorrow to take it on again. 

                                    

When I Come Home Angry

Around these parts, I do my best to remain positive. I want share what is uplifting and inspiring, not what is cynical and pessimistic.

But, if I'm honest, sometimes I come home angry. I rationalize that it is righteous anger, but it's all the same really.

I'm angry at those parents. The Mommas that give birth to drug addicted babies. The Daddies that hit and shame. The Stepdaddies that molest and abuse.  The addicted, apathetic, abusive, thoughtless, and manipulative.

They take no responsibility and they show no remorse. I hear their lies and their excuses. But even louder, I hear what they don't seem to. I hear their babies' cries. I hear a childhood lost.

I fight to glimpse God amidst the mess. I don't see Him though, and I question if he remembers these precious little ones.

This anger drives me forward. It spurs me on to seek justice. But it can't go further than that. It can't turn to bitterness.

I must forgive. Somehow.

 

Kings and Queens

I spent a good chunk of my day with a certain thirteen year old girl. I picked her up from school and we drove here and there. She giggled about Justin Beiber, boyfriends, and Twilight, and pancaked in between all of that, we dealt with some tough stuff, all with the goal of keeping her safe.

As we were driving to our final destination, we were both tired and hungry. The chatty girl grew a little more serious. She quietly announced, "You guys are all so nice." And then, she said sheepishly, "It's like you treat us like kings and queens."


(Be. Still. My. Heart.)

Oh girl, if you only knew that was my goal all along.

Take A Day

Today, I took a day off. This isn't something that I do. I never skipped school or class; I always showed up. But today, I thought I'd give it whirl because this week, I have felt myself caring too much.

It's strange to think that is a problem.

Perhaps, it's more like I care too much about what I can do in my own power. It's my feeble yet driven attempts to control uncontrollable situations. Like, when I sat down for a meeting with a motivated dad and his supporters to hammer out a plan, only to have an officer knock on the door, put him in handcuffs, and take him away.  Or when I handed-off a case to another case manager, and I see my hard work start to unravel.

Sometimes, I have to let go. I can't care so much anymore.

So I stayed in my fuzzy, striped pj pants all the live long day. I spent some quality time with Richard Gere. I got a little crafty.

I made a new kind of cookies.

Some were perfectly baked graham cracker, marshmallow cookie bliss.

Others, well, weren't quite so perfect. Isn't that just how it is?

No worries. We are equal opportunity eaters around here.

Next week, I'll start again.  I'll work hard and do the best that I can. I'll celebrate victories and give grace through defeats. But I'll withhold expectations and not hold on quite as tightly.

We Need Foster Parents

There is a need in our area that many people do not know about. And I am convinced that if only people knew, things would change. This area is too generous, too kind to let this need remain unfulfilled.

People, we need foster parents.

This becomes very apparent when I spend hours calling families and agencies, all but begging them to take in a child or a sibling group. Most of the time, when I do find a home, it's out of the county. The child has to change schools, get acquainted with a new community, and travel farther for visits with mom or dad.

Obviously, being a foster parent isn't for everyone, and it can be difficult at times. But you don't have to have a house full of ten kids, perfect discipline techniques, or be a stay at home mom. All you need is a little extra space in your home and your heart. You are also compensated for the children that you foster, whether you have the children for one week or one year.

Having a lack of foster homes is a problem that only members of the community can solve. In Lubbock, Texas, foster children have had to sleep at the CPS office due to a lack of homes. However, in another part of Texas, a movement began. People stepped up and cared for the children in their community who needed them most.

These kids have been bruised and scorned. They are right here in our community. And they need you.

When You're the Enemy

Today we went to that big church again and attended a Sunday school class. We've been to this particular class several times, but there are about fifty people in the class, and we haven't gotten to know anyone yet. Today, we sat at a different table, hoping to get acquainted with a few people.

The first discussion question posed to our table was about things we have achieved over this past year. The couple to our left announced that over the past year, they have come a long way with the youngest child that they adopted. I asked them where they adopted the children from, excited that I possibly found a point of connection! The wife responded that they were foster parents. I became even more excited; perhaps, we could talk about the experiences we have in common and get to know each other! So I told her that I work for DCS, and I asked them what their names are. They didn't answer. I thought maybe they didn't hear me so I asked again what their names are. The wife glared at the husband, and I understood. They did not want me to know their names. The husband asked me how long I had worked at DCS. I told him that it's been a year and a half. He responded that was around the time they adopted their last child, and he begrudgingly said that the people at my office would know them well. I quickly recanted my excitement and admitted that DCS can be really difficult to work with. The couple was quiet. Then, the wife appeared to force a smile and told me that she would try not to hold it against me.

Suddenly, I felt a strong desire to crawl underneath the table and stay there.

DCS seems to be really good at making enemies out of good people. I've seen it happen too often already. It's frustrating to me because really, we all have the same goal in mind. Foster parents, caseworkers, and the higher-ups of DCS all do what they do for children. They all want children to be safe and with a family. Sometimes, they disagree about how to accomplish this goal, but they all care about children and want what is best.

 So why can't we all just get along? I think there are a couple of reasons. Sometimes, foster parents have misguided expectations. Honestly, foster parenting is difficult and thankless, and they rarely have the opportunity to adopt a child, let alone adopt that perfect baby girl that they all want. State policies are challenging, and sometimes, they simply make no sense. But policy is policy and caseworkers must follow it. Speaking of caseworkers, they are stressed, overworked, and (dare I say it) maybe even incompetent.

As a result, there is a shortage of foster families. It's a problem, but more on that another day. I think I need to research the other Sunday school classes.

The View

This was my view at work today.

I appreciate that much of my time is not spent in my windowless cubicle, staring at my computer screen. The job can get crazy, but I relish these quiet moments on the road, surrounded by a tunnel of trees and softly falling snow.

It's All About the Kiddos

I spent a lot of time with kiddos this week at work.  They taught me a few things...

1. Always go potty before getting in the car to go anywhere. No matter what. If you don't, you may find yourself on a stretch of highway with no rest stops with a four year old in the back seat, screaming that she has to go potty and she is going to pee her pants. What do you do?

I panicked briefly, imagining a urine-soaked car seat and pants. We definitely did not need that mess at that moment. I pulled over and carried her out of the car to the side of the road where she squatted. I shielded her, sure that she was scared for life. Apparently she wasn't because "I gotta potty, gonna pee my pants" became a fun game to play every five minutes. No, I did not pull over again.

2. Discipline in the car is difficult. You can't give a timeout. Threats of "I'm going to turn this car around" are clearly empty. I have no foundation of discipline with kids I've recently met so respect is miles away. I've learned that ignoring them may be the best method. And don't give them a box of crayons. Crayons quickly become torpedoes aimed for your head.

3. Sometimes ignoring their car shenanigans just isn't an option. Like when it becomes fun to unbuckle the seat belt, get out of the car seat, and crawl around the car. It takes FOREVER to get anywhere when you need to pull over six times to retrieve the scrambling child and buckle her back in.

3. It is wonderful when they sleep.

4. I cannot relate to the pain that they experience. Kids are resilient; they're incredible. But there are moments when the pain peaks through, and they realize that their current reality is scary and uncertain.

I don't have answers to their questions, and even if I do, it does little to ease their pain. I tell them that this isn't for forever, that mommy just needs to work on some stuff, and that daddy still loves them. And I hope I'm not lying to them.

But yesterday, a six year old asked me if I ever had to go away from home. I hesitated, searching for something to say. I stammered, and then, he asked if I ever had to miss my mommy.

Ouch.

I had nothing to say; I just hugged that little boy who had spent much of his school day in the "calming room" due to assaulting his kindergarten teachers and threatening to kill them.

5. It makes it all worth it when they run through the office, looking for your cubicle. And when they find you, they yell and jump into your arms.

 I'm with these kids for fleeting moments or long days. I hear their heartbreaking stories and deliver difficult news. But I pray that in the short time that I know them, I am somehow able to give them hope and comfort. I love these kids.

Wallow

I had an all-day training in Indy today. Last night, I decided that I should find some CD's to play on the drive to pass the time and keep me awake during the early morning.

I bought a new-to-me car back in March. It has a CD player! For some reason, I have just now decided to utilize this amenity.

It's been years since I bought CD's. I had to dig in the back of my closet for the box of my favorite CD's from my late teen years. Looking through the box brought back a flood of memories. Many of the songs on those CD's are tied to specific moments. Like most teens, I had some difficult times. The songs helped to pull me through those times. They were played on repeat through my headphones late into the night or they were blasted through the car speakers and sung with tears. It's the good old Bethany Dillon, Casting Crowns, Superchick, and Jeremy Camp kind of stuff. Remembering the songs and the difficult memories, strangely brought me some comfort. I picked out a few CD's and looked forward to listening to them on my drive to Indy. Strangely, I anticipated reliving those difficult times. It brings me comfort to know that I was at once in that low place and, with God's strength, overcame.

This week, I sat with a mother in the only available seat in the house. She admitted to being a hoarder and that the house was very dirty. Sometimes, I get involved with families at work because the home is in such poor condition that it is a health or safety hazard for the children. It's difficult for me to imagine how people live in homes that are infested with bugs, have dog feces all over the floor, and stacks of garbage all throughout the home. Regardless, I have to maintain a level of respect for them and their home. Often, these cases are difficult because the real issues are hidden beneath all of the layers of garbage. The condition of the home is a symptom of a much larger, yet underlying, need.

This mom told me about how ten years ago, she and her husband had a very difficult year. During that year, they experienced major and minor health issues, financial issues, and family issues. It seems like it was indeed an incredibly difficult time. The mom became very emotional as she recounted each setback in surprising detail.

As she was nearing the end of her story, I had to remind myself that these events were crippling, but they happened over ten years ago.

She needs to let go. The past has paralyzed her present.


This morning, I started off to Indy, armed with my CD's. But the CD refused to go into the CD player. Apparently, the CD player in my car does not work. If anyone is familiar with my new-to-me car, that should not come as a surprise. As I kept trying to push that CD into the slot, I felt a nudge to stop and let it go. I felt a nudge to move on.

I wasn't meant to wallow today. Its great to look back on life and see how God has helped me overcome difficult times. But that stuff happened years ago. I need to be experiencing God now, not relying on my past experiences to feel God's presence.

Hopeless Eyes

Dear Hopeless Eyes,

I just met you this week, but I've known ones like you before. You didn't talk at first so we played with toy cars. You spilled your chocolate milk and froze, anticipating what would come next. But I didn't get mad. We cleaned it up with kleenex because that's all we had. Maybe that's when you decided that you could trust me. All of a sudden, you tore back the layers and let me see into your young soul. It's like you knew that maybe if you risked honesty, something might change, life might not hurt so much. This was your chance, and you stepped out warily at first.

Thank you for taking that chance. You are so brave.

You are too young to understand things like policy and politics, but as you get older, you'll discover that in life some things just don't make sense. I am so sorry that you have been hurt. More than anything else, know that I heard you. Know that I believe you. I think about you a lot, hoping you are safe. Know that there are a whole lot of people that care about you.

Always remember that what happens inside those four walls is never a secret. I know that you are taught to listen to adults and do what they say. So it's awfully confusing when adults do things that they shouldn't. Adults are not perfect. Sometimes they make mistakes, but they should never hurt you. It's never your fault.

I wish I could promise you that it will never happen again. I wish I could promise you that things will get better. I am sorry that I can't. But I will promise that I will do all that I can to make sure that you are safe. I will do all that I can to help things get better.  And I will listen to you.

As life goes on, don't carry burdens that belong on bigger shoulders than yours. Believe in what life can be and break all kinds of molds. Look beyond your windows and see what family can be, what it should be. Trust that voice inside you that whispers what is right and what is wrong. You hear it already. 

And may your eyes find true Hope.