I've Moved

I change my mind a lot.

You can find me at http://beautifulanddirtydirtypoor.blogspot.com/

(It's a play on Lady Gaga's "Beautiful, Dirty, Rich"... I'm SO clever)

Level Ground

This weekend has been an emotional one, but it was one in which things that had happened in my past could be used to reach out to a hurting heart.

Drug addiction is ugly. Sharing life with teens who have been overcome by addiction is perhaps even more heartbreaking because as an outsider, I cannot ignore all the potential/promise that is being crushed.

Both days this weekend I spent some time visiting a young women in detox. Meth has had her on a string for four years now. She told me that every time she pushes against it, "it" pushes back harder. She's been fighting and is exhausted. There were very real moments during our visit that left me completely speechless. I refuse to give cliche advise/words of encouragement. It is condescending and sets progress two steps back. I prayed the whole drive into Vancouver- my goal was to sit and listen and let God do the talking.

I cannot count the times that the Spirit has come upon me and given me words to speak. Many times I feel like I am sitting to the side and listening to the words coming from my mouth. I remember talking to one of my girls as she was preparing to move out. With tears in her eyes, she told me that she had never come across a person like me before.

"When I speak, you just listen and even though you haven't been through what I have been through, you get it. I feel like you understand what I am saying and feeling. I used to always tell people who have never had addictions that they had no clue what I was going through... I never could use that line on you, and I don't know why. I don't get how you could understand, but it is obvious you do."

I am nt patting myself on the back. Like Kim, who commented on my previous post said, I am helpless. I am dealing with my own emotions. Never having touched drugs does not put me in a place to help girls with severe addictions. I was a straight A student in high school. All I did during my teen years was homework. How the heck does a person like me relate to a girl who is involved in a gang? Working the streets? Dealing drugs? Pimping out her "friends"? Constantly in and out of jail for assault?

I can't.

I know I am not equipped in any way to even begin to help these girls.

But God does. I am not here for any other reason but that God sees me as a person he can use to help these girls. He loves to run counter to logical thought. There is no doubt in me that any and every "success" belongs to him. My head doesn't get bigger each time I see a something take hold; instead, I am brought to my knees. My God is incredible! I get to bear witness to him reaching out to these hurting girls and give them exactly what they need!

Over a year ago I went to a seminar in East Vancouver at "Jacobs Well" that was aimed at caring for the marginalized. One of the images that really stuck with me was the need to approach all you do on "level ground." Our culture and human nature tends to dehumanize the needy. We come in on our high horses and expect that we'll make a big difference with "those needy little people." Joyce painted this image of "us" standing up on a pedestal handing down our charity to "them." She warned that in taking such an approach, you put yourself at risk for being used. It breaks a human spirit to be treated as "charity" and/or be pitied; moreover, in taking this approach, you'll miss out on being transformed by the experience.

Real relationships are two-way. It is cocky and condescending to approach any relationship as the "saviour." The people you deal with will shut down. They'll close their hearts and put out their hands.

A few years ago, I was in a very dark place. The depression was debilitating. I felt ashamed when Scotty would come home from work and I would still be in my pajamas. I didn't care about my future. Everything appeared grey. I just felt exhausted and really believed I would never see "colour" again.

On Saturday, in front of Starbucks and a complete stranger (the detox worker who could not let this young woman out of her sight), I burst into tears. She told me that she just didn't care about life anymore. This young woman didn't have a shred of hope in her eyes as she spoke so numbly about how she really felt. I sat an listened until she was silent for a long time.

Then I opened my mouth.

The spirit came upon me and I was reminded of that dark place I had been in. That dark place that made it exhausting to live. I stared her in the eyes, and through sobs told her that I knew exactly how she felt. I really had been there and it was hell. Pure hell.

It was the most eye contact she gave me during that visit. I had her attention. God was using my pain to speak to her heart. He was using my tears to show humility. He used my brokenness to make her feel understood.

I didn't come in on a white horse. I crawled right beside her.

I gained much healing from that experience. God has placed each and every one of these young women in my life. I have learned so much. I have been inspired by their strength. Their role in my life has transformed the person that I am, and continues to do so.

God helps me meet these girls where they are. I am not "all-together." I never will be (I don't know one person who is), but God fills the cracks, the gaping holes- and gets down on His hands and knees right there beside us.

Pulled.

I have really been exploring what it means to do the small things with great love.

I have been pretty closed-off about work on my blog because I don't want to infringe on any of my girls' privacy, but there are many stories of courage and strength, of struggle and heartbreak-- it may do more harm to not share them.

Three weeks ago, I crashed on a friend's visit with some people I had never met... luckily this friend is the most welcoming person ever and just pulled up a chair for me and introduced me to her friends. Within minutes I was talking non-stop about my work. I completely lost track of time. It was nearly midnight when I got in my car to drive home.

What's funny is that I don't often talk about work.

I'll say bits and pieces here and there, but a lot of stuff happens and I won't even come home and tell Scotty about my day. Working 60+ hrs a week isn't bad... what gets me is the emotional toll it has on me.

I've worked with 23 young women over the past 2 and a (nearly) half years, and I have 23 life-stories that could bring a person to their knees in sorrow.

There are a lot of things that make my blood boil. Things that have been done to these beautiful young women that they never deserved... that have left huge scars. That have crushed their hopes.

Each of these young women has touched my soul. Each one has left a mark on my heart.

Being witness to their scars leaves me feeling empty. Helpless and often hopeless.

After hearing their stories and looking into their eyes, it seems impossible to say, "don't worry God has a plan for your life." It isn't that I don't believe that they have potential: any person who can survive what they have has more strength than I can ever hope to have. What I struggle with is the odds. The odds are stacked against them.

My stomach is always in knots. I often try to avoid talking about work as some sort of denial. It is so easy to lose sight of God in all of it because it is in the absence of God that these horrors were/are done to them.

Hopelessness is contagious. I catch it alot.

The other night as I was talking to one of my former coworkers, she shook her head and said,"I often wonder is this is really what I want to do for a career." That struck a chord with me. I often joke that I will become an interior designer, dolphin trainer, or beach bum when I have my "break-down." Everywhere I turn is heartbreak. Problems that cannot easily be solved. Addictions that never fully go away...

And I can say that every time... EVERY TIME I start to think that way, a still small voice says the same thing to me:

"If you stop working in this area, the heartbreak won't change- it will be there whether you choose to work with it or not. The only factor that will change if you leave is you: you will be choosing to close your eyes to it."

A career change won't change their stories. There will always be pain, heartache and deep scars. I have control over nothing. As we stood in the kitchen and chatted- we both came to the same conclusion: we're here because we're supposed to be. We could both pinpoint moments in our lives in which God revealed we were EXACTLY where God wants us.

There are so many days that I feel I am not doing enough; further, there are days that I feel I am not doing any good. I feel frustrated and discouraged ALL THE TIME.

As I drove home, I burst into tears as I surrendered my life to my God for the thousandth time. While I don't understand my part in it- I cannot deny that God has placed me here. I continue to show up, and no matter how hard it gets, I can't see myself leaving. I feel an irresistible pull to this job that defies all logic, and I know that it is Him taking my hand and leading me to these girls whose stories have broken His heart as well. He asks me to be His hands and His feet. He's working in their hearts, and I am but a tiny piece of the puzzle in their lives. I cannot see what is being done within them and I have to be okay with that. I have to trust even though I don't understand... even though I don't see the bigger picture.

Mother Teresa once said: "God doesn't call us to be successful. He call's us to be faithful."

It's not my place to heal the brokenness, to get an addict clean, to explain "why this had to happen to you." My place is to serve. To keep coming back. To continually surrender to Him.

I am learning. God is not only moving through me, but he's moving within me. I am broken and made new over and over again.

And through it all I am made stronger.

Hope

I am thirsty.

I am tired.

I am overwhelmed. Stressed. Sick.

The hunger no longer hurts. I am numb and cold and know I am near death.



Then-- I hear a knock.



I open the door and am surrounded in warmth. Healing hands grab hold of me and begin doing their work. I am fed. Water pours over me and removes the filth. My burdens are lifted.

My pain is gone.

I am the soul, and I have been made new.

Sometimes it's Just an Apple

Blogs can be funny. I am sure that everyone who writes one feels silly on a regular basis, wondering why the heck they have one, and whether anyone really reads it.

But sometimes it is just so right. Sometimes we have something important to say. Sometimes it touches people deeply, and starts to stir something in their hearts.

That is exactly what my friend Ashley's latest post is.

My Mother Teresa mantra slides right in beside this post, and has got me thinking about how we don't like to approach any problem unless we can solve it.

Ashley didn't, she just did something small.

But what if she did that small thing often? What would that do?

She wouldn't burn herself out. She couldn't use the excuse of lacking time and/or money.

But she could share with someone who needs something. It would inevitibly trickle into the rest of her life because she would stop trying to solve the problem, but instead, live in the moment and do what she can at that moment. She would be more attuned to needs and see ways that she could do the "small things with great love."

And if it caught on with her friends, what then?

There is a stirring in my spirit, to get over myself, to find no act to small, to act now with whatever I can.

Sometimes love is just an apple given to a hungry person. Sometimes those little things have the ability to transform not only the people involved, but the witnesses as well.

Meet Mowgli

In my heartbreak, I found love. In my tears I found generosity.

And it came from someone I hardly know.

I have been feeling sick to my stomach over losing Hanzel. His death came so suddenly, without warning, and has left me feeling broken.

My job has grown. Not only am I managing a group home, but I am also helping run a guys home and have just added support/one to one worker to my resume. I am working with a girl who has just "aged out" of the system, and is now an adult living on semi-independent living.

I only met her just over a month ago, and have only logged a handful of hours actually getting to know her.

But she showed me HUGE love just last week.

I love the quote by mother Teresa that says: "we can do no great things, only small things with great love." It has been my
"mantra" if you will, at my job. So many of the situations that I find myself working in are so messy and the stories so heart-breaking, that I am often left feeling so small, helpless and completely overwhelmed.

And that is where he enter and whispers "love big... period."

But last week, he used a practical stranger, who I've been hired to work with, to teach me a thing or two about "small things with great love."

At the beginning of the year, her cat had a litter of kittens. She picked out her favourite, and sold his four other brother and sisters (to cover the cost of vet bills). When I showed up at her door and told her of my heart break, she lunged at me and embraced me in a big hug.

Her empathy was comforting, and while she knew me least- I felt she understood me most. The next day she gave me a card she had made and told me that she wanted me to take her kitten "because he will make you happy."


I burst into tears at her generosity, and she seemed somewhat confused.

What seemed to me to be such a huge sacrifice on her part came so naturally to her, that she didn't think it to be a big deal.

I tried to pay her, to at least cover the vet bills, but she would have none of it.

When I said, "why are you being so generous when you don't have any money?" (side note: she really doesn't- I help her with her meager finances), she simply shrugged and said "I don't know, I just know you should have him."

Her small thing touched me so deeply. Getting something form someone who has nothing will do that to a person.



But having someone give you something, or do something for you without the conviction of sacrifice on their behalf, and to do it simply for you because they see the need...

Well, that's a love I long to live.

Falling On My Knees

My Father is an artist.

His creation gives me goosebumps. It brings me to tears. It removes the words from my mouth. It covers me in emotion. It connects me to my soul. It points me to something deeper.

It brings me to my knees.

I saw this preview while I was in Seattle last month. As soon as the camera pans back on the first scene, my body becomes covered in goosebumps. My hair stands on end, and I am brought to tears.

I don't know what it is. It is so hard to explain, but I think that it at least has something to do with the fact that most of my existence occurs within this man-made bubble. I live under artificial lighting, breathe stale air, stare at TV and computer screens, eat processed food, run on pavement, talk on my cell phone, travel by car, and save money to buy more man-made stuff.

When I see this, I come face to face with the fact that I am not living in my Father's art. He created it for me. I am created to live in it, yet I live in that which is making me sick. I see how I am selling myself short. The bible says that what is on earth mirrors what will be in heaven. When I see something like this, I am brought to tears because it awakens my soul. I am brought to my knees because... well, I really cannot put it into words.

I'll let it speak for itself