Most days, but not today.
Most days I am blessed to experience the thrill of connecting on a significant level with another human being, of meeting them in the brokenness that we all share, and maybe, if only just a little, lifting them out. Few things in life that are as fulfilling for me.
Today, though, I was in a slump. Today as I tried to prepare for tomorrow's sessions, I felt clueless and inept. I couldn't summon the creativity that guides good counseling. I felt impatient at the long, slow progress of relationship-building. Instead of the usual excitement, I felt a bit anxious at the "Unknown" that would fill the hour ahead of me. What would happen in this next session? How much do I plan for, and how would I respond? Today, my inexperience weighed heavy on me.
Today, my client never showed, didn't even answer my phone calls. When working with children who aren't old enough to drive, these scenarios come about when parents are less than invested in their children's therapy. I already knew this particular parent wasn't completely sold on the concept anyway. How can I, a 20-something, stand before a stranger--one who has been through a whole lot more difficulties in life than I have--and convince that person that paying large amounts of money every week to let their children play games with me is actually essential for their child's future well-being? How do I do that when I sometimes struggle to convince myself?
Many days, the irony of these things goes unnoticed. Sad ironies, sick ironies, like how my coworker has a job doing supervised visitations because some fathers aren't to be trusted taking their kids out to ice cream alone. Like how its my job to help this little boy learn how to adjust to life without daddy at home. Like how the kids who need services the most consequently come from families too chaotic to facilitate consistency. It's like some days I rejoice over picking up the broken pieces, and other days I get a glimpse of how big the mess is and its too much.
Today, I'm sitting in Chicago rush-hour traffic after waiting out the hour in vain for my client to arrive, trying to let this reality permeate my cynic heart:
"I'm no longer a slave to fear. I am a child of God."
Most days, I feel adequately confident, but some days I can't argue with my incompetence. After all, there are lots of things I'm not good at.
But I'm still a child of God.
I don't know how all the pieces fit together. It's not about me making a difference because some days even that much is too hard to see
...but I'm still a child of God.
And while I hope and pray that this parent recognizes the necessity of intervention for this child's future, I don't have to be a slave to fear. My status as student or counselor, youth leader, professional, employee, nothing compares with that truth. I am a child of God.
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