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.