Humbled

Of all the days to find the batteries dead in the Palm Keyboard—of course I felt like writing. I woke up feeling melancholy today. I’m not depressed. I looked it up on the internet: sober thoughtfulness and pensive. I am thought-full. Seems all I do lately is think. I don’t have much opportunity to talk. Fern isn’t big on conversation. I try, but her responses are short. She seems to prefer her own thoughts.

So early in the week I was feeling pretty lost, a deep sense of grief. I remembered a lecture I received from the expert on sexual offenders. She was evaluating me at the request of my PO. I was new in the county (this was fall 04). She concluded that I wasn’t humble enough.

There are some phrases that stick and some that sting. Some become labels, others banners and others the sticks we continue to beat ourselves up with.

When this woman, who I had just met, made this pronouncement I was stunned. How could she say such a thing? I was wallowing in brokenness and shame, mixed with a huge dose of grief, and mingled with large amounts of self-loathing. But I needed to be more humble.

This week, when I was reminded of that encounter, I was in the middle of an inner conversation where I was about where I was about to tell my former boss off for firing me last June. All of a sudden instead of wanting to blast him I said, “Thank you.” To say it again, right now, brings tears to my eyes.

What sense does it make to thank my employer who I trusted, who I worked hard for, who I stood up for, and who in my dark time of need dumped me without so much as a thank you for your service and dedication or any kind word.

For the past eitht months I’ve thought of plenty reasons to be angry and feel betrayed. Initially I told him off daily in my mind, but I soon realized this was poisoning to my spirit so I committed to pray for the ministry each time they came to mind. And let me tell you they came to mind a lot since my supervisor lives directly across the street from us. You can’t tell me God doesn’t possess a great sense of humor and is the master of irony.

Coming this this week to my own awareness of thankfulness was a totally unexpected move. It happened while I was at work at my elder-sitting job. I took the position because I needed a paycheck. I thought it was going to make me crazy at first. This job reminds me of baby-sitting for a teenager. They resent you because they think they can handle life on their own and for the most part they are right, but there are those occasional moments when they need help. The greater need is for the parents who want peace of mind while they are away. I provide the peace of mind for this woman’s children. True to form, she resents my being here. I can’t do anything right, no matter how well or often I do it. I can’t make her happy and that is really hard on me, so I strive to just not make her any more unhappy.

The day of my epiphany Fern was just in one snit after another. I had to keep reminding myself that it wasn’t about me. Well it kind of was, but not me personally. I was sitting in the window seat, laying low, and staying out of her line of sight. I was working on a cross-stitch project for my brother. It was so far from what I was trained to do; so far from what used to feel passionate about.
Passion. The word felt foreign to me. I don’t feel passionate about anything. I used to ache to teach and speak. I used to think that if I didn’t do those things that I would just die. Not anymore.

When I turned myself in and life changed so dramatically, I didn’t have any idea what life was going to hold for me. The people who cared about me, who believed in me and God, told me over and over that God wasn’t through using me yet. I didn’t know how to believe them. Then I was hired to work with the re-entry ministry. I felt like I was making a difference for the Kingdom. God was using me. But it’s all in the past now. I feel like Moses wandering in Midian. I don’t have sheep. I have a little Alzheimer’s lady and a couple of cross-stitch projects. I really feel like God is done with me.

I’ve sat here for a couple minutes staring at that sentence. I don’t like the way it sounds. But I would have thought that it would stir some kind of emotion in me, but it doesn’t. When I learned I would no longer be writing the devotions at church, it was as if someone turned out the light in my heart. I just don’t feel anything about it.

I think I’ve been humbled.