My World Today

The door slams shut. Without looking up from her writing, she says, "The door MUST be left ajar."

Around me were other capable people and although we did not make eye contact, I knew she was talking to me. I walked over to the door and with purpose, opened it wide so the one who had just slammed the door, could see my presence.

I kept a straight face, my poker face they have dubbed it, made eye contact, then allowed him to be shielded from view by closing the door a bit but kept it ajar so he knew I cared and for his safety.

~~

...and so he rocks in the chair and raises his hand towards me. He tells me to look at it.

I walk close enough to view but kept a safe distance. I see the back of a pale hand that is covered in scars. I nod my head in acknowledgment.

Using language more fitting a bar conversation, and words I am unsure at his young age, he even knows the meaning of, he begins to tell me the story of his hand and his world. He says he wants to kill everyone in the world and mostly hates his family. They never listen, they only talk at him. They don't understand and always demand he said.

His rocking in the chair increased to a fast pace. Then, with a quick gesture, he raises up the back of his scarred hand in my direction again. I have a surge of fear rush through me but the compassion I have for this young man because of his deep pain, overtakes the fear and so I stand unshaken.

"I learned when I was little that if I cover my head with my shirt or coat, I can bite the top of my hand so no one knows or sees. When I do, the pain the kids and my parents bring me, keeps my teeth held there - in the skin of my hand. Then, I know I won't hurt them. I won't kill them like I want to."

All the while each sentence is filled with colorful language.
All the while I keep my poker face on.
All the while he was talking to me, he kept his eyes focused on the bookshelf in front of him, watching it as if a movie were being played there before him from such moments of his past as he described them each to me.

When he was done, he glanced up in my direction and lowered his hand to his lap. His rocking was back to a calmer pace. What I wanted to do was find a way to fight the world for him. The best weapons I had were prayer. I prayed silently for him, his world, his soul and selfishly for my safety and strength.I spoke out loud, the words that best suited the moment, keeping my place in his world where it needed to be.

~~

Every time she sees me, her steps quicken as she comes to enter my space. But I really don't mind. She has such a sweet spirit. She tells me the latest news of Lady Gaga, of which I recently did a Google search to figure out who this 'lady' was...hmmm.

She tells me what the singer is up to fashion wise, and always asks me what I think Lady Gaga is having for lunch today which brings a smile to my face. I always respond the same and say, "carrots and rice cakes of course". She accepts the response with a full body giggle.

She holds open her favorite magazine and points to the current fashions for women, who at my age, are merely girls, and asks would I like to wear that? Another hmmm enters my brain and with the thoughts of me wearing a tight, short skirt and a top that would reveal more wrinkles, folds, and parts of me that don't need to be exposed...but the tattoos on those ladies did cause me to pause in thought ...hmmmm I report to her, 'probably not', which she accepts and closes the magazine as we move on to the our next destination.

Once we arrive, she tilts her head on my arm, putting one hand on my back and tells me, "I like you." Apparently from her 'hug', she has a space of her own. I appreciate that about her.

It's like a daily game we play, her and I. I really don't mind it at all. In fact, I am certain my day would not be complete if she were not in it.

~~

His dad walks in the room and I observe the boys calculated walk to an area where he is hidden from view. His father hands me papers that he read and signed. He doesn't look like a happy or sad man, kinda sorta hard to read person. He seems calm enough but what is his son telling me in his body language?

I thank the father. He turns and walks the same path he came in on. As the door closes behind him, I walk to where the boy is hiding and look in his eyes and see pain but am unsure of what kind of pain he is holding inside. All the while, realizing the father not once greeted his son nor asked of his well being or how his son's day was going - and I wonder - and my heart hurts.

~~

I find her sitting with her head down at the desk. I ask if she is tired. She looks up and tells me yes and she is not sure if her mother will make it through the night.

Her mom has cancer and she, the lady at the desk, is a worrier. Always has been. She worries now that she won't be by her mom's side when she passes. She can't sleep. She can't function by day.

I try to comfort her. I try to help her through the moment but sometimes people only need to know you are there. I listen to my instincts and sit by her side, pick up a crossword puzzle and pencil.

~~

Along the day I discover, that some desks are not as heavy as they appear and can practically float across a room.

Along the day I discover, that attaching a chair to a desk with strong rope does not mean the chair is not mobile.

Along the day I discover, that sinks overflow and the some folks find splendor in watching the waterfall effect.

Along the day I discover, that munching on almonds calms my nerves.

~~

His long arms stiffen and rise in the air as he once again states, "I'm outta here."

It's a common phrase I hear from several in my world. Why is that I wonder. Could it be a part of their cultural language and I not being a part of their world, have not be given privy to this knowledge?

....and so I walk swiftly after them, as their long arms are a match for their long legs. Every step they take, I must take 2 or 3 to keep up.

Once again, I am engaging in P.E. without having to attend a class.

~~

At the end of the day, I get in my car and drive home. My routine much the same as if nothing has changed and yet so much has. Then it hits me, as it often times does. The part of my day I just lived through, is a portion of a pretty typical day lately and I know there are more hours in this day to come. I grieve. I hurt. I cry inside, which is sometimes hard as the compassion is so deep for those I just left that the crying turns to weeping and then I wonder why I can't separate myself from my work like others seem to.

Boss says we should do yoga at the end of each day. It makes me cringe at the meaninglessness of it but I do appreciate her thoughtfulness. I ask the others I work with how they leave the day behind and they just do. But how is that possible and why can't I? I want to find control over my feelings. I don't want to not care but I do want to survive in a way that a distance can be accomplished so when I go home, home and all that I must do and want to do there, can be done more efficiently. Does that make sense to you? But yet, I can't deny who I am.

Maybe it is my business, my purpose, to pray for these young people in my life, that they remain on my heart. Maybe it is my mission to leave them at the feet of Jesus and not keep carrying the heavy burden. But how to know....I wonder

These precious people who deal often daily with what they don't deserve - it's overwhelming to me and yet I mouth - Jesus, thank you for each one of them being placed in my life and on my heart. Bless them and their families. Fill me with your strength, your love, and let me see the world through your eyes and with your heart.