My present job is working at a domestic violence shelter. I almost hesitate to tell people where I work because it always brings a response of, "Wow! I could NEVER do that! You must be so special!" or "Wow! What an incredible difference you make!" Thing is, when it is your life . . . it doesn't feel like I'm that special, or that a huge difference is made--at least not at my ground-level vision. In fact, just like my group home jobs of the past when I supported adults and children with special needs and intellectual disabilities, I would cringe at the comments of how "only special people can do that work," and try hard to restrain myself from my speech of inclusiveness. Anyways . . .
As I take a hotline call, or complete an intake, or work to resolve an issue for one of these people I serve, my heart aches very often for them. There's a level of connection in how I see myself years ago in their eyes, but for entirely different reasons. My PTSD and past struggles does not compare in the least and does not negate their experiences, but I can see the raw reality of what abuse does in just their eyes.
Broken. When I see, or hear the tears and the fears and the confusion of what to do . . . I see myself years ago. A part of my current journey I am on has been meeting with my counselor and plodding through the muck to get to better ground. In many ways my brokenness has just been patched up or left as-is. Those are the areas I'm choosing to focus on, which is not easy. My eating disorder treatment shed light on my lack of emotional intelligence, for example. A recent reflection on the fruit of the spirit showed me how I have a high level of patience to a fault, but severely lack gentleness and peace is forever fleeting because the undertow of anxiety that my past has brought prevents me from tranquility and calmness. I can see these things in their eyes and I wish I could do more than just give them a place to lay their head for a short period of time. I also think of who saw it in my eyes and how they helped me and I wonder, years later, if this chance meeting for an hour will have been so impactful that they remember. You never really know the impact you're making or you have made in someone's life.
Battered. I could get into the physical hurt I see come into the doors, but that's not mine to share. Instead, I hear it in a voice and see it in the eyes. Hurt people bleed in other ways than physically and it is very hard to not let it take your breath away. So many people would find it easy to deny seeing, or even push those people away. Like the homeless panhandlers on the side of the road, which is so common to see in Waco. They stand for hours with a sign they reuse and avoid eye contact with you because looking into the eyes reveals the bruises of the heart. I am reminded how I used to avoid eye contact, sometimes I still do, because the person may see too much of what I don't want anyone to see. I'd love to say, "God sees what you went through," but it is not my place. Instead, I live out what I believe in my actions . . . the quote by an unknown person rings true, "Preach the Gospel at all times, sometimes use words." There's also a reality that we all have a certain amount of a battered heart, but for many different reasons. It can be so easy for us to dismiss one reason and embrace others but our denial of the cause does not negate the reality of it for that person. I know because so many in my life had denied the reality of my own causes. Sometimes I think it is easier for people to deny the cause because acknowledging it challenges their worldview and beliefs. I remember a time when it challenged mine so much that I actually wrestled with Christianity and whether or not I still believed in this God--even in spite of the battered heart I had. I was angry, but some how I actually never dealt with anger towards God like many often do. Instead, I felt abandoned. I don't know which is worse, but I can tell you the pain of feeling like the God you believed in abandoned you and I hope you never are in that place; it is a dark, lonely, evil place. I am thankful though for having been there because I realized Who God really is and reconciled my pain and the tension a battered heart can have with a Good God who loves me.
Hope-full. There's a glimpse sometimes I see in these people at work where hope seems gone. Whether it is life that's beat them down, or the abuser or their circumstances hope seems gone. Sometimes it takes one person to help them form a goal that ignites in them a flicker of hope again. This takes me back to days deep in my PTSD and depression where life was happiless, hopeless, and helpless--not worth living at all. There's a darkness that overcasts you when you have lost hope and it is so hard to see in someone. Then, I think of the people who broke through that for me and reached out to me and shared a hope they had. In my case, the Gospel was shared with me by a 9th grade classmate named Kelly. In college, another person that broke through the hopeless veil was Pastor Fred. And later on in my 20s it was a great therapist named Julie. These three people broke through moments of hopelessness in my life where the darkness could have won and overtaken, but for their hope lighting a glimmer in my heart it didn't. So I find myself intentionally working to increase my hope more than I had yesterday so that I have enough to ignite a tiny glimmer in one person at work. I need to be hope-FULL so that someone could become hopeful.
This is just one piece of my present life right now while I'm here on this Abraham Journey. I enjoy it, and I know it has nothing to do with me and how "special" I am, but everything to do with the fact that I am called to make the most of every moment and preach the gospel at all times--even in my actions.
