The Giver

A somewhat heavier post about working in the foster care system...

Whenever my job comes up in conversation someone inevitably responds with: "that must be tough." The phrase doesn't usually sit well with me. Sure, there have been some really rough days here and there, but in my four and a half years of working in the child welfare system I have never really felt that it has taken a great toll on me emotionally. I get to see a lot of things. It is really beautiful to see people sacrificing of themselves to care for other people's children. I get to see people giving back. I get to attend adoption hearings. The abuse and neglect? Well it is what it is. Sometimes I hear the details of it, but I never really dwelt on any of that stuff. There are so many other things for me to think about, things necessary in order to do to accomplish my job responsibilities. I keep moving. I think most of us keep moving. It is an action-oriented, solution-focused kind of job. "The job", meaning the position I held up until two months ago. I've recently transitioned into a different role within the agency known as the Placement Coordinator. Things are looking, well, pretty different from this new vantage point. Pretty really different. I've been thinking a lot lately about the novel, The Giver. Many of us public school system prodigies read the book circa sixth grade. Such a good, quick read. The Giver is about a futuristic dystopia (much like books A Brave New World and 1984) in which everything in society has been completely regimented and organized to the extreme. Everyone is assigned their careers for the rest of their lives at the age of 12. Assignments are distributed at an annual ceremony in which the entire community is present. It's a pretty big deal. Unbeknownst by the community, the most honorable position of the Giver is assigned this particular year to a boy who happens to be the main character of our story. (How convenient for us.) Whatever this boy's name is I can't remember. There is one and only one Giver, and so this position is assigned only every ohhh fifty years or so. The Giver's sole responsibility is to be the keeper of the community's memories. All things pleasurable, and all things painful. The keeper of truths. Oh imagine the sensation of sledding to one who has never known snow or the adrenaline of racing downhill! Yet the Giver must also hold the weight of war, famine, burning a finger on a stovetop. So in this new position of mine, Placement Coordinator (not Giver), I get to focus solely on matching kids with safe, loving foster families. It's really fun when it works out, especially when it's a difficult placement. But I'm also finding that it is often times rather frustrating and discouraging. A lot of profiles come through for kids, and I just don't have any homes available for those kids. And it's not the kids you'd expect to be difficult to place either. Teens are definitely the most challenging to find homes for. Also, large sibling groups of three or four or five children, those are challenging too. But sometimes - more times than I'd thought - I get requests in for a 4 year old little boy or an 8 month old little girl, and there's nothing I can do. Could we really have no open beds for a 4 year old little boy or an 8 month old little girl? That can wear on you after a while. But let me tell you what is tougher still. I'm having to face the details of the abuse and the neglect. The stories that bring these kids into the foster care system. I'm reading about the specifics day in and day out. I'm often surprised. Often in disbelief. Malnourished to the point that her hair is falling out? But she's just 2 years old. Fractured skull, fractured ribs, an infant. A 15 year old female who has never been to school before... The neighbors didn't know there were children living in the home, let alone 9 children living in the home. A couple weeks ago I reviewed a 50 page packet for a therapeutic foster  child. It contained the worst of the worst. It's just, it's horrific you guys. I wanted to leave work and go home and cry for this kid. Cry because it is so unfair. My life is so disgustingly simple, so good...and yet this young girl will probably be fighting demons the rest of her days. How can she ever have a normal life after what she has experienced? Nobody can relate to what she has been through. And so I've been thinking about The Giver...thinking about how my eyes are being opened to some things that the world around me doesn't have any idea about. If they only knew... But then I had a conversation with my brother, Gage, the other night. I mentioned some of these struggles to him, and quickly realized that I don't know anything. If anyone is the Giver, it's probably Gage. As a police officer, Gage has been called out multiple times to physically remove children from their families because of abuse and neglect - even fearing for his own safety in doing so. I'm reading about this stuff, but he's seeing it. He's intervening in the situation. Good grief, now those experiences have really got to change and shape you. Change how you think about our world and your life. Anyway, I've got to wrap this up and get my hiney to bed. I wish I had a nice way of resolving this blog or at least some kind of clever segway, but I got nothin'. These are just my recent thoughts. My depressing and possibly somewhat disruptive thoughts for all the world to read. Go get yourself licensed for foster care. Goodnight world. 

Today I woke up in San Salvador.

And then a wonderful thing happened - culture. I'm so glad I left the hotel today. I will admit there is definitely an element of fear present. Fear of the unknown world that is El Salvador, which is not so much known for being a safe place for a gringo girl to travel by herself. Fear of not being able to communicate, of being embarrassed, of being isolated, of not getting my basic needs met. Oh yeah, and of getting lost, taken advantage of, abducted  etc. But I knew I had to leave the hotel today, and the sooner the better. I just walked around the city for the last hour plus, looking for a tasty breakfast at a place now twice recommended called Mister Donut. But mostly I was walking around to just walk and see people and things. Explore and see life here. I unknowingly passed Mister Donut twice (it was on the opposite side of the street, and the signage was covered by the trees), but I'm glad I didn't see it for another 40 minutes. This city reminds me a great deal of other places I've been. A mix between Tijuana and Istanbul perhaps. It is loud and bustling, with bad sidewalks, a dichotomous mixture of new and old, posh and scraggly, developed and undeveloped. It is a clear, perfect day outside and the air is heavy with humidity. My hair is excitedly greeting her long lost pal, Humidity. They love each other, you know. The sun is radiant; I should be wearing sunblock already. Oh well. There is a lot of traffic, horns beeping just to say 'I'm here', and pedestrians get very little consideration. Trixie says it smells like squatters, that it smells like a third world country to her. She would know, I guess, since her homeland is third world and has squatters, but we haven't seen a single squatter yet. There seem to be about twice as many man out than women, and no one looks foreign like me, but I'm sure my hair helps me to blend in better than many other tourists. There are many men working construction, but it appears to be the old-fashioned/primitive/harder way of doing things - jobs that would take less time and be easier by machinery rather than by hand. There's gotta be an easier way, I'm thinking to myself. There are a lot of landscapers, too, but most noticeably of all are the men working security. I've only seen this many security guards at the N'Sync concert back in junior high. And they carry big guns around, making this look like a really dangerous place. No gang sightings yet, but I have been here about 14 hours. They say there are 100,000 gang members here. I know I fit in here because it's hot outside and everybody is wearing pants. I'm a pants all year kind of girl. Shorts are nice, I wear them, I like them, but I love the security of being held in by pants. I was surprised and disappointed to hear from Trixie's work friends (Brad & Jaime) that I should not venture to the volcano or the beach by bus by myself. I've done quite a bit of reading on the area and never got the sense that it was quite so dangerous, but Brad says the gang members are known to raid the buses and rob everyone on board. Luckily it sounds like Trixie will be working less than she had anticipated. Brad and Jaime feel it is important for her to experience the culture, and they want to take time away from work to show us around. I must see the volcano and the beach, but everything else is flexible/extra. Right now, I see a man in uniform shaving his beard on the street. Haha. I think because of my recent experiences in Turkey, I am sure to not smile on the streets here. I am not by nature a stern or serious-looking person. I prefer to smile at strangers, but I am cautious and do not want to unknowingly draw attention to myself or send any signals in a culture I may not be able to fully understand. I try to blend in and go unnoticed; however, I do (am) still wearing my bright green pants. :) I have been hearing God speak to me lately. Yesterday, on the day of travel, I got a very strong impression that I feel was from God. It was a thought, a phrase, but I swear it was from Him and not from me. (That is usually how it happens for me.) He told me that he wants to bless me this week, that he wants to surprise me with fun and rest. I do feel that this trip is an unexpected gift from Him, a surprise. It was so last minute, and the way I received a large refund to my credit card at just the same time, which helped me to pay for more than half the cost of my airfare, which is my only real expense for this trip anyway. So thank you, Lord. I want to enjoy your surprise, your gift to me, fully. I want to take it all in. Also, I immediately felt a sense of guilt/shame about stopping my participation in the all-church 10-day Daniel fast. I stopped when I started feeling very ill and when I learned that my foot was in fact infected (which is a big concern ) and that I needed to take antibiotics like immediately. I stopped fasting on day 6 of the 10 day fast. I felt like God told me or that I remembered that God cannot love me any more nor can he love me any less, and that he just wants to be close to me. Basically it gave me a sense of relief, a sense of freedom - like it didn't ultimately matter to him if I fasted anymore or not, because he loves me and thinks the best of me no matter what I do. Pretty cool, right. I want to hear more. Maybe I'm hearing more because I'm spending time in God's word. Maybe I'm listening more. Maybe I'm being taught how to listen. It is also a comfort to me that in the scripture I'm reading today it says, "But food does not bring us near to God; we are no worse if we do not eat, and no better if we do." (Corinthians 8:8) Like, why should I stumble into that verse on the same day that I am thinking through all of this? Boom. God. Okay, well this has been a lovely stop. But I think I'm ready to leave this air-conditioned Mister Donut and venture out in search of a SIM card and a restaurant for dinner with Trixie tonight.
Journal entry written Jan. 29, 2013