Sunshine and complete rest

The looney bin typically does not evoke pleasant memories for me. Today's memory, however, is pleasant. When I was taken to Doctor's Behavioral Health, they took me back to a holding cell of sorts, while I waited for the social worker to interview me and decide if I was crazy enough to admit. I had given my phone to Sonja when I checked in since I wasn't allowed to have it with me while I was there and there was literally nothing in the holding room except a bench in front of a barred window. The sun was streaming in through the bars and a sparkling pool was just outside the window. There was nothing to do in the room, so I curled up on the bench and just laid there. The security guard came in and brought me a pillow and a blanket. I snuggled up there in the sun and everything stopped. I didn't have to take care of a thing. No children were clamoring for my attention. No dinner needed to be made. No texts or phone calls were setting off my phone. No relationships needed tending. There was peace and I laid there, not wanting the quiet to end.
Today, I went back there mentally, to the sun, and the warmth and the quiet. Yet even though I turned off my phone for a few hours, life did not stop. The world did not pause for me as it did that day back in August. Relationships still had to be taken care of, children had to be picked up, housework did not go away and dinner did not make itself. And as much as I would never wish myself back in the looney bin, I do wish myself back on that bench, just for a day. A day of nothingness. A day of sunshine and complete rest.

A cog in the machine

I have all the intention in the world of dropping into my grave exhausted, knowing that I have done everything I can, used every resource in my possession and every gift given me to spread the love of Christ to as many as I possibly can. When Christ hung on that cross, when He said "It is finished!" and breathed His last breath, He gave me everything, He gave me His life breath, and in return, I will give Him everything I have.
Sometimes, though, that just doesn't seem like enough. I know, rationally, that it is. I have everything I need to do what God has called me to do. But sometimes, my heart feels so heavy and I think: "Lord! Who is going to reach the rest of them? Who is going to do what I can't do?" I know I am only a tiny cog in a massive machine. Right now, my role is that of Jason's wife, James and Gabby's mother, friend to several. My main outreach is through CITP and the need there is HUGE! I know that I am exactly where I need to be. And yet...
Who is going to go to South Ninth and show the prostitutes and the junkies what true love looks like? I can't. I don't know how. I do not have the experience, or honestly the calling to be effective there. It is a world I know nothing of, but when I think of the broken lives there, of the pain and emptiness that abound, when I hear of missing people and wonder if they are caught up in that world, I weep, but what can I do? Nothing. That is not my calling. Well, I shouldn't say nothing. I pray. I pray and I weep with my Savior because I know that He too sheds many a tear over South Ninth.
And then there are the street kids. How my heart aches for them! How I wish I could open my home, pull each and every one into my arms, and show them what a real, loving family looks like, but I can't. I never liked teens. Even when I was a teen, I didn't like teens. For some reason, as a group, they make me very uncomfortable. But lately, my heart breaks for the young gang members who get sucked into that life because they craving a place to belong! That is NOT right! Where are their parents? How can they neglect their children to that point? Why do children have to go through the terrible things these kids go through and then perpetuate on others? Why? Why? Why? What can I do? Nothing. Well, that is not true. I can love on the teens I know. I can hug the ones I see once or twice a week. I can make a difference in the lives that I come in contact with and pray for a domino effect, that the love they receive from me will be transferred on down the line. And I can pray that God will send out workers into a field I cannot, at least at this time, go to.
And what about the kids, the young ones, the ones who crave love and affection and have not yet reached the bitter stage, but are SO close? What about them? What about the little boy in Gabby's class who talks about killing himself, who hits himself repeatedly and then talks about the zombie games he plays at home? What about him and the hundreds of other children out there who just want to be loved, but there is nothing I can do?! I hate that feeling! I hate standing back and watching and hurting and praying and then sending the child back to a home where love is obviously lacking.
"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest." Matthew 11:28. I haven't even touched on the hundreds of other areas where people are hurting, the mentally ill, families of terminally ill children, abuse survivors, starving people overseas, persecuted Christians, families of inmates, and on and on and on. When the burden becomes this intense, I am thankful for a Savior Who knows my pain and so much more. I am thankful for a Brother who wept over Jerusalem. I am thankful for the fact that I am merely a cog in the machine and that it is not my responsibility to save the world.
So today I weep and I pray. I pray for the faceless throngs of humanity in pain. And then I pray for those who do have faces, because them I can touch, and I get back to work.

A Day in the Life of a CITP Volunteer

"Mom, where am I supposed to sit?” “What do you mean, James?” I look inside the car. Oh, NO!!! We're already running late as it is and I forgot that I had told Jason I would take the food totes from Sunday to storage AND I had left Sunday's clothing donations in the car as well, meaning both back seats of the car are down and there is no room for the kids. Hmm. What to do? What to do? “Alright kids. Hang tight. Let me run this inside.” I grab some of the boxes of utensils, cups, napkins, spices and whatever other mystery food items may be hiding in the boxes. Food isn't my area, so I don't really pay that much attention to what is kept where. I unlock our apartment door, run the boxes and totes into the house, and lock the door again behind me.

“Ok, kids. Hop in. Oh, wait. Let me put your seats up. Hold on.” Pop the seats back into place, and in they climb. I hop behind the wheel, text Sonja to let her know that I'm running late (again!) and off I go. My phone dings as I head down the road, over and over and over again. At every red light, I check it. A verse from a friend. A forward from another. A prayer request from a third. Another verse from the first. A joke from a fourth. On and on down the road. We soon arrive at the storage unit, where I unload the rest of the items that I was able to leave in the back of the car with the seats put up. Back into the car and off...Nope. Wait. The kids unbuckled and took their shoes off. GRRR! Apparently, I forgot to tell them it was a quick stop. Come on! Come on! Come on! Let's GOOOO!

Shoes back on. Seat belts fastened. And we're off. We get to Sonja's house and she's waiting for us out front. She gets in the car, we both check our phones for the latest text, and then hit the road again. First stop, coffee of course! Then I glance at the clock. CRAP! Coffee will have to wait. We are due at a thrift shop to pick up a clothing donation. We've been there before, but can't remember exactly where it is, so after driving up and down Yosemite a couple times, I call to get the exact address. Put it in to the GPS and we are back on track. We get to the shop and realize that neither one of us can remember what the owner looks like! Hmm. Let's see. Oh, I know. If I call him, he'll answer his phone, then we'll know which one of the people out front is him. We walk around the corner and while I'm dialing, we look over our shoulder. Oh, that's the guy! Somehow he looks different today. Oh, well. Off to the back of the store to pick up the clothes. When we get there, we look at each other and start laughing so hard we can't stop. The pile of bags and boxes is in disarray and “moist”. We start loading them into my car and gag. The cat urine smell is so strong! We finish loading the car, thank the man profusely and head on our way. Two blocks down the road, we crank up the heater and roll down the windows to let in some fresh air and to let OUT the smell of cat urine that is making our eyes water. Sonja texts Greg and tells him the clothes smell like cat pee. A minute later, she receives a text back. “PRAISE THE LORD!” Both of us start laughing again, indeed praising the Lord with a joyful noise as we drive down the road in a car jammed with urine soaked clothes!

We decide to skip coffee again (coffee and urine are not a great combo) and head straight to my apartment complex where we unload the entire clothing load straight into the dumpster. We leave the windows rolled down in the car while we load the food items from the apartment back into the back of the car and head back to storage. We unload them and notice that Pat has dropped off another load, probably from Bingo or somewhere. Hmm. Just getting a bit more behind, but it's manageable. We head to our next pickup. Halfway there, James has to use the restroom. We pull into McDonalds, run in, and we all use the restroom to hopefully prevent the need for any further potty breaks. While there, we pick up a coffee (FINALLY!).

Our next pickup is AMAZING! Men's jeans, blankets, jackets, socks. Full of things that we need and know will be a great help to our people. “Thank you, Lord” we both say as we load the loot into the back of the car. We still have a little room in the car, so we decide to head straight to the third pickup, rather than return to storage in between. When we get there, the “one” box they told us they had has turned into four. We rearrange things in the back and have James slide into the middle of the back seat so that we can set a couple boxes on the seat next to him. He's upset about being squished, until he realizes that one of the boxes is full of toys, and suddenly this arrangement isn't so bad after all.

As we drive off and get about two miles down the road, we get a phone call from our last pickup. “I'm sorry. I left my keys in your car when I was helping you load the boxes in the car.” Sigh. I hang up and turn the car around, only to realize that most of these streets are one way. After a scenic tour of the neighborhood, trying to find our way back, I get another call. “Oh, never mind. I found the keys on my counter! Sorry about that.” Oh. My. Goodness. Deep breath. VERY deep breath. In through the nose. Out through the...Ah, man! It still smells like cat pee in here! GAG! Time for some Febreeze. The mention of Febreeze triggers a memory in Sonja, who recounts another Greg story that sets both of us off laughing until our sides hurt yet again. We return to the storage unit. The kids get out of the car and run around while we unload everything. The storage is getting VERY full at this point, but that's ok. We are done with pickups for the day. We get back into the car. Sonja's phone beeps. She looks down, then looks at me with huge eyes. “You are not going to believe this!” “What?” I ask. “Phyllis has a pickup for us, and it's A LOT, whatever she means by A LOT!” Oh. My. Goodness. We stare at each other for a minute, then burst out laughing. “You have got to be kidding me! Alright kids. Taco Bell it is. No time to go home for lunch today!” We swing through the drive through and off to Phyllis' we go. Sure enough, it is A LOT. We load it up, thank Phyllis and give hugs all around. Phyllis shares with us some of what God is doing through Break the Bread ministries, then we leave, feeling the warm glow that comes when we spend time with someone who shares the same passion we do of helping the less fortunate. Back to the storage, then back to Sonja's place to drop her off. The kids and I finally get home and I drop onto the couch, exhausted. My phone dings. I ignore it. After a couple minutes, I check it and read “My friend has some clothes she'd like to donate. Can you pick them up today?” Um, no. No way. Uh, uh. Not. A. chance! I text back “I'm sorry, hon. We won't be doing pick ups again until Tuesday. Can she wait until then, or bring them to the park on Sunday?” I don't hear back, so I figure it'll have to be ok. As I lean back onto the couch, aching from head to toe, I smile. It has been a good day. No, it has been a GREAT day! I've been about the Lord's business, laughing my head off at every turn with my sister in Christ. My children were well-behaved as we drove around for hours and I know that I am blessed. I am actually incredibly blessed to be part of the Church in the Park team and the miracles God is working there and I cannot wait for another crazy day with CITP. PRAISE THE LORD!