Signs of life

For a number of days now, i’ve been (somewhat anxiously) watching a certain section of my garden, the area that was seeded instead of filled up with bedding plants. Waiting, looking, even poking around to see if a tiny green sprout exists, hiding under the dirt.   i’ve figured that the crops that i’ve seeded – carrots, beets, beans, and peas – are hardy enough to live into the fall, but with such a short, unpredictable growing season, every day counts.

So, it was a joyful experience to finally see a section of wee tiny little red sprouts filling out the beginnings of what will be a row of beets.  i felt all puffed up with pride over these baby plants that finally took their first move towards eating up sunlight.

Encouraged by this development, i took the bold move of shoving a spade in the ground to investigate what on earth was going on with my delinquent bean and pea seeds.  The verdict: wee worms eating up the tender beans. Arrggh.  i eventually found two little beans that were managing to sprout, and got them nicely packed away in their dirt homes again, vowing to start sprouting some beans and peas in a more sterile environment like a nalgene bottle this week at work.  Maybe that will get them the head start they need.

As i finished my snooping around underground and returned to the much more routine task of watering, i thought about what it would be like if it were only that easy to unpack some of the problems that i see the kids at work struggling with. So many times, we staff all know that there is a ton of stuff going on under the surface that is keeping a client from moving forward in a positive way. Most of the kids we see have pain and problems that run so deep, they often don’t even know themselves how to dig them up or what’s happening in the deep soil of their own life.  It’s hard to watch from a removed vantage point and be unable to poke and prod and dig around, to be able to only water what is good, fertilize the positive choices made, weed a little negative behaviour out of the picture, and wait patiently, creating an environment where a sensitive issue can finally sprout up and be identified.   Then sometimes, there are the lives that, beyond any caring we offer, are eaten up by the worms of negativity, pain, burdens that we never truly see, except to know that while in our care, no good living thing sprouted up because of those things unseen.

It’s been one of the hardest things that i’ve ever learned to deal with when working with people – the times when there is no growth to be seen, no living, no joy.  It’s hard to step back and to know that it’s not reflective of my level of caring or my skill set.  Perhaps it’s just not the right environment sometimes, perhaps there was knowledge that i don’t have, or factors beyond my control have truly overtaken my ability to help.  Most of the time i’ll never really know.

Then again, from the same vantage point, it is a humbling knowledge that the only thing i can help do to bring life to the surface is to be the waterer, someone who tends to making the environment a safe and welcoming place for a sprout of goodness to surface.  i didn’t make those beet sprouts grow, and i don’t make the positive (and often difficult) choices for the youth i care for, but i can live and act in such a way that it’s more likely to happen, and i thank God for that.

i’ve been thinking a lot lately about influence and choices, about how to impact the communities that i live in and around in ways that encourage joyful, fulfilling life.   It’s so easy to forget this calling towards a generous and loving life sometimes, so easy to just think of myself and what would make my life easier.  Like missing a morning watering just to sleep in another hour or so, it’s so easy just to escape a difficult conversation or follow a lengthy protocol at work, to leave a questions about accountability or about a friend’s dreams about life for banal chatter about the day.  It’s not the sleeping in or the simple chats that are the problem, but left on their own, it’s hard to create an environment where something good and meaningful grows.  It takes the same kind of commitment as early-morning garden watering to nurture life of any sort, and i’m slowly learning to take these lessons from my garden into the rest of my life.  So from beet sprouts to deeper friendships and more meaningful work, i’m trying to keep the reminders from my garden close to heart.

Teach me to cry
when the day is done -
when it is finally fine to
let the guard down.

Teach me to cry
so that i do not carry the cry
in my face -
Aching
behind skin, over bone -
There,
where i practiced keeping a calm demeanor.
Pierce me!
Pierce my jaw!
My eyelids!
My cheeks!
Pierce them!
And let the wailing out of me -

That wailing,
all the words that i want to say when i do say
-i will not argue -
- Here are your choices -
-i am leaving now-
or
- i’m willing to take that risk -
When i am acting to keep the peace
and acting to keep myself in one piece.

Teach me to cry,
to empty myself,
to unburden before the next day
so that the cry does not harden
deeper than my flesh, my bones,
and into my soul
where i am burning still.

Cleanse my eyes -
My soul is not heavy yet,
and it’s windows should not be shuttered!
Teach me to cry so that when i say
Enough
i can still say
i care

Somewhere here
between the pride and tears,
in crevices of
long, long days:
a point of faith is
holding it all
together.
Come,
sit down,
kick back,
and be with me.
I see your smile
Creaking through
And know it’s nothing new
to have everything collapse in on you.
But ah!
There it is again!
A grin -
More courageous
than the fight you’re raging through.
Come,
i’ll walk
a mile with you.
Soon enough
You’ll go somewhere
so very far from here.
Long long roads
will come your way,
and this I pray -
That you’ll take away
some point of faith
holding life
together

- for my basecamp kids

labours of love

i sat in a room last night, sat there and listened to the sounds of three people starting to sob. Ragged breaths, hiccups, staccato cries punctuated by the rushing of my own heartbeat in my ears. After four hours of walking through the stories of family dysfunction, personal failures, crushed hopes, bleak expectations of the child sitting in front of me, there was no more wiping away covert tears, no more covering quivering chins and trying to get through to some point in the conversation that would wave magically over us and make it all better.

The child, really a young old soul, spoke.

“I’m worthless”

i stared at this soul in front of me, this young person so full of insight and strength and intelligence and humour and cheeky running dialogues quoted flawlessly from movies and timidly explored kitchen skills and confidently, solidly stated ethics. This child? i’d give a billion dollars, if i had that, to save this kid. But money, not this kid, is worthless.

i spoke some words. i don’t think they scratched the surface of the rage and passion and helplessness that i felt, watching this kid face down his demons, his choices, his own empty deserted spaces in life that should have been filled with everything good and rich and loving and laughing. And we cried. Two youthworkers and a child full of pain: we cried together.

And yet, this too was love.

Love is hard.
Love does not easily give up.
And it’s all i’m banking on today.