The Best Is Yet to Come

And thus begins the deconstruction of my hardened heart,

                    
              as others' pain becomes more important than my own;
             
                                                        as I stop worrying about being right or wrong and just be;

                       as I realize I am as fallible as the next;

as actions become more important than words;

                                         as I learn forgiveness is a process, not immediate;

                 as I learn to love people for who they are and not who I want them to be;

                              as I learn to be content with what I have when I have it;


And while each hardened piece is chipped and melted away, the pang of regret, change, and reality sometimes steals my breath and leaves me trembling. Exposed. Jaded. Disbelieving.


And then a look,

                              a word,

                  an embrace,

        reminds me why I am here

and why I must continue this journey.


Because someone

                 somewhere

                         at some point

will be in these same shoes,

                   And at that time I will be able to say, I've been there too.

                                             Don't give up, the best is yet to come.

                      


                                                     

The Eruption by Jen Abbas at age 18

divorce

is like a trembling earthquake

the world shakes

rumbling with rage

and all the anger

guilt

and all the frustrations

that have been festering for so long

below the surface

suddenly spew upward

in an inferno of hate

or apathy...

at times

the earth calms

and you think

the turmoil is over

settled

stable

but

then the cycle begins again

repeating

repeating

repeating

you are weary

you want to rest

and that is when you realize

the shaking has stopped

but

there is an eerie feeling

lurking in the air

you are hestitant to believe

anything

anymore

you are so tired

after struggling for so long

and so you rest

on the last solid patch of land

only to watch it split in two

two

separate

distinct

parts

that will never

come together

again

each new patch

supports part of you

and as you watch

they pull away.



Less Like Scars

Over the past couple of months, I've slowly been getting to know my neighbors and the ministry they are a part of. They're just a bunch of young people living side by side with their neighbors and loving them in their imperfectness. Tonight I went to the girls' Bible study and met a bunch of the women leaders and neighborhood girls. My old self would have been petrified at the thought of purposefully walking into a room of strangers, but I found myself peacefully excited.

After the Bible study, a bunch of us went to Chick-fil-A for dinner. We sat for over an hour just talking about life, the kids, work, etc. And for the first time in a really, really long time, I felt like I had something in common with them; not just my degree or my religious or political beliefs, but a deep commonality that I haven't experienced in a very long time, if ever. I've met kindred spirits here and there, and I wouldn't necessarily say these girls are kindred spirits. But they're of one heart and one mind when it comes to our Savior and to these kids and our neighborhood... and I share it with them.

There's a song I sang at the one year anniversary of my best friend's death 10 years ago. I found myself listening to it again a few days ago, and I identify with the words now more than I did then. Although I feel like more of life is broken now than it was 10 years ago, I am beginning to find beauty in how He is putting it back together.

Take a minute to watch the video, listen to the lyrics:

"Less Like Scars"

by Sara Groves

 



It's been a hard year, but I'm climbing out of the rubble
These lessons are hard, healing changes are subtle
But every day it's

Less like tearing, more like building
Less like captive, more like willing
Less like breakdown, more like surrender
Less like haunting, more like remember

And I feel you here and you're picking up the pieces

Forever faithful
It seemed out of my hands, a bad situation
But you are able
And in your hands the pain and hurt
Look less like scars and more like character

Less like a prison, more like my room
It's less like a casket, more like a womb
Less like dying, more like transcending
Less like fear, less like an ending

And I feel you here, and you're picking up the pieces
Forever faithful
It seemed out of my hands, a bad situation
But you are able
And in your hands the pain and hurt
Look less like scars

Just a little while ago
I couldn't feel the power or the hope
I couldn't cope, I couldn't feel a thing
Just a little while back
I was desperate, broken, laid out, hoping
You would come

And I need you
And I want you here
And I feel you

And I know you're here
And you're picking up the pieces
Forever faithful
It seemed out of my hands, a bad, bad situation
But you are able

And in your hands the pain and hurt
Look less like scars

And more like character

Insomnia

The sound of the gentle rain calms my fragmented thoughts and soothes my throbbing head. I can't remember the last time I slept through the night or past 6am. I'm starting to accept sleeplessness for what it is.

They say if you can't sleep, you shouldn't lay awake in bed any longer than 20 minutes. Your body gets used to doing other things in bed and begins to associate it with wakefulness. As frustrating as it is waking up hours before I need to, I find this morning to be peaceful.

The sound of the rain mixes with the hum of the train, the soft patter of my neighbors waking up, the sounds of the neighborhood coming to life.

I never take time to just be. Even when I'm not working on a paper or reading an article, music is in the background. There is always some noise to distract from lingering thoughts which dare to intrude unwelcomed by my heart and mind. Maybe its time to confront them head on. Maybe its time to let them come, embrace them for what they are and then let them go.

Maybe then sleep will come and stay.

Discipline

Not gonna lie, I have a hard time with self-discipline sometimes. Homework before fun stuff, take Luna on a walk every day, read instead of watching a show before bed... little things like this which would be better choices... They aren't bad choices, maybe just not the best in that moment.

I've started reading The Road Less Traveled by M. Scott Peck again. He's a very insightful man who talks about a lot of stuff that I've seen in my life and the lives of the kids I work with. The latest chapter on discipline has really opened my eyes to what they deal with in their homes. At The Relatives, we get kids anywhere from 7 to 17 years of age who are homeless, who have run away from home, who have safety concerns at home due to a wide variety of issues, behavioral issues, kids who are between foster care placements, etc. I will more than likely never see these kids again once my internship is done, but I will always remember the stories.

One kid in particular stood out in my mind while reading this chapter on discipline. But before I get to him, let me get into the chapter a little more. Peck basically says we discipline ourselves if we feel we are valuable, if we feel our time is valuable. We learn this value by watching our parents, how they discipline themselves,  how they discipline us, how they love us. He talks about how children learn through consistent interaction with their parents how to behave, what is appropriate and inappropriate, etc. (Really, in order to get the full idea, go get the book. I highly recommend it anyway.)

It's a little difficult to explain why this brough specific clients to mind, but basically, we see so many kids who are undisciplined and disrespectful and don't care to behave otherwise. Their sense of correct behavior is just as strong as mine, which entails respect, honesty, empathy, etc. The 17 year old who thought it was okay to make fun of a 13 year old boy just because he laughed at the jokes didn't understand why his behavior was unacceptable. I had to explain that just because someone is laughing, it doesn't mean he actually thinks it's funny. Something which seems so basic and common sense to me was a foreign concept to him, probably because his parents modeled disrespectful behavior infront of him.

I think of another client who's mother didn't want to deal with him anymore, so she went to the magistrate to have him involuntarily committed to the behavioral health center (the inpatient and outpatient mental health and behavioral facility). The sherriff's office came to pick  him up, and they took him out to the squad car in front of all the other clients and staff and 20 something volunteers. They didn't even let him eat the homemade meal the volunteers spent all day preparing. What kind of message does that send to this 15 year old? "Your mother doesn't want you anymore, so she's having you admitted to a mental health facility, even though there's nothing wrong with you." And the worst part about it, the sherriff explained to him that he didn't do anything wrong, he wasn't in trouble. He replied, "Oh, I know. I've been through this before." When I heard that, my heart broke. What on earth had this kid been through for him to learn at such an early age that he cannot count on his mother to be there for him, that he's on his own. The only person he can depend on is himself. After 15 years of consistent emotional, physical, mental neglect, what else should he be expected to believe?

I'm beginning to realize even the small decisions are important when it comes to discipline. Delayed gratification, mentally, emotionally, and physically caring for myself, caring for others... I will spend time on what I feel to be important, and since I have such an incredibly limited amount of time with these kids, I feel a great urgency to spend my time loving them. It's not my job to fix them or make them respect eachother. It's my job to love them. If I can model appropriate behavior infront of them, maybe then they'll realize there's a different way of behaving which may be healthier in the long run. If that means disciplining myself by doing little things like waking up the first time my alarm goes off or taking daily walks, then I think that's a very small price to pay.

The Mistakes of Our Fathers

I went home this past week to be with my family for Christmas. It's still hard to split my time between my parents, and I still tiptoe around the topic of one when I'm with the other. I had a confrontation of sorts with my dad one day. It's really difficult to believe someone has truly chosen something which isn't in his or her best interest, but no matter how many different ways you explain it, it goes in one ear and out the other. I hate feeling like he listens to everyone else but his children. But at the end of the day, its his choice, its his life. I cannot choose for him, and I really wish I could have faith that he's making the right decision. I think one of the hardest things is to suddenly one day realize your parents are people just like you and me. They make mistakes, they have baggage, and they're broken, too.

So many times their brokenness and baggage gets passed down from generation to generation, which creates a cycle of destructive behavior and abuse if its not handled correctly. I look around me and see so many people who have been through much worse things than I have, and I wonder how they're still walking and breathing today. Sometimes I think its a miracle we turn out as whole as we do.

I am so thankful my parents don't put me in the middle or use me against eachother... I cannot imagine how difficult and heartbreaking that must be. But no matter how much I disagree with so many of their choices, I'm learning that good or bad, those were their choices and now we all deal with the consequences. I've definitely learned from their mistakes, and I pray certain aspects of both sides of my family do not carry on through me in the future. My mother wanted those things to end with her and my dad, and maybe the end result is the divorce. Maybe my brother and I had to go through this with them in order to learn from their mistakes and not allow those things to carry on past us. I will not pass those things on to any children I may have in the future.

I have so many thoughts on cycles of poverty, abuse, lack of education, etc. I get so frustrated with parents of our kids at my internship, but I have to realize many times these parents are doing the best they can. I have to wonder what kind of parents they grew up with. Considering their parents behavior, anything better than that, although not healthy and constructive, is probably considered okay as long as they aren't treating their kids as poorly as they were treated as children. Does that make sense?

It's late and I'm rambling now, but maybe someone can understand my ramblings and hopefully identify with them. I'd love to hear your thoughts either way. Leave a comment, I'll respond. Let's dialogue with eachother.

No Apologies, No Regrets

It's been a while since I've really felt the sting of believing differently than others, of living on the sidelines. Sidelines meaning outside what popular, modern day culture believes. It's uncomfortable, and it's lonely, but I will not be wavered. I cannot be wavered. And I will not apologize.