Isn't it Ironic? Invisible Blog: 3/7/13

Irony is one of my favorite literary devices, probably because it evokes smirks and surprises, both of which I enjoy. Strangely enough, though, irony is an element that one can appreciate much better objectively from a distance rather than finding oneself a victim of it.

Three weekends ago, feeling bogged down by a difficult job and health problems, God put it on my heart to pursue the discipline of gratitude. Little did I know what I was about to experience. The week following this nudge was probably the most challenging week I have had so far at my job, full of conflict and heaviness. Tuesday night I collapsed into my floor, a puddle of tears, and God reminded me of what He had spoken to me the previous weekend. In an attitude of desperation, with an aside of sighs and a furrowed, determined brow, I took an action-oriented approach and drove to the nearest Barnes and Noble and purchased two items  - 1000 Gifts and a journal.

Little did I know that the discipline of giving thanks would be the key to my survival. Feeling tired, weak, and overwhelmed, I decided to take time each day to thank God for the gifts He had given me that day. Initially, it was an exercise that my heart was hardly in. I mechanically thanked God for the hard lessons of loving kids that spewed anger, distrust, and hatred toward me. Then, I thanked God for the simple and oftentimes forgotten wonders, like sunsets and dark chocolate. My observations and reasons for thanks multiplied exponentially. Over time, I began to perceive a change - my joy was growing. I saw God's goodness and kindness cover my circumstances.

And then it hit me today, as I am overflowing with gratitude and awe. I am closer to reality than I ever have been, because I see how small I am and how great God is to shape this little life for imparting love in the hard places. It all points back to Jesus.

Allow me to share some of my breakthroughs of gratitude with you:
1. God is being so kind to take me through this season of being unseen. It's a word He spoke to me for this year. He is humbling me low and taking me away from the notice of others. This is stripping me of a lifelong struggle of finding my sense of worth in other's approval.
2. God is teaching me the deepest lessons in the hard, risky places. Every day is a risk, because I have no clue what I will face in the work He has given me. In that, though, I'm experiencing the necessity of walking in full dependence on Jesus' grace and strength. As each day begins, I'm walking in the reality of "if-He-doesn't-show-up-I'm-screwed".
3. God is answering prayers I have been praying for years for my family for them to have open eyes and hearts and see the reality of His love for them.
4. God is teaching me how to take time to rest, also a lesson in humility.

Just scratching the surface, here.

Freeing to be Small: Lessons from Children and Changes

A dam has broken in me.

It all started with an unwelcome change. I had been plugging away as the adult faith-based therapist at a mental health hospital and was content to stay. Actually, I was more than content; I was honored to stay. I was honored to have a front row seat to people's journeys of recovery and healing; I was honored to share the truth of the gospel with them and pray with them. Then, something changed very unexpectedly. Due to some shifts in the hospital, I was wedged out of my well-loved position and into another. With practically no experience with children in a therapeutic setting, I stepped into the position of latency therapist, working with children ages 5-12 in a group setting, facing their rage and opposition in a way I had never seen before.

I was disappointed, sad, scared, and utterly confused about the change. I questioned God with all my might because in my understanding it made absolutely no sense. Apart from the hospital administration's reasoning, I knew God was sovereign in the situation. But His plan was baffling to me.

I spent six months praying, learning, reading, (sometimes) crying, taking deep breaths, and asking lots of questions. I set my face like flint toward the task of loving and guiding these kids, taking one day at a time and not having a clue what I was doing. Some days, I felt peace and confidence and experienced bits of encouragement. Many days, though, I felt frazzled, scared, and overwhelmed. I feared not helping, and even harming them, with my uncertainty and ignorance.

I experienced kids screaming and yelling at me, spewing words of hatred at me, staring me down, running away from me (and having to chase them down to protect them), lying boldfaced to me, sneaking around behind my back, cursing at me, and trying to hurt me. Many days I struggled to really love them and not just see them as a problem. For at least three (maybe more) of those six months, I was in survival mode and mustered up small amounts of care and concern in my heart for them (which was not much) and begged God for more.

Something, though, changed in me during that period of time. I know that because over a week ago, I was offered the adult women's therapist position and felt torn in my heart. I accepted the position because I knew it was the best decision, but since then, I have faced some grief and sadness about saying goodbye to the kids. Ironically, I  have come to a point of feeling confident in the structure I have established for them and our relationships together. I have grown to love them, and they have grown to love me. Of course, it would be now that I have to say goodbye.

When I first started working with the kids, I made many comments that working with children is difficult because they don't give you feedback the way adults do. But one thing I have learned is - they do; it just looks different. It was so hard to watch their reactions when I broke the news to them that I was leaving - they were very sad and disappointed. One girl in particular, who has had little (if any) support in her life, broke my heart. She had drawn many pictures for me and had become attached to me. When she looked me in the eyes and asked me "Do you have to go?", it was all I could do to keep from crying.

We made cards for each other on my last day.

I can honestly say with all genuineness that I love those kids deeply and will not forget them. I pray that the love of Jesus would guard them and keep them. I am so thankful for the gift they have given me. I am thankful for the opportunity I had to love them through caring concern and discipline. I am thankful for their vulnerability in trusting me and letting me into their lives. I am thankful for the six months that I was ripped from the world that I had known and transplanted into theirs. It was painful and SO worth it. I would not trade those six months for the world.

I am now entering a new unknown season (of many, I know). I will start as the full-time adult women's therapist at the hospital this coming week. And very soon, I will start my new position (which in itself is a gift from God and a very cool story) as a contract counselor with New Friends New Life, conducting sexual abuse recovery groups for abused and trafficked teens in Dallas juvenile detention centers. I am very grateful that God is giving me the chance to represent Him in so many places and know His love in a deeper way. I am a slight conduit, and Jesus is the waterfall. It's freeing to be small.

"Be comforted...it is no doing of yours. You are not great, though you could have prevented a thing so great that Deep Heaven sees it with amazement. Be comforted, small one, in your smallness. He lays no merit on you. Receive and be glad. Have no fear, lest your shoulders be bearing this world."
-C.S. Lewis, Perelandra

On Tempers and Tantrums: Lessons Learned from Therapy with Children

Children are more like adults than we think. They are the raw, unrefined form of us. I can hardly count the number of times I've looked at a child and sincerely asked him/her, "Why did you do that?" Why did you hit your sister? Why did you scream at mom and dad? Why did you throw a fit at bedtime? The responses are typical. "I didn't want to do this...I wanted to do that." Many times I will hear "because I want what I want." Seriously, kids say this to me all the time. In some ways, it's sobering. In other ways, it's refreshing.

It's sobering because kids are clearly plagued by the same problem as adults, a preoccupation with self. This self-centeredness marks their actions and behaviors and has the capacity to do a great deal of harm to their families, just like adults. It's refreshing because they haven't figured out how to lie and manipulate a situation to go their way, or if they have, they're usually not very good at it yet. I can see through their game and call them on it. Unfortunately, adults have the same self-centered impulse as children but tend to be much better at lying and manipulation to get what they want. They may not hit, scream, and throw fits (or they may - many adults do), but they can subtly subvert reality to work in their favor.

I have learned a great deal about love since working with children. Doing therapy with children is so different from therapy with adults that it has taken me on a very unexpected, eye-opening journey. I have realized that clearly establishing expectations and saying "no" are two of the kindest things I can do for children, not to mention practicing discipline. I aim to do formative and corrective discipline. Formative discipline is the instructive component of what I do, training them in appropriate ways of acting and interacting. This is largely peaceable. But when necessary (and it often is), I practice corrective discipline (marks, time outs, etc.) to let the children know their limits, to protect them from hurting themselves or each other. This is when I am faced with tempers and tantrums - crying, screaming, yelling, kicking, biting. I am fortunate to have support staff to help me with these. Strangely enough, I have come to expect tantrums and know that it means I'm doing the best I can for these kids. I want to encourage them, listen to them, support them - these acts show them love. But I'm really surprised by my experience of how much discipline shows them love, as I see them feel safe and comfortable in the structure I have established for them.

Children have taught me a lot about simplicity. They say what they think and mean what they say. In a world of adults constantly trying to say things a certain way or say what they're supposed to say, it is a relief to be in a black and white world with children. God keeps reminding me that His kingdom belongs to little children. While I may be resistant to working with children, because I think my strengths are more useful elsewhere (with adolescents or adults), He reminds me of how valuable my work with them is. I am greeting these kids at a formative time in their lives, and if I can reach them as children, maybe I can be one of those figures in their lives that impacts the kind of adults they become.

One of the sacrifices I have had to make in working with children is letting go of receiving approval or feedback. Working with adults, I could hear responses of how I was helping them with particular wisdom or insight for their lives. Children cannot give me the same kind of feedback. I have to be content to do and say all the good, truthful things I can, hoping and praying that something sticks. That they see love in me, even if they never acknowledge it. My supervisor calls me Johnny Appleseed, an apt description. I'm planting seeds without knowing what growth they will produce, praying with all my heart that God sovereignly gives them growth, guiding and transforming these young souls.

God has told me that I am in a season of being unseen. He is revealing to me that it does not matter if anyone sees or acknowledges me but Him, and in fact, He is purposefully taking me away from being seen in order to prune my desires and motives. This is a painful, humbling process of dying to the self that wants so much to be acknowledged. But I am thankful that the same formative and corrective discipline that I give the children entrusted to me is offered to me from a loving Father.