I don't want this blog to become a place that I run to and only post outlandish stories about the low points of urban ministry. I understand that people like seeing and reading things like that though, even if only subconsciously.
Don't we all love that housewives, basketball wives, mob wives type TV? Shows packed with cast members that are nuttier than an "almond joy"? Shows with producers just off camera making sure that there are fresh glasses of champagne poured so that they can be thrown in each others' faces when the tension reaches critical mass?
Conflict seemingly generates interest.
So why do I continue to write in this blog the most horrible things I come across while working in Camden? Yes, I want people to be interested in what I have to say, but am I being naive if I am hoping that interest comes from a different place? A place of self-reflection, of enlightenment, of empathy, even of inspiration? I guess I really need a space to process what I experience, and I try and stop living life with a subconscious "Would this make a good blog post?" popping in my head. Especially on a day like today.
Colossians 3:17 reminds me that "whatever you do...do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus". I hope this blog achieves that standard, rather than becoming just another (small) part of the larger media that draws people in by reporting violence and misery.
Because today a little boy, a child, absolutely snapped. And since I'm being honest, let me say this: I don't quite know how to write about it without trivializing his deep disturbance or turning his plight into something of a phenomenon... like a war story that I recount and retell to illicit some type of fascination or admiration for what I do.
Trust me, I have "war stories". I've been in some tense moments before... I was about to be "jumped" by a group of teens as I was trying to pull one of my kids off the street and into program. I've been stranded amidst a group of about a half dozen intensely brawling middle schoolers, the sole adult around to break things up. I've had a parent literally lunge over me to deliver several loud, solid corrective blows to her daughter's face. In each of these tense moments, the adrenaline eventually subsided, my guard came down, and the pressure was lifted. And in the wake of each of these scenarios, I was able to laugh things off, even make light of what happened while debriefing with fellow staff. Each of these occurrences are essentially several "it's funny now" kind of moments.
But not today. There's no expiration date on this one. For the first time--in a long time--I was deeply disturbed by what was going on.
- - -
Two. It took two adults to stop this child from busting out of the room and wreaking absolute disarray on the school community. He would walk in furious, even panicked circles, making almost inhuman noises. He wanted to destroy something--perhaps even himself.
And that's what we kept telling him, all the adults surrounding him letting him know that he was loved, cared for, and worth something. "Don't do this," one of us shouted firmly, "stay here with us," another cooed in a soothing voice. Other times we were stern, "You've come too far to mess this up!" In yet another instance, persuasive: "It's me. Look at me--let's talk this out! You always talk things out with me..." And amid his incessant, frenzied circling and guttural grunts, his enraged outbursts and attempts to charge forcibly into the hallway, his half-cocked fists and his at times flailing arms that I was almost certain would connect with one of us sooner or later...there was compassion: "We all care about you. I care about you."
Literally days from graduating, right after he finds out he gets accepted to a prestigious local school, a (relatively) minor infraction was about to cause this boy to lose almost everything he had worked for that school year. We were literally the only thing standing in between this boy leaving with a parent or leaving in handcuffs.
Well, us and a whole lot of prayer. That's one thing I love about working at an inner city school. Folks are often unafraid to act out in their faith.
"Don't let the devil win, boy."
"Fight that evil, you can do this."
"That's a lie straight out of the pit of hell."
They were speaking the Word to him, and he was beginning to calm down, to slow his hyperventilating caused by an unmitigated rage that his undeveloped mind was unable to process. And I was praying, too. It's almost as if I was face to face with the man from the Garasenes, plagued by legions, cutting his face with stones, attempting to destroy himself with fire. (Luke 8:26-39)
But then finally, in the midst of all this, something happened.
He broke down, sobbing deeply. I'm almost overcome with emotion as I recall this poor kid, once so overtaken with an almost manic fury, finally break and deescalate into this outpouring of intense sadness. He had been passed from household to household, he had been told and made to feel like he wasn't good enough by his family and by his school, and he had grown up in a hostile city with hateful intentions. Finally, he had had enough.
"That's it," one of us said at last, rubbing his back, "It's okay to cry. Let it all out, boy. There's no shame in crying."
- - -
Soon after, the boy's guardian arrived to take him home. The staff and I spoke briefly afterwards, sort of digesting what we had just witnessed. Shortly after that, we were back to our routine, though the atmosphere was far more somber and pensive. It was like that first crisp moment of calm and clarity after a debilitating storm.
Some days I leave work feeling uplifted, like God is saying "This is why you're here." Other days, including today, I leave with a sickening lump in my throat and a heavy burden clinging to my heart. Oddly enough, it's on those days too that I feel like God is saying, "THIS is why you're here." I feel so powerless, so inexperienced, so naive, so weak sometimes. I wonder how I got myself into things, and if I'm really the right one for the job. Be that as it may, it reminds me of something my pastor told me once. She said that the day that I feel like I have everything down pat, that's when I should really be worried. For I know that it's only by God's strength that any change can happen in a place like Camden. And for that reason, I'm thankful that He says, "My power is made perfect in weakness." Now that's something I can say "Amen" to.
Especially after a day like today.
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