I've been thinking a lot about my previous job here lately (as you could probably tell from my blog posts). I don't think I could ever describe my work to anyone who hasn't worked at The Village and do it any justice. I worked at a residential treatment facility for teens suffering from substance abuse, sexual abuse, and behavioral disorders (among several other entities). I was basically a caretaker (or mom, if you will) to 5-18 girls.
One of the downsides to working there was feeling so alone and conflicted-- wanting to help these adolescents fight for a better life for themselves and yet feeling so discouraged as I spoke with entitled teens who didn't care what I had to offer them.
I have had my hair pulled out, been spat upon, laughed at, punched in the face, and had a chair thrown at me (among others). I'd say I left having the better end of the stick compared to some of my coworkers and even those who worked there before I did.
I can't help but think of how Jesus must have felt while he was here on earth. He was treated even more lowly than I can even imagine and how dare I say that I felt so defeated and uncared for when I worked at the Village? This job wasn't about me, it was about trying to show these girls a new way of life without drugs or alcohol, a worthwhile life where they could see that they were cared for and had the ability to live a full life. Christ gives us that opportunity, and yet we treated (and sometimes still treat) him like dirt. He was spat upon, laughed at, and killed on a cross-- all for us.
Today, I'm reminded of my time at the Village with the scar I have on my right shin that is still there almost 9 months later (even after physical therapy). I don't think it will ever go away. My scar bothered me in the beginning, and still does on occasion, but I can at least be grateful that it wasn't worse. My Savior endured much more so that I can have an eternal life with Him. My scars are nothing compared to Him.
One of the downsides to working there was feeling so alone and conflicted-- wanting to help these adolescents fight for a better life for themselves and yet feeling so discouraged as I spoke with entitled teens who didn't care what I had to offer them.
I have had my hair pulled out, been spat upon, laughed at, punched in the face, and had a chair thrown at me (among others). I'd say I left having the better end of the stick compared to some of my coworkers and even those who worked there before I did.
I can't help but think of how Jesus must have felt while he was here on earth. He was treated even more lowly than I can even imagine and how dare I say that I felt so defeated and uncared for when I worked at the Village? This job wasn't about me, it was about trying to show these girls a new way of life without drugs or alcohol, a worthwhile life where they could see that they were cared for and had the ability to live a full life. Christ gives us that opportunity, and yet we treated (and sometimes still treat) him like dirt. He was spat upon, laughed at, and killed on a cross-- all for us.
Today, I'm reminded of my time at the Village with the scar I have on my right shin that is still there almost 9 months later (even after physical therapy). I don't think it will ever go away. My scar bothered me in the beginning, and still does on occasion, but I can at least be grateful that it wasn't worse. My Savior endured much more so that I can have an eternal life with Him. My scars are nothing compared to Him.
Wow.... God bless my daughter and the lives of those I'm positive you touched in someway.
ReplyDeleteA taste of the heart of Christ is not to be taken lightly. God Bless you my daughter. Oh, ur momma already said that... Well, same goes fo me. :-)
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