Friday, November 30, 2007

On the Down Low...

Sorry readers - all 5 of you, right? If I am wrong in this assessment, please give a shout out - I have only ever gotten 6 comments for my "most comments," and a girl gets blog-inferiority issues from time to time..

I've become something of a blogrant - a term I've gratuitously stolen from Lynne, my library friend whom I always want to call Lynnie Lou.

Let's just say that this pattern of neglect can be seen in other areas in my life besides this blog - my house is a certifiable pit of $h!t right now, my body is full of toxins because I'm living on caffeine, filler foods, and little sleep these days, had some bank account whoopsies (paid our truck payment twice this month - oops! there went $300 we needed), et cet er a...

But it's for a perfectly good reason! I promise I am not just lazy, I have been diverting my attentions to an Important!School!PossiblyLegislative!Report! And working with homeless issues in the interim. This very important paper I am working on is an expansion of this post, and is a growing process for me.

You see, Heather is a roughdraft writer, hardly anything she does goes through an editing process, as she does her bestest work when under intense pressure. Seriously, the research paper for Citizen Participation, whilst it had been outlined and research had been thoroughly examined and noted, had not been put into written format until the night it was due, and Hammy got a perfect score on that one, baby. And that wasn't the first time I've had such results. Trust me, I am an EXPERT at Juggling 101 - The Artful Uses of Procrastination.

But...I can't do that this time. Because it is group work. And, because it is friggin' important - we're talking potentially saving lives here. But mostly because it is group work and we have to come up with a finished product TO.GETH.ER. One of my partners is a research hound and has been a tremendous asset to the team - I owe it to her to thoughtfully write, critique, and revise my thoughts to the maximum efficiency package that KNOCKS the SOCKS off of whoever decides to read it. So I'm growing. Somewhat painfully, but the results are sa-weeeet!

Thus, dear internets, I bid you temporarily adieu. Til I get my paper done.

:smooches:

Wednesday, November 28, 2007

Prepare to have the wind taken right out of you...

Because here be the breathtaking "Autumn" (and one LMNOB):



See - so not the Seinfeld version, right?

Pure cuteness is nothing short of, ah, breathtaking...

Tuesday, November 27, 2007

I'm diggin' on this new breed of tattle-tale

This morning, buttering toast, I heard Punkinhead, through the fog of non-caffeination:

"Mama. Mama. Mama. Mama..."

I believe I told him to hold on, that Mama's brain was not yet up to multi-tasking par and couldn't possibly comprehend the words of someone else whilst lubricating the multigrain goodness they were about to partake.

Or, maybe I just thought that. Whatever. Whether I made any kind of response, intelligible or more resembling that of a Neanderthal, my dear son pressed on.

You see, he was telling on sister - and that can never wait.

"Mama, LMNOB...."

Oh no, not tattling this early...

"is being a wreal gud gwrill dis mohning," and then he fluttered his lashes and flashed me a beguiling grin.

Such sweetness blasted the fog away and made me realize that he was capitalizing on a lesson we'd recently taught the kids - "Sometimes you have to look for the good in life."

I praised him for being so thoughtful and then reinforced that yes, LMNOB had been a really good girl this morning.

Life is good when you look for the good within.

Saturday, November 24, 2007

Apparently She's Watched a Lot of Seinfeld

Last week, LMNOB had a weeklong homework assignment in which she needed to create, with the help of parents, a scarecrow from "materials easily found around the home." In addition to the scarecrow, LMNOB had to provide a "written profile" of her scarecrow, which was rather MadLibs-esque.

Well, being the superior mother that I am, I put off doing this with LMNOB until the night before it was to be turned in. I mean what good mother doesn't impart the tenets of Juggling 101 - The Artful Uses of Procrastination?

In doing so, I revoked a bit of LMNOB's creative license, informing her that we were going to use Daddy's childhood Mr. T doll, (a homemade Cabbage Patch prototype with chocolate nylon for skin and black yarn constituting his mohawk and facial hair, all lovingly crafted by Grandma Nina looooong before the est. date of casa del Meyer) with the aid of a paperbag - to be decorated by LMNOB, and other stylistic embellishments.

She hated the idea.

I told her it was too bad.

So, we dressed said doll in a pink longsleeved thermal of LMNOB's and tan corduroy overalls of Punkinhead's. Then I had LMNOB decorate her bag, fringed it around the bottom, slipped it over the head of the doll, and then secured it with a shoelace tied around the neck.

LMNOB felt that it was missing hair. I found some yellow and maroon raffia in my largely unused craft drawer, and we proceeded to glue the girl some hair.

Et Voila!

LMNOB deemed her scarecrow "Autumn" and proceeded to write her profile.

The next night at dinner, Charlie Brown asked her how her scarecrow went over.

Eyes downcast and sullen, "Good."

"Oh?" questioned Charlie Brown.

A pouty LMNOB recounted that, "Megan got most stylish," and further conveyed her indignation at this fact.

"Well, did everyone get an award?" Charlie Brown pressed on, all investigative and involved parental-like.

In true drama queen fashion, LMNOB made us probe even further when she answered with a one-word report, "Yeah."

My turn. "Well, what did you get?" I asked her.

LMNOB masterfully merged the heavy sigh, with an exaggerated eyeroll, and a pouty lip number, then muttered with the most downcast eyes she'd utilized all night, "Most Breathtaking."

We applauded her and told her that breathtaking was good, and then tried to demonstrate by correctly using breathtaking in a sentence. With context.

I am beginning to suspect that our love for Seinfeld, albeit in syndication, has carried more weight than this little language lesson did, because it was as if she knew this alternate meaning of the word existed, and surely that, and that alone, is what was meant by her award.

Friday, November 23, 2007

Thanks So Much for the Distinction, Love

Per my post on Wednesday, I have a few cute stories to tell on LMNOB.

The first, and easiest to retell, is an important lesson in particulars.

As LMNOB and I were packing Wednesday, I was folding a couple pair of my favorito panties, LMNOB gets this Beavis and Butthead/incredulous/ridiculously comedic giggle going and says,

"Whoa! What are THOSE?" Heehehehehehehehe....

"Those, are my panties." We'd just packed hers.

"But Mooooooooooom! They're Heeeeeeewwwwwwge!" followed by maniacal (I'm talking a psychotic break with reality kind of madwoman laughter) howling.

It was nothing short of humbling.

In a small, but ever practical voice, I replied, "Well, honey, Mama is rather huge."

"Awww mom, no you're not.."

Wow, what a sweetheart trying to assuage my bruised ego....oh, wait, she's still talking

"...but your butt is!!" Heheheheheheeehheeeheeehhee..........ahhh, clarification.

Apparently this qualifying statement was hilarious to her as she guffawed endlessly, flopping about the mountains of laundry on my bed.

So J. Lo, just so ya know, this is what you have to look forward to. One day that asset of yours that everyone wanted to tap into will become a neverending source of humor to your children.
[insert eyeroll, shrug of shoulders, and sigh here]
Kids...they see what they wanna see, huh?

Wednesday, November 21, 2007

Sososososo much to blog about

but alas! No. Time!!

Notes to self:

":Sigh: Breathtaking," story MUST be told...

Lots of work with fascinating details...

Thoughts about Fort Collins holiday lighting fiasco...

"Mommy's not huge, but her butt is" story...for which LMNOB receives coal, lol...

and more, all floating thru my head - but i must needs get packed and get out of the schoolwork that is up to my elbows this weekend while we're gone.

So...mayhap I will check in...and then, maybe not...

In the meantime, peeps, embrace the gratitude attitude of the holiday and have a wonderful Thanksgiving!

Making things happen...

Well...in Who-ville they say
That the Grinch's small heart
Grew three sizes that day!
More inside details to come....
In the meantime, my heart is warm with this compromise that was made.

Monday, November 19, 2007

Nothing Says STRESSED OUT Quite Like Falling to Pieces at a Cliche Forward

So....most of ya'll know that I've been doing some shadowboxin' lately. Right?

Trying to figure out what's a true priority for me - I mean, does my life align with my values? In doing so, I've been torn between whether I need to be working and doing school, because don't my children need me more than that? Cuz, I tend to question on the bad days if this degree is really an investment in their future and our economic security as a family - as I'd intended - said doubt leaves me at a crossroads, wondering whether the ROI is worth these sacrifices being made in their early years? But then I think about how my work could change the world for a better place (with Divine Aid that is - no delusions of self-grandeur here) and I think about how much more of an investment we will reap - beyond economics, my kids, and your kids, can see a better and more unified future - and isn't that priceless?

But when LMNOB's sensory fits flare up - either because of the day's over/under stimulations or simply because as a bewildered mama, I scarce was able to come up with a nutritious diet plan for the day, let alone a sensory one - I struggle with thinking in completely oversimplified, fantasy-like terms: "I'll just quit work, become the class mom, and meet her every need." Hah...if only it were that brainlessly easy! Part of the reason why I continue to work outside of the home, is because my employer provides health coverage that is more affordable than anything my husband's employer could dream of offering. If I were to quit working, we'd be quitting OT. Uhm. No - that's not gonna happen anytime soon.

So my heart pulls me in one direction.

And then the Lord pulls me in another. And yet, even at that, I worry that I'm becoming institutionalized, too bureaucratic - but then, I remind myself, I've always been that detail-oriented, see the big picture and little picture simultaneously (picture in picture? So not a tv concept - they stole it from my brain) kind of gal. I was born a bureaucrat in that regard - and God's using that. I think.

See what I mean? Yes, I am a bitch to argue with...I'm ruthless with myself, let alone someone whom I know to be wrong.

Anyway, back to the topic at hand...I've gotten this particular chain forward several times already, and honestly, barring the "you must pass it on to x number of friends (hello viruses!) within the verynextbreathyoutake and you will have blahblahblah!extreme!blessings!," it's a nice sentiment.

Like not-half-bad advice, I tend to read through these types of forwards (that are upbeat and positive that is - not these freakshow evil ones that also tend to show up in similar fashion) and glean from them what I need and leave the rest.

Often in my deleted items folder.

The subject line had been inconspicuous, hiding the actual content of the message. The sender was the director of the homeless shelter in Ft. Collins, with whom I work fairly frquently.

I opened it, expecting to see that I was just one of her many address book entries receiving it. Nope - I was one of three, two of whom had already received this message.

Wow - I thought.


Hi - I am picking 17 people who have touched my life and who I think would want to receive this. Please send it back to me (You'll see why)..

In case you are not aware, Saint Theresa is known as the Saint of the Little Ways, meaning she believed in doing the little things in life well and with great love. She is represented by roses. May everyone who receives this message be blessed.

Theresa's Prayer cannot be deleted. REMEMBER to make a wish before you read the prayer . That's all you have to do. There is nothing attached. [Hammy here...Nothing, except that you must share to see what happens, lol]

Just share this with people and see what happens on the fourth day. Sorry [Yeah, sure] you have to forward the message, but try not to break this, please. Prayer is one of the best free gifts we receive. [Can't argue that] Read the prayer below..

Saint Theresa's Prayer
May today there be peace within.
May you trust God that you are exactly where you are meant to be.
May you not forget the infinite possibilities that are born of faith.
May you use those gifts that you have received, and pass on the love that has been given to you.
May you be content knowing you are a child of God.
Let this presence settle into your bones, and allow your soul the freedom to sing, dance, praise and love.
It is there for each and every one of us.


I read that second line and it hit me squarely in the heart.

Trust? What's that? Hammy has a wee bit of a problem in that department, eh?

Oh, and yes, I cried. Over a chain e-mail. That I'd seen before, but managed to communicate just what I needed to hear. From an acquaintance who happened to think of me before hitting send.

Wonders never cease.

Sunday, November 18, 2007

To-do's No Longer

Man, this living thing is tough.

And it feels like so much has been on hold.

This weekend, I finally got around to:

Doing the laundry, because, no, I did not get new shag, multicolor, multitextured carpeting upstairs, and, yes, I was sick and tired of my family's linens n' things strewn all over.

Research for my group project paper due Dec. 10. Reading for my solo paper remains undone. It is due the same day.

Getting up close and personal with my hubs. It's been awhile. When did I become that woman??

Tomorrow - I will:

Call Dr. PediatricianThatWe'veHadForever and ask him to send all of the kids' medical records to Dr. FamilyPracticeInclinedtoNaturopathy that I've heard rave reviews about.

And schedule an appt for LMNOB to see the new doc and get her IgG testing done on Wednesday.

We have had a return of the fecal matter issue, but upon talking to LMNOB, it is because she is trying to "help her poop out" because it is so very hard that it's tearing her little bum up. Or, in the absence of poop smears on the toilet, she has raging diarrhea. Which made me want to call up Dr. PediatricianThatWe'veHadForever and say, "Oh? Maybe she DOES have intolerance symptoms, but I was just to damned busy to notice."

Poor baby. And I have got to let go of the retrospective guilt that I'm feeling for not catching this before, right? Ugh...

We've talked about it, and I bought her some flushable wipes, both for herself and for the toilet seat, when she needs them. And she used them the other night, so baby steps, right?

Thursday, November 15, 2007

Open Letter to Pat Monahan

Uh, dude, have we met before?

If so, might I wager to say that it was, oh, In. My. Dreams - where I simply can't behave myself? You are a hottie, that's for sure.

Because I'd almost swear your hit song is about moi.

Almost...cuz ya see, I'm actually a Taurus. And stubborn, always gotta be right me wants to point out that there is no such thing as a Gemini Capricorn - that is unless you were born in parts, and six months between parts at that. Details, right?

But...methinks that more likely than a metaphysical meeting, is the likelihood that I secretly pine for Charlie Brown write and sing/read a song like this, about me, to me.

Seriously - men across the world ought to take note of this here little hit.

Wanna know why it is so appealing to women?

This part here is for the men in the world, b/c I'm sure you already know this, you lyrical genius, you.

Because it's not all Hollywood male crooner gushing (Whitesnake's Is This Love comes to mind - gag!) about some perfect woman in head-to-toe spandex with big hair, a woman whom none of us could ever relate to, or even pretend to be.

Instead, it's about a slightly nutty, very idiosyncratic, spunky little gal - a woman we all know and love within each one of ourselves.

So we can pretend that we are an object of affection [yours or otherwise] and the sole inspiration for such an upbeat and funky little ditty whether we are in the shower, prepping for the 9-5 life, or at the end of the workday on the car ride home - and what woman couldn't use that fun 5 minutes of make-believe in her day?

And here is where men everywhere should take note - this song is so unbelievably sexy because of the way Pat knows his woman. It's such an intimate inventory of all the wacky ways of his girl, and then he honors her neurotic repertoire by saying how much it means to him that she's his. We women long to hear some such similar homage, specific to our unique characteristics, from our mates - you know, something a little more detailed than, "You're a great cook; good mom; hard worker; blah, blah, blah." We get that kind of fluff from our girlfriends! And, quirks are fair game too - so long as you illustrate that they actually endear us to you.

So, Pat - I pink puffy heart you because I think you just revolutionized the male-to-female love song.

Wednesday, November 14, 2007

I'd like to thank all the little people who got me where I am today...

LOL...that's a joke, kay?

In all seriousness, though - Niki has branded me as an award-winning member of :

For Social Conscience


Awww, Niki, thanks - you're too sweet.

And now, dear friends, it is time to pay it forward...

This award has several categories, each of which I must name one special person to receive:

-Creativity: I award Heather Neff in this one. She is a crafty, creative mama who always has ideas for her own writing, with enough left over to be an awesome homeschool teacher!

-Spirit of Giving: I award Purple Kangaroo here. Even with all of her family's health woes, homeschooling time constraints, etc., she is still generous with her time and ability, evidenced here.

-For Keeping It Real: I can't just claim one person here - really a lot of my blog roll deserves to be here, but for most of them my comments are just a drop in their huge readership buckets, so.... I've got to award Mama P and Princess in Galoshes for their mad skillz at balancing keepin' it real with wit and pop culture in their posts. Their keepin' it real tales are easy on the eyes, and fun to read, not of that whiney, poor little ole martyr me, keepin' it real variety.

-For Social Conscience: Larry James is awe inspiring with the dedication to social justice that his posts reflect. I learn a lot from him and pray that more people follow his example.

-For Staying True to Their Beliefs: TiaLynne is amazing with her joint mastery of knowledge, love, and wisdom at such a young age.

Enjoy!


Tuesday, November 13, 2007

An E-mail From the School, Subject Line - Re: LMNOB

Yesterday, I received said e-mail from the school's OT while I was at the Front Page training.

This canNOT be good...

And my heart stopped, knowing the craziness that has recently ensued from her.

Oh crap...she's finally lost her sh!t at school.

I clicked it, gingerly. Well, as gingerly as possible, seeing as a mouse click is an either you did or you didn't kind of thing.

And sucked some serious wind inward through the gulps of relief that followed as I read:

Heather-
I was wondering if you could help me. I have a parent at another school who needs some contacts for OTs at SouthCountyHealthSystem. I am familiar with the OTs at NorthCountyHealthSystem but not SouthCountyHealthSystem... the student has some fine and visual motor needs. I know that LMNOB sees an OT through SouthCountyHealthSystem -so any names or contacts would be helpful.
Thanks,

School OT

Phewwwwwwwwww....Well, yes, duh, I think I can handle that.

I replied, saying as much - with the following caveat:

Favor - when sending an e-mail like this, can you please change the subject to better reflect the e-mail's topic? LMNOB had a horrendous weekend (I spent most of it crying) and when I saw your name with the subject line "LMNOB" I went into panic mode. When I opened it, though, I was much relieved - I am happy to help.

Because, somehow I do not think "inadvertently causing heart failure in our students' parents" bodes well as a selling point for your school's "supportive services."

Monday, November 12, 2007

Ask and It Shall Be Added Unto You...

Today, in an e-mail responding to DSW's concerned, "Is today any better?" I wrote out my answer, saying yes and no.

This morning was rough. LMNOB threw a massive fit about clothes, and then when I told her I was going to the bathroom and needed a few minutes, she clung to me with fury. I shut the door on her, but it stuck (something about new construction homes and the settling process), so I popped it pretty firmly and it closed. Right on LMNOB's finger because she. WOULDN'T. leave. me . alone.

I was horrified - you see, I was horribly angry when I was trying to close up the door, and now, because of my anger, my child was hurt.

So, no...this morning hadn't gone particularly well, but, I explained, I was at work, and a cake-like work day at that, and so I wasn't sure what the day would have just yet.

I closed saying,

I just need a day without MAJOR meltdowns. Just one day where normal whines
occur and no major clashing of the wills...
Ask and ye shall receive....

Enter the retail therapy.

Enter coming home to happy children and one Charlie Brown who is eager to take the kids out for a walk on a lark, a walk in the dark, near a park, (Dr. Seuss is turning in his grave, I know) while I cooked dinner.
Oh, honey, that is sooooooooooooo sexy. Mmmm....oh, and did I mention he brought home some Blue Moon, which is only one of my favoritest beers?

The children were good eaters, for the most part. They were behaved. The homework got done. They only whined a little, and halfheartedly - that kind of whining for sport whining - at bedtime.

And just like that, our lives got relieved of some pressure. I even got a post up for my school discussion thread.

So now I can in good conscience share this youtube with you - as this man is a genius who totally gets the married with kids thing:



Thank you, Lord for having mercy on me.

So Desperate - I've Seriously Considered

Dialing 1-877-626-6984, leaving the receiver off the hook for about 5 minutes, and then asking, "'Nuf said? When will we be filming?" Also, because I've only watched the show a few times, I wonder if Jo Frost has ever touched on special needs on the show. Cuz, uhm, I'd like to know if she is still so super duper in cases like ours?

Today was nice though - I've been assigned the web maintenance duties for my office's webpage on the city's site, but alas! I am ignorant of the ways of Front Page, and our IT dept designated teacher of all things Front Page is not a very good imparter of knowledge. He is stingy with it and likes to talk a lot yet manage to somehow avoid actually exchanging the information we new page designer peoples sorely lack. All that to say that I got to spend all day offsite, actually learning the skillz and :Gasp!: how to apply said skillz in a practical fashion.

And, when we got done slightly early (just how slightly I'll never tell) - I went on a retail therapy excursion that totaled about what an hour of talk therapy would amount to...only it was good for multiple hours, so I got my money's worth.

:sigh: Now the real test of recovery is what the munchkins will be like when I go to pick them up from daycare shortly.

Sunday, November 11, 2007

Now Back to Our Regularly Scheduled Program: Maternal Overwhelm

The kids have been crrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrazay rotten the past 4 days.

Ev.er.Y.thing has been a fight of late. Listening has left the building.

Yesterday was Charlie Brown's one Saturday for work this month, and well, I began melting down with maternal overload last night.

First, I clapped my hands over my head and walked in circles, droning, "Loud noises - make them stop!"

Then I figured, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em, and created some of my own loud noises, in effort to motivate.

When that didn't work, I cried. Guttural, body wrenching cries of complete frustration that THIS is what my life has become.

Yes, this does sound rather poor me - wait, it gets worse.

This morning, LMNOB was all up in arms about our difference of opinion re: her church attire. We were late to bible study. I was totally frustrazzled (like that? I thought it had a nice ring to it).

We got to church, and after study, one of the ladies I've known for years said, "How've ya been?"

I responded with, "Tired." Somehow, that isn't quite clear in my recollection, I'd gotten around to telling her about the latest with Loveland's inclement weather shelter (can't tell you more about that until the press release hits the streets) and how it had been crazy on Friday, having to run LMNOB to her OT appointment, and then have to keep her in my office while I attended the meeting I'd been summoned to that afternoon to discuss shelter operations, liabilities, etc.

She questioned why LMNOB was going to OT.

I then shared a little bit of my personal hell with her - explaining Sensory Processing Disorder, what that meant for us, and just how much work it was, both in the home activities and the weekly visits to Bt the OT.

And it got to me. I started crying. At one point, I was heard saying, "Oh, but listen to me - I'm complaining, and really it could be so much worse, right?"

She reassured me that I was not complaining, I was sharing my life with her.

We sat down for the services. Charlie Brown was leading the song service, so it was me and the kids with DSW and her husband next to us.

After communion, when the kiddies were dismissed to Children's Bible Hour, I went to take Punkinhead - and he was kicking and screaming - making a right good riot. I took him into the bathroom to have a talking to with him when a new woman intervened, and gave Punkinhead the role of social savior to him for her son - as in, "We're new here and don't have many friends yet - could you help him?" Punkinhead gleefully went at that.

I broke down. Guilt washed over me as the raw emotions hit the surface.

This is so much work -it's not worth it

Nothing I do is changing anything - this is our life day in and day out

Shall I praise the Lord for this parental purgatory?

I told you, it was way more poor me.

I'll spare you the further details - suffice to say my eyes are tired, my shoulders tense, and my head's a-throbbin'.

It must be catching too, this totally overwhelmed state of helplessness, as a BUNCH of people went forward at church this morning, confessing similar struggles, I think; I was too busy sobbng in the ladies room to know.

Saturday, November 10, 2007

So that dream I was telling you about?

Three weeks ago, I had a meeting to attend for the soon to be built LocalResourceSuperCenter for persons near-homeless or homeless.

One of the attendees was the woman I had shared my first office with when I'd worked for the community mental health center. (There is a lot of history in that link) She was an awesome therapist at the time, and had listened to me bemoan the situations I had been in many a time.

When we were doing our introductions, she noted that she was now the director of the Ft. Collins offices for the center. Then she made mention of how we had shared an office years ago, and that I was "fun and diligent" to work with. The woman who had been my second supervisor at the center as well as the guy who'd replaced my position with the homeless outreach program were also there.

As we sat discussing best practices for this project, a memories of my work with the center surfaced. My time there was so paradoxical - it was an unnerving time in my life, lacking clarity, yet in the end, it gave me the greatest confidence I have ever had about myself.

The meeting continued, and ended as planned.

That week, as things to do piled up more and more, I began to doubt myself and my priorities.

At one point, I sat crying out to God, asking Him what the right way to go was.

That night, I dreamed. But it wasn't a dream so much as it was a memory that I'd forgotten - because I remembered this odd occurrence actually happening when I awoke.

I was back at the mental health center - looking for information on a grant regulation. I'd gone to my Project Manager's office and he handed me several large binders of HUD stuff, saying that one day I "would be writing the rules."

I remember having been all, "Whatever, weirdo," at the time. But in hindsight, it's strangely prophetic, this little exchange.

I mean, I wrote rules for the inclement weather shelter. I'm helping write "rules of best practice" for a few projects. And I'm back in school because I hope to write legislation that promotes social justice.

I've been praying for the past few weeks then, that this means what I think it means - that I am indeed on the path God has planned for me - and that if it doesn't that He can help me see with clarity what direction I need to be in.

Tuesday, November 6, 2007

I Will Never Forget...

...the last day of my Child Pscyhopathology and Exceptionality class at CSU. At the front of the room stood my professor, telling a heart-wrenching story about working with a boy who had been horribly abused. I sat in the room, newly pregnant and bawling, as this man stood before us with tears in his eyes, face screwed up, explaining that sometimes the hardest part of working with kids [in "the system"], "is not knowing if you told the truth when you told a kid that ‘everything would work out.’"

It's the same in any form of social services, really. Particularly if the persons you are dealing with have some kind of limitation, be it mental illness, substance abuse, developmental disability, or youth, capping the likelihood that you will ever truly know how things worked out.

Social work in this regard is like an addiction, wherein we service providers must chant the same mantra heard around the globe in 12 step groups, "Let go and let God." Because really, we can't hang on to the worry and the wondering if we are to effectively serve the others who're waiting in line, equally in need of help.

This afternoon, I heard a song that moved me to tears, along this same vein of thought. Plumb's In My Arms. Wow - she's got such an amazing voice. And the lyrics are such a wonderfully blended tribute to parental love, worry, and devotion. And then I remembered, this wasn't a crossover version - I'd turned it over to WAY FM the night before...Entered the tears as I fully realized the implications: As parents, our children aren't always going to rest in our arms. But the Heavenly Father's arms are still there. Always. No matter what. And how He must agonize about our storms that rage within us, and life's waves that crash over us.

Take a break and listen...the video is from The Nativity Story...then read the rest of this - it's amazing.


I thought of Jason. And his mother. I prayed for them immediately. They have been on my mind constantly.

Tonight, at 9:15, my phone rang. My home phone. Jason had only had my cell number.

It was Jason, on his mother's cell phone. Sober. He’s been in RegionalDetox since Saturday night. He sounded good, and clear. Though I'd told a woman at church that I was "sure that we'd hear more from/about Jason," I'd mentally prepared myself for closure to remain elusive, as it tends to be. I don't know why - God has been so obvious in this throughout - We just happened to be in the right place at the right time; An addict just happened to be very honest with me; His mother just happened to be a believer who's been praying for her son - a little contrived for merely circumstancial coincidences, dontcha think? He is being transported to an intensive substance abuse treatment program in Denver tomorrow by a family friend. I encouraged him, and told him I'd had a multitude of people praying for him. I told him I hoped this would be it for him. I asked him why he'd called, pointing out that he didn’t owe me anything, that he barely knew me from Eve.

He said that there was just something different – that I was not the naïve person he was accustomed to conning into helping him – something had told him not to lie with me [too much], that normally he wouldn’t have bothered to follow up with a virtual stranger, and that this something different had made him want to call me tonight.

If that’s not God, then I’ll never know what is.

Keep praying for him – he’s had a rough go at life according to his mom, and this is not his first attempt at sobriety. We need to keep his needs before the throne at every chance we get.

It all comes at a pivotal point in time for me - on the heels of an episode of huge doubts, and after a dream/memory I hadn't gotten around to blogging about last week - I promise I'll get to it soon - I'm starting to get behind the 8ball again. And it has humbled me. I don't feel worthy enough for God to be using me, and yet He is. I don't feel as if I did anything that would significantly impact Jason - and yet Christ used my life to reach out to this man in a tangible way. What an honor to do that alone.

And to get follow-up? Chills, ya'll - chills.



Monday, November 5, 2007

This is Exactly Why I Question Things

Remember my Q and S answers on this post?

Well, my good blogging friend Niki and I share that mindset. She wrote a post awhile back about the horrible trend known as "slacktivism," (bred by the perpetuation of mass e-mails containing misinformation, correct information that's horribly out of context, and/or just plain falsehoods) that resonated deeply within me.

She's on a roll again with her latest post re: the inboxer outcry against The Golden Compass. She's got some great and valid points (emphases mine):

...I noticed that all of the warnings were pointing back to the article on snopes.com. So I read the article. I followed all of the links and resources and found that in several places the author was mis-quoted or someone’s opinion about the books were stated as fact. I read a lot of people’s comments that began with “I heard”. Not very many of the people commenting and interviewing had actually read the books....

Uhm...yeah...as suspected.
...In several of the interviews I read, Mr. Pullman seemed to take issue with
believers not walking our walk. We just talk like we do. Ouch. Mr. Pullman said it’s too bad we as believers don’t live like the Gospels say we should. I can see where he gets that. We are usually uncomfortable with major differences of opinion over anything spiritual. Those we disagree with are sometimes shunned or persecuted themselves. We forget the love we’re supposed to be treating each other with. We don’t allow for much exploration and examination of faith. We tend to expect people to just accept and when someone has deep, serious questions that beg for answers, we get frustrated that they don’t just “get it” and join our cause. Could this be where he is coming from?...

Well said Niki - 'tis truth you are speaking.

Finally she wraps up with words I couldn't agree more with:

I know sometimes it’s hard to know what to speak up about and what to remain silent on. I like to think believers have good intentions when they do jump on these bandwagons. I just wish it wasn’t so selective. Since I don’t know a single person who has read these books, I’m going to read the books myself over the next few weeks and blog about what I find. But right now, here’s what I want us to think about:
1. We usually find what we’re looking for in books and movies. Good or bad.
2. Sometimes we get what we don’t bargain for. Good and bad.
3. There are spiritual lessons to be learned all around us - in both the good and bad. We shouldn’t go looking for the bad, but we shouldn’t assume everything is bad either.
4. We need to know the facts then make an informed decision.
5. We need to love and not judge those who come to different conclusions than we do. That is the way to walk our walk. There is only one judge and our role is that of the sinner. Sinners don’t get to judge other sinners…and we all are.
6. We need to pray for Mr. Pullman. Like my friend told me yesterday, he could very well be a Prodigal son. [Hammy here - totally right on...so even if you decide that the movie is not for you in the end, ought you not to be asking people to pray for this man when sending your e-mails out?]
7. What is it in us that wants to warn others? Is it true concern, or is it slacktivism?

But don't just take my word for it that she wrote a great and provocative post - go see the post in its entirety and tell her yourself.

Sunday, November 4, 2007

Separating the Sheep from the Prodigals

Friday night, (it would behoove you to read that one first - I decided Heather was right -see comments - and added the hyperlink for your comprehension) the Lord impressed it upon my heart that Jason was a single lost sheep.

And God chases after those lone lost sheep, knows the strengths and weaknesses of each one, knows the very number of hairs on each of their heads, and desperately tries to bring them back.

Saturday morning, on the phone with him, he was a prodigal son, telling me that "he needed to think about it" re: the action plan I'd laid out for him. It was as follows:

Plan A - Sobriety version
Walk over to nearby, second-choice homeless shelter

Make use of their day shelter program, getting food to eat and opportunity to stay away from temptation

Walk over to the first choice shelter at night (2 blocks away from the second choice shelter, but much better staff and programs)

Hook up with the case manager and map out intensive plan to stay sober for the next 3 weeks until his personal leave from the LocalWorkCampSobrietyProgram was up and he could return

Plan B - Reduction of Harm Model
Keep on drinking, ensuring that he would have to stay out on the streets for the night

However, if he made this choice, I would only be willing to help him locate gear from local resources to survive the weather.

I clearly and firmly told him that if he wanted to make the latter choice, I wouldn't judge him, but that all I would and could do for him was locating the gear. I also told him it was best to make this decision while it was daylight. He refused to make a coherent decision, insisting that he "think about it."

He did ask me to make a phone call to his mother, in Golden, though, and let her know that he was ok.

I obliged - albeit really not wanting to. I did not want to let go of this man that I barely knew. Did not want to give up on this lost sheep that God so fortuitously had put in our path. Did not want to call his mother and say, "Your son was ok last night, but I really don't know what his story is tonight."

But I did...and wonder of wonders, he'd been completely honest with me with the timeline of recent events. His mother sounded like a delightful woman, a woman etched with worry re: her son, and yet resigned to the fact that nothing she could do would help him. As defeated as she sounded about that, she was grateful that I'd called. When I told her my feelings about divine intervention, she said that I was an answered prayer for her, and how awesome that God would use the right person for this little run-in. She thought that maybe his hearing reality from someone who was a perfect stranger might sink in a little more than the family nagging him.

Jason called again at 6:30 last night, claiming to be drunk, at a church, and with staff from LocalWorkCampSobrietyProgram "right next to him," but he still couldn't go back. But funny thing, said staff didn't want to talk when I asked Jason if I could speak to him.

"So, what do you think?" He asked, begging the question as to the feasibility of an encore motel stay.

"Jason, this is what I think. I think you need a lot of help, but you're not ready to accept it. I think I gave you two viable options for your personal safety, one of them that didn't exclude drinking, and you still chose to avoid making a choice. And now, you screwed yourself out of either one. That's what I think, Jason."

I could hear him gulping, as I continued,"Now, here's what I know. I know that your mother loves you, because I spoke with her this afternoon. I know that she would do whatever she could to help you. I know that she's stopped bailing you out because she knows it is not actually helping you. I know that an addict must hit rock bottom before really committing to change. Perhaps a night out in the cold will do that for you, and I am not willing to rob you of the very thing that might well change your life. I know that I will be praying for you, and my church will be, and your mother will be too. You have my number - know that you can call it any time you are ready to make a commitment."

And then he thanked me, choking up, telling me that I'd been an angel to him, an angel, he added, that didn't put up with BS.

Hanging up the phone, I let him go. Much like the prodigal son's father must have felt, I realized that Jason was no longer just a wandering sheep that had gotten lost, rather, he deliberately made an informed decision, opting for a path of destruction.

The only connection I have to this man is a couple hours in time, and his mother's phone number, and yet I am grieved.

But greater than the grief, is hope. Somehow this was all orchestrated by the Lord of Lords. And I know that even when our free will fouls up His plans, He makes lemonade with our lemons, and that this is not yet finished...God might tie this up with another encounter with Jason, or maybe this encounter, combined with my connections and work, might prove helpful in securing better discharge coordination policies*, a safe haven for people who've been using, or a more localized detox.

*Jason had been taken to RegionalDetox about a week ago, after his mom had picked him up at the airport, wherein she'd found him drunk upon return from the family funeral and had hauled his butt back to LocalWorkCampSobrietyProgram. She actually didn't get him there, as he jumped out of the car, while moving. He did eventually go there on his own, and he'd been taken to RegionalDetox for a few days, but had been released on Wednesday, with nowhere to go. He'd been drinking for about 3 days straight by Friday night.

Still, Jason is a person, and I can't quite separate the sheep from the prodigal about him. Would ya'll say a prayer for him?

Peace...

Friday, November 2, 2007

Note to God: "Dude, I GET it, alright?"

Tonight Charlie Brown and I took the kids out to dinner in the North end of town. Afterwards, we dropped in at our local sporting goods store since Charlie Brown is going duck hunting in the morning and he needed to purchase his license for said excursion.

As we were leaving, this guy, about my age, asks us, "What kinda place is this?"

Naively, we stopped and answered him. It was just a hook...He approached closer as we talked about the wares inside.

"So dude, I really need a ride to TownJustNorthOfUs - can you help me out?"

Charlie Brown explained that we were going south, that it really was out of our way. Barring that, we didn't have any room in the car, what with the kids' carseats in the back.

"I'm totally stranded, man. I ain't got no place to go."

Charlie Brown looked at me, "Well, it may be your lucky night then - my wife has worked with the homeless and knows all the resources in the area."

I then suggested we get him over to the Mission. He was reluctant. He pulled out a cheap drill from under his sweatshirt and said, "If you wanted to buy this, I could go over to the motel there and spend the night out of the cold."

Charlie Brown went and put the kids in their seats in the car while I talked with the guy.

"Look, I know you're in a tight spot, but let's think about this, okay?" He nodded. "I'm a big picture kind of girl...and what comes to mind for me, is if we help you out with a motel room, you're gonna be alright for tonight, but what's your outlook going to be longterm? You might take your sobriety one day at a time, but you can't with this, not if I have anything to say about it."

He shrugged. "It's fuckin' cold out," he began. "I was staying at LocalWorkCampSobrietyProgram, and my grandma died, so I left to go to Kansas City for the funeral. I just got back in town tonight."

"And you slipped, huh?" I asked, without judgment. It happens. To all of us in some form.

"Yeah, shit, I ain't gonna lie - if I were to walk into the Mission, I'd probably blow about a .35 - they'd send me straight to RegionalDetox (45minutes SW of here)."

Finishing his thoughts, I added, "And being discharged from a detox wouldn't exactly be grounds for LocalWorkCampSobrietyProgram to welcome you back with open arms."

He was shivering. It was getting cool, especially considering at .35 his blood would be pretty thin, making his core temp drop, and his clothes were insufficient at best.

My mind was racing.

You help him, and you become a mark, Heather.

Yeah, but he's got absolutely no viable option - and if something were to happen to him, could you live with knowing that he asked you for help?

Make sure you're not totally being played...be careful


But even heavier on my heart was this...

Earlier this month, I'd e-mailed the man who is heading up the inclement weather shelter, after the breathalyzer difference of opinion, sharing a couple of stories, adding:

I hope that you understand that my personal convictions are just that, personal, and they match the way I live my life outside of the office. However, as a public servant, I am ethically bound to do the most good that I can for the most people that I can – which can sometimes marginalize the very people you and I have a soft spot for. It does get complicated, to be sure, – but I hope that by sharing myself with you today you understand a little more than what meets the eye.

I knew that this was another opportunity to walk that talk.

Right about then, Charlie Brown came back to talk with us.

Something he'd said wasn't jiving...I followed up on something that was bugging me..."So wait a minute, you originally asked for a ride to TownJustNorthOfUs - what were you going to do there - LocalWorkCampSobrietyProgram, wouldn't take you in like this."

Sheepishly, "I'm sorry...I kinda gave you a little BS there...I don't know..."

Sternly, "Well, I tell you what, I'm pretty street wise and quick to catch on to people trying to play me, and you'd be best served by avoiding bullshit with me - I don't play that way, you hear?"

Charlie Brown backed me, "Dude, she has a frickin' BS radar, she's BS proof. I don't know how she does it; it pisses me off at times - but she's right, better be to dead honest with her."

I talked some more, thinking out loud. "Look, this is against my better judgment, but we'll get you a room for tonight only. I'm gonna follow up with you in the morning - and we're gonna figure out what your game plan is gonna be long term, alright?"

He nodded emphatically, and then he tried to give me the drill, a sign that he had some desire to contribute to helping himself.

I laughed, and said, "Dude, he's a master mechanic," nodding to Charlie Brown, "he's got more power tools than we need already. Keep it for the next guy."

He walked across the street while we drove over there.

As we waited to check him in, I told him I would be talking to him in the morning - that I would call around and see what kind of help we could get him. I then told him to be smart, and stay clear of trouble for the night.

He inquired of me, "You're a real Christian sister, ain't you?" with eyes somewhat incredulous.

I smiled, "Hell yes, I am." Then my eyes narrowed and got serious, "But you go and mess this up, and it's gonna piss me off royally. You don't want that."

He looked a little scared, and scrambled to say, "No ma'am."

It was almost like a modern day script for Jesus and the woman at the well, lol. Except, that would make me Christ, and I so am not.

"Just so we're clear, I'm not an enabler. This is a one-time deal, after which you have a choice; stay off the booze and be able to get a leg up by staying in the shelter, or go get something to drink and you best be prepared to finagle clothes and gear to stay outside with."

I gave him my number, and I grabbed the motel's along with his room number, asked the woman when checkout was, and told him I'd be in touch.

I called LocalWorkCampSobrietyProgram and left a message with the young man's name and my involvement - asking for a return call in the morning. I placed a few calls into other places that I know with resources. Finally, I asked for prayers - cuz, you see it's been awhile since I've been in the direct services field, so I'm a bit rusty - and then I went and got it all personalized paying for his room...it could prove to get complicated, thus I need Divine Intervention.

But, uh, not like He hasn't been providing it all along. Geeze, but I would have to have an awfully thick skull to not connect His dots that He's been putting in my path. Even when I called the church in Loveland that is helping, the lead guy was like, "How in the world do people know to come to you?"

They don't.

And I don't know that they're coming my way until I'm in the thick of it.

But God sure seems to pair us up frequently, eh?

So, Big Guy, I get it that this is my work. Just help me do a worthy job, ok? Oh, and thanks for allowing my family to be in on this one. It sure helps me in providing "object lessons" for the kiddos.