Orphanages Do Exist

This morning I was thinking about what a privilege God has given me in my career. Working with women in residential treatment has changed my life.  

I grew up in a somewhat affluent white suburban town. I went to a pretty much all white Dutch encased church and Christian school for my growing up years. I continued in this setting for college. I did not see this as a blessing at the time. It was simply normal for me. 

I remember as I got older wanting to get out of "it" and away. I had a sensitivity to and a curiosity about the fringes of this life. 

When I was twelve I recall thinking that some day I was going to work in an orphanage (until that idea was squelched by an older naysayer at the school I went to).

"Orphanages don't exist," I was admonished through pursed lips during a college-readiness meeting. I felt ashamed by my stupidity.

I remember where I was sitting and the expression on the staff's face as if it happened, yesterday.

I now know that this woman was orphaned in a different sense of the word, and didn't have the capacity to see otherwise.

I also have the privilege of my adult self being able to tell that afraid, bold, skinny girl, "Orphanages do exist, Dee. Most of us will have lived there in one way or another. You'll see. The whole lot of us feel displaced and abandoned at times. You'll work there. Put your chin up and keep your dream alive, girl. God is going to use your sensitivity, insight, and passion to make a difference."

So, here I am. Working at an "orphanage."

I am weary of it at times. The moral, physical, emotional, and mental decay feel like they're going to swallow me. 

I am standing in war-torn territory, believe me. It is a spiritual battle on the daily.

I feel I've made a difference and yet no difference at all. The crises feel bigger than any progress.

The needs are gut level. The stories, horrific. The trauma, real.

My own insecurities and insufficiency rise up more than I want to admit. I am challenged on a personal level all the time. 

Don't respond. Respond. Let it go. Care. Be empathic. Smile. Get up. Hope. Rest. Walk away. Forgive. Forgive yourself. Forgive them. Show compassion. Detach.

Why am I triggered? What is going on within me? No time for that now. I've got work to do.

I am told about a ghastly rape.

I am sitting next to someone self-harming with a plastic spoon.

I am placing a pillow behind a woman banging her head.

I am sharing a high five for a victory.

I am trying not to cry as I hear graduation speeches.

I am riding in the ambulance with a suicidal adolescent to the emergency room.

I watch a young adult throw a chair across a room because she wants to go back home to her dad who fathered the child she aborted a few weeks before coming to us.

I share a laugh with several residents during breakfast. 

I hear about the reconciliation of a marriage and a relationship between a mom and her daughter.

I celebrate 30 day sobriety dates, birthdays, and resident talent shows.

I take my aging body and sit on the floor next to women with broken hearts.

I hear about the kind of loss and grief that never get expressed in the church pew or on the suburban sidewalk.

I get to be a part of embracing real, raw, and vulnerable. I get to see shame, squashed.

The most treasured are the times when I get to talk about God and pray with someone.

I am humbled by this orphanage. I am changed for the better because of it. It has taught, stretched, and grown me.

It.

But really, they.

The people.

*

I now can appreciate the blessings of the way that I grew up and the things that God kept me from. I was able to develop with two feet on the ground.

Part of Luke 12:48 says that when much has been given, much will be expected in return. I have often thought of that over the years.

I don't want to give the impression that I always had things easy because I didn't. The point is that even within an imperfect home, church, school, faith, and overall culture, there was good. 

And, not but, I am (so) thankful for the places God has taken me both within and outside of that experience.

The places of pain - fringes, corners, and back alleys of life - the "orphanages" - are experienced by all of us.

Those are the places where the holy happens.

Those are the places where Jesus weeps and where we see His heart, best.

I marvel that I get to be in those spaces. It's a humbling privilege.

Hard, but okay.

I hope I can remain teachable till my last breath. I am hopeless without Him.

I pray that Jesus gives me what I need to keep walking in the holy places where people are hurting for real.

I won't just learn His heart or see His tears. No.

I serve a risen King and He redeems. Holy places are holy because He is holy. May I be cognizant of that with His help.

*

Orphanages do exist and I get to work in one.