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| Last night when I worked I had "hall duty" for a portion of my shift. This means I wander the hall making sure my boys are asleep, or at least quiet in their rooms. There is a pastime I like to participate in whilst on hall duty. I love to pray over them while they sleep. To some, that may sound creepy, but I absolutely love it. I pray that God is changing them in their sleep, and a willingness to work on their treatment, for themselves, and for those they will encounter for the rest of their lives, and for their victims. For the ultimate Glory of God, since He has this ability to work all things for His Glory. Even these kids and their pasts...and what they can do with their futures. I pray for their dreams. That God would protect them And I've noticed this: my heart is softened when I see them slumbering away. There is such innocence. They're kids again. I forget this. At times I focus on the seriousness, the adult-ness of their crimes, and my heart hardens, like clay left out in the sun. Sometimes I just forget. There is such a stark difference when I walk into the cottage and I see boys playing with cars. They make grumbling noises, they revv the engine in their imaginative minds. And then we can tell them "no", and they flip a table like it's a stack of playing cards. It will always make me cock my head sideways and wonder why. Why were they treated horribly as kids? Why did they need to be copycats? Will they get better? Why didn't they get to be kids? ...when will they grow up? Last night I saw a boy who the night before had kicked me in the leg out of rage and frustration sleeping soundly. He'd twisted and turned in his sleep, vivid dreams made him thrash, and his covers lay everywhere but his body. There was this motherly instinct to cover him up. I love these boys. Suddenly my clay had been warmed up in God's hands; more moldeable than it is sometimes. I am so thankful that He changes us. Press On. Phil. 3:13-14 | | |
| I've gathered in my twenty four measly years of life that the bathtub is a perfectly exceptional place to sit and think.
I remember many a tub hangout times with my laptop, or a book, and my thoughts in South Africa. I remember thinking how ridiculous it was that the bathtubs were so long. Then again, Afrikaners are kinda lanky. I remember trying to sort through an enormous list of things in my past I think at the time I only had a tiny understanding of the implications they meant for my adult life. Your past sure complicates your future sometimes.
The night before I left South Africa, I took a bath at 2:30 in the morning because I was cold I think. I'd imagine I read Anne Lamott, or simply prayed for God to help me get through the next season of my life.
I used to pretend I was the little Mermaid when I took baths. It's a shame that my hair isn't at all strawberry blond anymore.
Either way, the bathtub is not only the best place to sing "rubber ducky, you're the one", but it's also become the time when I wrestle with God---and the devil.
Tonight I lay in the tub, bubbles engulfing me, and I spoke with God about something I wanted to do, but knew I shouldn't. I told Him that I never wanted to trade something for nothing, which is what I'd be doing if I hurt myself over something. I relayed Truth to myself, letting the words pour over me, and I tried to replace lies with what I know to be true.
I said, "nah, nah nah nah nah" to the devil.
And I did it. We did it. I overcame a temptation that is very real for me.
I know that tonight was a victory I can celebrate, but I often forget that I have to get up and fight again tomorrow.
Here goes nothin.
Press Onward.
Phil. 3:13-14
-Becca
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Well, I'm not a writer.
But I think I'm ready to pick this part of my life up. . . a little bit anyway.
"I'd expect a non-believer; you're gonna run out of love, you're gonna give me the shove,
'cus that's the thing that lovers do. . .
and then there's You.
You found me cynical and jaded, lifted my mask and lined me up
and when my black eyes had faded. . .
...I've never seen the old age new, and then there's You.
You're the only one who knows my secrets,
Still You're the only one who never leaves, and I wake up to this mystery."
(Caedmon's Call)
I'm choosing to think hard about how He's different. He is not merely man, with a score card of my shortcomings and lackluster effort in following Him- He is man and GOD. Hebrews discusses this in lengthy detail, and I've decided I need to start sifting through that book, to remind myself that although we have a High Priest who is approachable and atones for my sins, He is also the Almighty. I forget that. Seems ludicrous for such a forgetful idea to take root in my mind, but I think sometimes I humanize Him to push Him away and not seek His face, His forgiveness. Shame on me.
I'm not sure how regularly I can get on here because I'm currently stealing my neighbor's internet, and it could go out in any moment. I had more reliable (and faster!) internet in South Africa in the middle of nowhereSmith. Hmph.
Press On.
Phil. 3:13-14
-Becca
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| Maybe I was, but now I am not.
So, goodbye journal for a little while.
I'll be back when life settles down, and I can see straight.
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| I've come to realize something about myself that is embarrassing.
I don't extend grace to the kids I work with sometimes.
When they try to run away and staff have to run after them, and they're squirming, refusing to relax and give up and they spit in my face and then once they're calmed down they expect me to treat them as if they didn't mistreat me. . .That's hard for me to do.
It's hard for me to treat them as if they did not hurt me. It's difficult not to get offended, and then want to punish them. And while to an extent, it's my "job" to punish them, my mental attitude towards them, and how I'd prefer they serve consequences is far harsher.
And then I realized that my own inner-dialogue about myself and how I "should" act (a sense of perfectionism) too often mirrors what I expect the boys to be.
I don't extend Grace to myself, and I'm finding that I have a really difficult time shelling it out to my kids, too.
I'd like to say I'm one of those people who gives others the benefit of the doubt, but when it comes to work, I don't. The boys are offenders in several ways; they have sociopathic tendencies, they can throw things you wouldn't believe, they can be charming; manipulative. They are in a lock-down facility for a reason.
And I'm finding how confused I am with Grace.
Grace and forgiveness seem to give me the same gnawing sensation inside. I understand that forgiveness isn't forgetting what people did, but what am I supposed to do with the understanding that Grace was freely given to me, and that I should freely give it too?
what is the appropriate mindset that I should have when extending Grace? Because I'm a black and white thinker. It's both a horrible thing, and sometimes a good thing. That said, I either think that I must simply forge on and forget someone has done something in order to treat them the same, or simply not extend it.
"It's all about grace".
That's what I heard today.
So, if it's all about grace. . . I clearly have a lot to learn.
-Press On.
Phil. 3:13-14
-Becca
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