One of my kids came to me with an aggressive rap sheet, a long list of transgressions and the highest level of care you can possibly be in the state of Texas. She had also been in 14 placements in 18 months. She has become a completely different person now that she has been allowed to get used to a place, let some people get to know her, and start to feel comfortable. We are still talking to people all the time who think she is the same kid who walked in our doors because they haven't seen the new her yet. I am always so happy when she gets to re-introduce herself to someone who only ever knew the old her and she gets to show off. I am so proud of the kid she is becoming.
The system, while it does so much good, also has conditions that are sometimes hard. We can't always look and the hows and whys of a situation. When they are older, there is less and less time to help them become anything other that a sad statistic. I can understand why someone would lash out in anger, but I still have to record the violence they displayed. I can understand why they were scared, but I still have to label them as a runner. Understanding can't be excusing, and knowing that they have been through hell can't give them a free pass to not be decent human beings. Yesterday, that was hard.
I sat in a room with a very well meaning individual about a week ago who kept talking to one of my children about when she went home. They discussed where she would go to school, how these years were the hardest but would all be worth it when she was home, how to get along with her siblings when they were under the same roof again, and the process for her moving home. The parting words from that meeting were about keeping up the good work and how motivated her family was to have her home and that maybe they could swing a day visit over spring break. I watched that child tell herself over and over this week "You wanna go home" and "this isn't worth it" and "you have your family waiting for you." She was trying so hard.
Yesterday, she was told her siblings were adopted and she wasn't. As that child is lashing out at me and other staff with her hands and feet in a confusing mess of rage and grief, I was having my own internal crisis. I had to be the harsh, I had to get to the darkness she was trying to hide, bring it to light and give us someplace to build from tomorrow. I had to look a child in the face who was just told she didn't meet the conditions placed before her, and she wasn't going home, and try to show her unconditional love. It is a very confusing message; both that she has failed at meeting a requirement, but that there is not a requirement for me loving her. How does she believe me when everything around her is a point system she passes or fails, even her home?
This child has made mistakes in the past. She reacted to situations with violence and rage, said some things she never should have said, and made some choices she deeply regrets now. She, like so many others I have seen before her, decided to be scarier than the person that scared her. But the girl with me yesterday, sobbing and raging against the world, was not a defiant adult, but a terrified and hurt child; one who said she is afraid of me because I might leave her too.
It is so hard to show these children unconditional love and grace, to try to help them trust me and know that I am not running from their darkness, when the system might remove them from my care at any time. Messages get mixed up, kids are told they are going home when they aren't, parents say they will show up for visits and don't, people promise them things and don't deliver and people like me and those I work with are left with the fallout. I don't blame the kids for being wary of me and not trusting that I am there to help.
Yesterday was hard. Today will be hard. My heart hurts for this child of mine, but ultimately she is, and always will be God's. That has to be where I find my peace. The state may move her, but God never leaves her. I may see growth that God has someone else water. I may never see progress, but God has a plan. I may encounter pain and grief and rage again and again, but God gives me strength and endurance. Ultimately, that is where I have to be in line. I work within the guidelines of Texas, but I work for God. On days where they don't understand, God can give clarity. On days where they are drowning in sorrow, God can give hope. On days when they are raging against the world, God can show them the beauty inside it.
Friends pray for us, because this work is hard. Pray for my one who was left behind. Loving people in ways they can understand is so hard, and so many of you do this in different ways. I am praying for you as you seek to help those around you understand the unconditional love of God in a conditional world. May you have strength and grace, wisdom and purpose, hope and joy, and discernment to know your limits as you minister where you are.
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