Musing tonight about how strong our emotions are. And how inadequate intellectual preparation is for the reality of hard situations.
When I was with the kids in the transitional group home tonight, three of the boys starting punching another, smaller boy. This is, sadly, not unusual. They are hard, and often mean. Around our Uno table there is a variety of pushing and threatening, slapping hands away and tipping over each others' chairs. I'm not sure why this was different, but this was the first time I've seen a child cry over being hit by the others. And when I tried to coax him to move and go to the caregivers, he was cringing and hiding behind me.
Here, in the best possible situation for social orphans, about 20 kids and 3-5 caregivers, and yet there is still the constant threat of minor violence. When my kids went to the local school, they hated the constant roughhousing. Some of it is done in play, but most is not. And I can't imagine what it's like for a boy to live in that environment every hour of every day.
When I left, I was so discouraged. What can I do to keep violence from breaking out in the English lesson? How should I respond to the constant mean comments, threats and acts of aggression. I think I should have done more to stop it. Yet in past situations, my efforts usually don't seem to help at all. It's discouraging to be there, and see the environment, and not be able to help at all. The weight is heavy, dragging my heart down.
When I read about people who are working in hard places, I agree with their mindset that to be present there is ultimately good. Every person's heartache breaks the Father's heart. I believe that as His child, I can enter into that pain, be there and cry with them with Him. My Savior wept when his friend died. He sighed deeply over the world. Yet I still wasn't expecting how downright discouraging it is to be exposed to the mildest of the hard places which exist. The power of emotions means that even when I know it is good to be there--good for me to see a hint of these kids' reality, good to be a loving presence there--it still just makes me want to quit. And when I'm reminded of the lives of those who have transitioned to a large orphanage, or those who have gone back home to their barely functioning family, I sense I could drown in the hopelessness.
How many times have I prayed for God to make my heart break with His? Yet the very hint of it has me cowering back, thinking this is hopeless and pointless, and I need to spend my time somewhere that doesn't drain me so.
Sadness, grief, hurt, they are more powerful. And I see they will win if I'm not immersed in God's heart, feeding on His Word, finding His joy to truly be my strength for perseverance.
When I was with the kids in the transitional group home tonight, three of the boys starting punching another, smaller boy. This is, sadly, not unusual. They are hard, and often mean. Around our Uno table there is a variety of pushing and threatening, slapping hands away and tipping over each others' chairs. I'm not sure why this was different, but this was the first time I've seen a child cry over being hit by the others. And when I tried to coax him to move and go to the caregivers, he was cringing and hiding behind me.
Here, in the best possible situation for social orphans, about 20 kids and 3-5 caregivers, and yet there is still the constant threat of minor violence. When my kids went to the local school, they hated the constant roughhousing. Some of it is done in play, but most is not. And I can't imagine what it's like for a boy to live in that environment every hour of every day.
When I left, I was so discouraged. What can I do to keep violence from breaking out in the English lesson? How should I respond to the constant mean comments, threats and acts of aggression. I think I should have done more to stop it. Yet in past situations, my efforts usually don't seem to help at all. It's discouraging to be there, and see the environment, and not be able to help at all. The weight is heavy, dragging my heart down.
When I read about people who are working in hard places, I agree with their mindset that to be present there is ultimately good. Every person's heartache breaks the Father's heart. I believe that as His child, I can enter into that pain, be there and cry with them with Him. My Savior wept when his friend died. He sighed deeply over the world. Yet I still wasn't expecting how downright discouraging it is to be exposed to the mildest of the hard places which exist. The power of emotions means that even when I know it is good to be there--good for me to see a hint of these kids' reality, good to be a loving presence there--it still just makes me want to quit. And when I'm reminded of the lives of those who have transitioned to a large orphanage, or those who have gone back home to their barely functioning family, I sense I could drown in the hopelessness.
How many times have I prayed for God to make my heart break with His? Yet the very hint of it has me cowering back, thinking this is hopeless and pointless, and I need to spend my time somewhere that doesn't drain me so.
Sadness, grief, hurt, they are more powerful. And I see they will win if I'm not immersed in God's heart, feeding on His Word, finding His joy to truly be my strength for perseverance.
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