Day 65 And the rains came. down......

Day 65 - And the rains came down....

As a child, I attended Sunday School every Sunday. My father would line our shoes up the night before, take his wooden box with polishes and rags and work on our shoes. My mom made sure our Sunday clothes were clean and ironed. In my mother's home, there was never, ever a laundry pile. Or a sink full of dishes. She kept a very clean house and kept all our clothes clean and ironed. I did not know how to run a washing machine until I moved away from home at age 19.

Our Sunday school classes were cheerful times for me. I loved the lessons, the weekly Sunday School papers, the crafts. I loved learning. Yesterday, at my own church, I realized I am somewhat of an albatross; an wayward soul, not quite fitting. My long time dear friend had a stroke over a month ago and no longer teaches my Sunday School class. So I sat in the foyer of the church trying to access wi-fi on my lap top, listening to the two greeters talk about getting ready for end times.

During church, I offering my apologies and sat out from playing the organ. I still feel weak and just getting through the service is about all I'm up for. A different kind of Thanksgiving topic, Jonah, and how from the belly of the whale, the wayward Jonah, offered a prayer of Thanksgiving to God after repenting of being rebellious about going to Nineveh to preach. And then, the whale spit Jonah up on the beach and he continued on his mission.

Well, I don't want to be spit up on the beach to 'finish my own mission', but I feel "Jonah" like. It is before 5 am here and I've been awake over an hour. At one time, I felt so 'purposed' about being a drug and alchohol counselor. I knew I was smart, I knew I cared, I knew I wanted to help. Now, what I know is that change must come from the heart and soul of the man or woman who truly wants recovery. I believe without the life-changing experience of accepting Jesus Christ as their personal Saviour, there is little hope of changing; the siren call of their drug of choice will come back like a fury and helpless before the onslaught they will relapse, again and again.

My friend and I have dicussed the inevitable spiral down of having a noble calling and the in the trenches experience of knowing most of what we hear from our clients is only what they want us to hear and for most of them, our program is only a means to an end, to get out of prison time.

In a culture where I am bombarded with re-purposed this, and re-purposed that, perhaps I need to re-purpose my career. From the position of being a professional counselor, have I truly become a pencil pushing, paper processing clog in a wheel that turns out hundreds of people every couple of months from a massive treatment machine? Not sure at this point, who I am in terms of a helper.

I pray on the way to work, "God help me to be kind. To see past the rough exteriors to the hearts of these men. To offer them hope for the hopeless, help for the hurting." By the end of the day, I will have gone through countless strange experiences with people being angry, annoyed, manipulative, regretful, remorseful, pushy, selfish, whiny, self-absorbed on and on. Unless someone has worked in an inpatient treatment center like I'm at, they haven't a clue what goes on. On any one day, I could be yelled at, sworn at, cat-called at, cried at, on and on. I have to lecture to groups of about 30 men who I also have to tell, repeatedly; "No, you can't do search-a-word's during lecture." "No, you can't keep cross-talking while someone else is talking." "No, you can't tip back in your chair." "No, you can't bash staff while you're talking."

It's a weird deal where most of these men have spent years in juvenile jails, adult jails, and prisons. These are the guys who make drugs, sell drugs, and rob people. They are also someone's son, grandson, brother, father or nephew. More importantly they are in God's eyes, a child who needs love, who needs care and who needs a Savior.

At 62, I don't have that much work life left, I think. I wanted to be a missionary as a child in that long ago Baptist church of my childhood. I can remember going forward, a small, brown-headed child answering the call of how wanted to be a missionary. And here I am later, some 57 years a strange missionary with a more unusual mission field.

God, grant me the serenity to........ find a renewed vision, purpose and calling in the field where I've been placed. It's not Africa, it's not a backwoods jungle, but it's an urban jungle with a deep need. The holidays are a difficult time for many people. Being in an institution, the holidays can be even more depressing. Lord, in the middle of my own weakness help me to find your strength, your love, your compassion. You are my source, without you I am nothing. Thank you Jesus.

Today, if in your own life you need renewal, take heart. You are not alone. Each and every day millions of others are seeking the face of God to provide strength for the journey, hope for the way.