I felt like I'd been in a ringer. There were pauses in which the pressure slowed and I almost forgot it was there, but not completely, and not for long.
I have bathroom duty when I'm at the longhouse. A lonely job. I stand by the door at the end of the dining room and watch all the others run around with the kids. Hugs, preference, laughter. The kids know their names. I try not to think about it. I remind myself that my job makes it possible for their love to reach the kids. My presence means safety. It's necessary. Such a job also comes with blessings.
It's still lonely though.
God blessed me though as I sat, waiting for Stephen to announce someone else who had to go. "One girl!" "One guy!" "Someone still in there?"
Suddenly, one of the older girls came over, sat by me, and began telling me about how tired she was, how summer school was going, where her grades were, and about the Powwow and rodeo she was going to that week. I sat and soaked it up, listening with all I had. God had put me on bathroom duty so I would listen.
Soon all the vans had left and returned full of kids, the food had all been placed, and they were flooding into the dining hall, chattering an laughing. Veronica asked me to take bathroom duty a little longer. She had to check for graffiti in the bathrooms again. Everyone sat down, many with a specific child. So many relationships tied in a web. Beautiful to watch. Lonely to watch. When it all shuffled out, I sat on the end of an empty table across from Chris, the director of Sacred Road. My boss, if you will. More like a family member. God blessed me through that as well. We talked the little that we could around Jason's bear roars and our reminders that he had to eat his dinner before he could go play. We talked of expectations, culture shock, and the different personalities of teams.
Time to sing. Jason was on my lap. He has the nervous energy of five nine-year-old boys. There were slight segments of time when he was still in my arms. I sang into his ears as we cocked back and forth. The other times he was jumping up, putting his hand on my mouth, barely saying snatches of songs. God put me on bathroom duty so I would be free to love those who struggle with emotional connection.
Nearly the entire mini-bus ride back towards our house, Connie sobbed on Lauren's shoulder...shuddering, rhythmic chokes. There was no way to comfort besides holding her; letting her know she is loved. There's no way to really know what upset her. It could have been a multitude of things. Mere over tiredness to her finding out about her thirteen-year-old cousin who committed suicide last week. So common...such horror...both in the deaths and in how you begin to come to expect them.
I have bathroom duty when I'm at the longhouse. A lonely job. I stand by the door at the end of the dining room and watch all the others run around with the kids. Hugs, preference, laughter. The kids know their names. I try not to think about it. I remind myself that my job makes it possible for their love to reach the kids. My presence means safety. It's necessary. Such a job also comes with blessings.
It's still lonely though.
God blessed me though as I sat, waiting for Stephen to announce someone else who had to go. "One girl!" "One guy!" "Someone still in there?"
Suddenly, one of the older girls came over, sat by me, and began telling me about how tired she was, how summer school was going, where her grades were, and about the Powwow and rodeo she was going to that week. I sat and soaked it up, listening with all I had. God had put me on bathroom duty so I would listen.
Soon all the vans had left and returned full of kids, the food had all been placed, and they were flooding into the dining hall, chattering an laughing. Veronica asked me to take bathroom duty a little longer. She had to check for graffiti in the bathrooms again. Everyone sat down, many with a specific child. So many relationships tied in a web. Beautiful to watch. Lonely to watch. When it all shuffled out, I sat on the end of an empty table across from Chris, the director of Sacred Road. My boss, if you will. More like a family member. God blessed me through that as well. We talked the little that we could around Jason's bear roars and our reminders that he had to eat his dinner before he could go play. We talked of expectations, culture shock, and the different personalities of teams.
Time to sing. Jason was on my lap. He has the nervous energy of five nine-year-old boys. There were slight segments of time when he was still in my arms. I sang into his ears as we cocked back and forth. The other times he was jumping up, putting his hand on my mouth, barely saying snatches of songs. God put me on bathroom duty so I would be free to love those who struggle with emotional connection.
Nearly the entire mini-bus ride back towards our house, Connie sobbed on Lauren's shoulder...shuddering, rhythmic chokes. There was no way to comfort besides holding her; letting her know she is loved. There's no way to really know what upset her. It could have been a multitude of things. Mere over tiredness to her finding out about her thirteen-year-old cousin who committed suicide last week. So common...such horror...both in the deaths and in how you begin to come to expect them.
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