We can be there for others: love
them, listen to them, pray for them, hold out hope, encourage, support, cry, and
laugh with them. But we can’t change them.
When a lady is doing well, I often forget the depth of hurt she
struggles with. I can’t understand how familiar her darkness is. When she comes
to work, seems to have made a decision for new life, is faithful and consistent
for a season, I forget. I forget the pain in her past, the wounds, the giant
holes of insecurity, the self -condemnation, the brokenness, the functional,
albeit ugly, coping mechanisms. I forget the vastness between my world and
hers.
Annie had been with us almost a
whole year. She was doing so well. She
had learned most of the jewelry designs. She had a new, wholesome look; she seemed more like her true 19 years. Annie was laughing more, forgiving more and
getting angry less. We could chart growth. She had even gone
back to high school. She had new dreams and was on the way to attaining them.
Then her grandpa died. Her family
connections were weak and fragile. But Grandpa’s
presence had been some kind of constant in her life. Then her roommate surrendered, again, to an
alcoholic binge that took her back to the streets, back to her pimp, back to
darkness. Annie followed.
And so
we mourn and are reminded that a few months of love don’t change a person.
Healing takes time. Change has to happen deep within; it’s more than a new wardrobe, new hair color, and a new routine.
I was reminded this morning, “Leave
the outcomes to God.” He is in the people-changing business. His plans for
healing and recovery, for working all things together for good, are much wiser
than I can imagine. So, I’m trying to leave the outcomes to Him.
I’m sad.
The sadness feels heavy, like an elephant sitting on my chest. I pray for Annie
and Nergui fervently, passionately, desperately. But I must trust that the outcomes,
the business of change, are His and His alone.
