That 7 Year Itch

Seven years. So many have already playfully asked “well, do you have the seven-year itch, yet?” To be totally honest, I'm not sure if we've had it yet or not. But we certainly are no strangers to conflict.

There’s a saying in the therapy world “the only way through the pain, is through the pain.” I tell my clients this all the time. If you want it to get better, let’s hit it head on.

I must admit, it’s much easier to say this to other people than to practice it myself. 

Two years ago on our anniversary, Alec and I had the most painful therapy session that we could or would have, in our short time together. And when it ended we wouldn’t see or speak to each other for two weeks. Initially, there was no intention on having such a “heart-to-heart” on our fifth anniversary, but as luck would have it, that’s what happened. 

After our session, I felt a surge of emotions. The co-dependent part of me wanted so badly to pick up the phone and resolve all the issues that came up in that session. I desperately wanted Alec to feel my pain, without feeling pain. But that’s not at all possible and the moments we rescue each other from pain, are the moments we stunt one another’s growth. We both were forced to sit in a really uncomfortable place.

I listened to Vance Joy's "Best That I Can" on repeat that day. The words resonated in a deep, deep place. I kept wondering “how did we get to this place in our marriage” and seriously wondered if we would fully recover.

We are polar opposites. He’s a risk-taker in every sense of the word, and I like to have a lot of fun, in the safest way possible. Early on in our relationship, the opposite of me seemed so intriguing. But that intrigue turned sour not long after we were married. A “you do you, as long as it doesn’t encroach on me being me,” kinda thing appeared. An unspoken tension surfaced, we couldn’t find the balance of honoring ourselves while simultaneously honoring the other person. 

So like any good dysfunctional relationship, we fought, and often times the fight was self-seeking and one-sided. Which resulted in word wounds and both of us feeling shame for how we had just talked to each other. Sure we apologized (primarily to resolve our own shame, which by the way is also self-seeking), but we never really circled back to the core issue, because who has energy for that? So of course, it would eventually re-surface. A vicious cycle. 

This may sound funny, but I am a strong advocate for fighting. But ya gotta know how to fight well. 

People fight to win. I was fighting to win what I wanted and Alec was fighting to win what he wanted. I have a feeling we would have both been losers if we hadn’t changed we way we fought.

Fun fact: did you know that when someone challenges a deeply held belief, instead of the “rational” centers of the brain activating, “emotional” centers of the brain activate. I believe that’s why we have an immediate emotional propensity to defensiveness rather than logically becoming curious about the opposing held belief. Now imagine how that can play out in marriages.

Anyways, it’s taken a lot of deep breathing, some time-outs, including going to bed angry at times (cause honestly nothing good can come from a sleepy or hungry Holleigh), A LOT of introspection/inward curiosity, and when necessary, some firm boundaries. 

Most importantly, we aren’t scared of vulnerability anymore. I try not to default to passive-aggressiveness or silent treatment. Instead, I try to swallow my pride to say “hey, when ____ happens, it makes me feel____.” Thankfully, Alec tries to listen. Vulnerability is tough, but it is so much more productive than pent up emotions or a screaming match.

So here we are two years later, on year seven. I’ve been listening to Vance Joy's “Best That I Can,” on repeat today, amazed that somehow we "got to this place in our marriage.” Because today, I can honestly say I love and respect Alec more than ever. We are learning how to be true to ourselves (which helps to mitigate potential resentment), while also learning the art of compromise. 

We are still polar opposites, and at the core of us we want, what we want, when we want it.  We still don’t understand the other, at times, but we are learning how to take a step back, re-evaluate our goal and fiercely fight well. 

So to celebrate the "7-year itch," here’s a few of the top things I NOW love about Alec. 

I love how it takes him a while to respond, initially it annoyed me. But I know now he’s processing, and the longer he steeps, the more meaningful the response. 

I love how adaptable he is. I hate change. He is completely un-phased by it. He doesn’t fully understand why change can effect me like it does, but he’s really good at grounding me back to reality.

I love that he is a risk-taker. Don't get me wrong, I like a good thrill, but this guy lives his life on the edge! He's always trying to push me out of my comfort zone. And I would've never learned to ride my bike down stairs if he hadn’t of pushed me (not literally, just verbally). 

I love that he is detail-oriented. It used to DRIVE ME CRAZY! I’m a let’s get the job done gal, he’s perfectionistic and it takes forever to get something done. I can chill out knowing that whatever the project is, it will be amazing because of his attention to detail.

If something is really, really, really important to him, he will not back down. I can be a bit of a bull-dozer when it comes to something I believe (remember that whole emotional fun fact earlier), but Alec stands his ground. Often times I need that. 

And most of all, and this will sound sappy and cheesy, but I love how Alec loves me. I don’t know that I believe we were born with this innate sense of knowing how to love each other...but he chooses to learn about me and what I need and it makes all the difference for us.

Dreaded Goodbyes

There are two types of people in the world; people like my husband who can’t walk past a stray animal without at least attempting to conjure up a rescue plan, and then there’s the rest of us. I would say I fall into the latter category.

Early in our marriage, Alec longed for a dog. I protested. I mean I had dogs and loved them, but it’s a lot of work to have an indoor pet. Alec was notorious for sending me pictures of animals looking for a permanent home. It was cruel, but it didn’t work on me. Until one day, he sent me a link to the cutest little Weimaraner you’d ever seen. 

We met Penny and her current owners at a dog park in front of Auzten Stadium in Eugene, OR. It was only supposed to be an initial meeting and we’d all go home separately to decide if it was a good fit. But that day, Penny jumped in our truck and returned home with us for good. 

The day we brought Penny home.

I had lots of rules. She wasn’t allowed on the furniture, no climbing on the bed, and she would sleep in her kennel each night. All of that would eventually go out the window too. 

I remember seeing people obsess over their animals and finding those people so interesting. The more I got to know Penny and her personality, the more I realized how easy it was for animals to become a part of you and your family. 

She loved going on long runs. She couldn’t contain her excitement anytime she would see me lace up my running shoes and grab the leash. She’d turn in circles and bounce around until I leashed her up. Penny waited so patiently at the finish line when I completed my first 1/2 marathon. As soon as she saw me she immediately jumped up and started licking my face (probably because she loved the salty sweat, but hey, it was still cute). 

We ran and biked many miles together. And backpacking trips were her favorite! She definitely was an explorer dog. Penny loved to travel and was so laid back about moving from one coast all the way to the other.

It was amazing how so many people doted over Penny, always commenting on her coat or other features. She had an unbelievable way of capturing hearts.

There weren't too many things she hated, but she didn’t like dog parks. I attempted to take her time and time again. She would literally lie down and let other pups walk/run over her. She would get so frustrated and stand by the gate, stubbornly waiting for me to give in and take her home. Although, she did deeply love her pup friends, Sage, Honey, Rosie-Lou and Carl, Collins, Java, Little Dog, Ollie, Sadie, Sanka, even Roscoe and Beagle (if they’d give her the time of day) and so many more. 

Penny always had a special way of sending us what we need. She knew how to celebrate the happiest moments, as well as how to comfort our most painful. A while back, Alec made a decision to work on himself, and the program he chose would mean he’d be away from home for at least 6 months. It was a long and painful 6 months, and not only did he have to take a hard look at himself, so did I. That first night was tough. Penny crawled up in the bed with me and I immediately felt safe. I silently wept with my back turned against her...she knew I was sad. Maybe it was a coincidence, but in that moment she softly placed her paw on my upper arm. Any loneliness that was there, immediately dissipated. 

Penny had the softest ears. At first, she didn’t love for us to rub her ears, but everyone did anyways. Eventually she came to love it. Whenever you would stop petting her, she would start nudging your hand with her nose. Somehow she would mysteriously manage to wedge her nose under your hand and catapult it up, so before you knew it, you were petting her again. And being pet with only one hand was not an option. She wanted you to pet her with both hands. Penny was not satisfied with one hand on her and the other scrolling through Facebook or Instagram. She was slowly teaching us what it meant to be fully present. 

More recently, she started doing the cutest thing. Whenever we would pause from petting her, she would paw back. I didn’t understand it at first, but then we realized she wanted to pet us back. It didn’t feel great (imagine being pawed in the face), but it was sweet nonetheless.

That’s the type of dog she was. To some, just a dog. To me, she was yet another example of how God orchestrated creation to be an agent of healing and comfort.

Penny really hadn’t been sick since we got her. Just before Christmas, I noticed bright red blood in her stool. We were in Alabama at the time, so we took her to a vet there. They were great, took their time to make sure she felt safe and eventually treated her for IBS. The blood subsided a bit while she was on the medication, but quickly returned when she finished her medication. 

We took her back to our vet in NC, Dr. Lloyd. He too thought it was IBS, but at the end of the visit did a quick rectal exam. He noticed a mass. He didn’t seem too alarmed. Said he would try to treat it with medication and if that didn’t work, remove it.

Medication didn’t work. About two weeks later, we were back in his office again, scheduling an appointment to have it removed. She had it removed on a Tuesday morning and she came home that evening. Dr. Lloyd said he was able to remove 80-85% of the mass and it was firm, which he “didn’t like.” We struggled to manage her pain and stop the bleeding after the surgery. We made 3 more visits to the vet that week to try to help her find some relief. At this point, Penny was being treated by both Dr. Lloyd and Dr. Hutsell due to the frequent visits, both were understanding and worked hard to help us, help Penny.

One week after the visit the pathology report came in. Adenocarcinoma. The report was hard for a layperson to read. But the gut-wrenching last sentence went like this: “Unfortunately for Penny, her adenocarcinoma extends throughout the tissue margins examined here, with neoplasia tracking along lymphatic channels and beyond the serosa.”

We were referred to a vet oncologist the next day. We didn’t go in super hopeful for a cure based on the pathology report. But we went so we would know what we needed to do. Dr. Collette was wonderful. Poor Penny had a 4th rectal exam, but took it like a champ (probably because of the sedation). There were additional tumors and they were aggressive. 

She and her tech sat in the floor with us going over every detail. She answered all of our questions, including the dreaded, “when will we know it’s time to let her go?”  They were so patient with us as we sobbed. 

Of course I always knew there would come a time we would say goodbye. That’s no surprise, but I didn’t anticipate it being this painful to let go.

“Anywhere from a couple of weeks to a couple of months,” Dr. Collette said. Thankfully, Penny was with us for a few more months. She healed from her surgery and for a period of time, she seemed like she was back to her old self again. She even celebrated her 7^th birthday on March 10^th!

Last week, Penny started straining pretty frequently. Going to potty became quite the struggle and not only that, she seemed to feel an urge to go, even when she didn’t really need to. Alec called Dr. Collette to see about more medication, she’s currently on quite the regimen, plus a pretty strict diet. Dr. Collette gently informed Alec that we are doing all we can and encouraged him to really monitor her quality of life, so that we could make the best decision for her. 

On Friday, Derek and Ashlyn were over for dinner and we noticed she began to have some incontinence issues. By Sunday she was straining more and we could see that she didn’t feel good. 

We had an adventure day on Sunday with Sarah at Camp Merri-Mac. It was such a sweet time. Of course she thought she needed to stop and attempt to potty, every 3 minutes. But we redirected her to fun. We walked all over camp. She seemed to have a blast, but by the time we got home, all the play really got to her. She immediately laid down and it was clear that maybe that was a little much.

She stopped greeting us when we got home and would lay motionless as I was leaving for work every morning. As we noticed the change, we decided to make one last ditch effort to assess her level of pain...She loved cheese/deli meat and would ALWAYS immediately run to the kitchen as soon as she heard the deli drawer open. That day she didn’t even flinch. I brought her meds to her wrapped in turkey. She slowly took them and was completely disinterested. 

Monday afternoon Alec took Penny to the park. Straining plus moaning, followed by complete lethargy. She didn’t want to move and she couldn’t get comfortable. This continued and Penny seemed to be less and less interested in eating. In fact, it became obvious that the pain medication had reached its limit. We felt totally helpless in that moment. 

So with the heaviest heart we called the vet one final time to set up an appointment. It was time. 

Penny was up and down throughout the night, struggling to be comfortable, sometimes waking Alec up, sometimes me. She woke me up at 3:30am. After falling back asleep, I had the weirdest dream. In my dream we were back in Oregon, in the house we brought Penny home to. Q and Audge were there and Jeff. Stacey my Alabama friend and Stacy my NC friend were also present, along with Derek and Ashlyn, Grace and Sarah,  and all the Gathering staff with their kiddos (which I’m not sure they would actually bring their kids to something like this). We were surrounded by people who loved us and loved Penny. Frieda from the Vet’s office came and instead of our vet, some strange hippie came for the final rest. He started by saying we needed to fill the bathtub with water and remove her “hands and feet.” Like I said it was so weird and gross. I protested and laid on the floor sobbing. I woke up in a panic and my first thought was “wait a minute, dogs don’t have hands and feet.” I think this symbolized how human Penny was to us. 

But back to reality…

After one final trip to the park, Dr. Hutsell and Kira met us back at our house at about 4:00p today. We sat with Penny on the back deck as she peacefully took her last breathe. Obviously, Alec and I were a total wreck. And it was clear that Dr. Hutsell and Kira were struggling to hold it together. After transporting Penny to their vehicle, Dr. Hutsell came back to share one last condolence. With complete unrestrained tears, he hugged us both and managed to say “It’s going be hard, and there’s always going to void, but it will get easier.” I was stunned by how overwhelmed with emotion he was and it was clear that level of grief was not foreign to him. No longer able to speak through the tears, he and Kira silently walked to the car. I am so thankful for all the care the medical staff gave to Penny up until the very end.

I honestly don’t know if I’ll ever feel a connection with another pup like I did with Penny. But I am so grateful for her life and joy she brought to ours. I always saw a pet as a responsibility, not imagining that she would take care of us in so many ways. My hope is that I brought her half of the joy she brought to my life.

And as Winnie the Pooh once said, “How lucky am I that I have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.” 

Pain & Resiliency

I used to live in a bubble. Somehow I've managed to avoid difficult and insanely painful seasons, until recently (perhaps it's the millennial in me). Let me elaborate.

I don't think I consciously considered myself being exempt from pain, but I also never really took it seriously. Grief , in every sense of the word, was a bit foreign to me.

Fortunately, I've had the privilege of holding space for other's experiences. What became increasing evident, was that life is really, really hard sometimes. And I've been known to personally take on the pressure to “fix it,” (I know, I know, that’s not how I was trained). But still, when you find yourself in front of desperate, vulnerable, broken clients, the humanness inside aches to make the pain resolve in some way. Of course, there’s a fine line between empathy and co-dependency, one being an internal experience, while the other is often associated with some sort of unhealthy action. The journey of navigating through the overwhelming urge to “fix pain,” can result in more grief and exhaustion.

That is until I recently re-read Viktor Frankl’s book, “Man’s Search for Meaning.” I read the book several years ago, not really absorbing all the richness the work had to offer. After all, this was during what I like to call my “Utopian years.” Before I was vicariously traumatized tainted by the experiences of normal people, making every attempt to survive life’s blows.

I am a firm believer that the entire human race should be encouraged to read “Man’s Search for Meaning.” To say it shifts perspective, is an under-statement.

I think it’s safe to say that most of us will experience or have experienced “dark seasons.” I should probably explain the type of pain I am referring to…I’m not discussing the everyday stress, that increases blood pressure, or the “winter blues.” I am talking about a type of suffering that deeply burdens at the core. The type of pain that feels inescapable, the type that reveals the depravity of man.

Wow, what a Debbie Downer. But really, we secretly read that description with relief, because many understand that pain, all too well. And most of the time it feels so lonely. While we're all nodding our head in agreement, this pain looks different in each of our lives. Sometimes it blindsides us by some sort of tragic loss (again in every sense of the word), sometimes it slowly creeps in by means of addiction, other times, it simply appears from a chemical imbalance. Whatever the cause, it still continues to leave countless individuals in bondage.

So hopefully, you can understand my urge to resolve such pain. Thankfully, I’ve calmed down a bit and accepted my limits. And even more importantly, I’ve begun to see the value in pain, both through professional development and personal experience. While 2016 could have been much worse, it’s most certainly is not a year I’d like to repeat.

Let me pause for a moment and be careful not to “forebode joy,” as the incredibly wise  

Brené Brown would say. Please note that while I am primarily focusing on an extremely heavy topic, I firmly believe that it is equally important to press into joyful moments, big or small.

Now here’s the irony in all of this. Some of the most genuinely joyful people I have ever met, carry incredible stories of pain. For instance, I once met with a client who grew up in an overseas war zone, who lost their childhood house, whose parents still speak no English, and who longs to return home. This person also was one of the most balanced and sincerely grateful humans I’ve come in contact with. Seriously, I would find myself trying to restructure my thoughts to align with the client’s. The work ethic I observed was unbelievable and the desire to honor and respect others was remarkable. How is it, that someone with that type of background, can hold that perspective? I think the answer is in the question.

It seems so elementary and almost condescending when people attempt to encourage by saying “you just need to change your thinking.” Surely it can’t be that simple. 

I have observed two interesting truths 1.) Pain is inevitable. 2.) And we are resilient beings. Nowadays, if I can assist others in accepting these truths, while attempting to accept it myself, I am doing well. Accepting pain for what is, keeps us somewhat grounded and humble. It is acknowledging a very real part of life (rather than running from it, i.e. distracting ourselves with entertainment, food, alcohol, etc.), a very overwhelming and scary part of life, while having the courage to say “I am not afraid to embrace you,” or "this won't break me." I often wonder if hopelessness is birthed out of constant failed attempts to avoid or outrun pain. If that is the case, does it not make sense to embrace our emotions? 

So what do we do with the pain?

Now to insert a favorite Viktor Frankl quote. Frankl wrote, “Suffering ceases to be suffering, at the moment it finds meaning.” Grief, pain, or any other word used to describe suffering is an individual journey, with some sort of individual meaning. Seek that meaning. If it’s the death of a loved one, celebrate that the grief serves as an infinite reminder for the depth of love humans get to experience. Grief also allows us to never forget a person's impact in our life. If you are in the midst of what feels like a never-ending battle (i.e., addiction, co-dependency, etc.), how has this experience made your more human? What community has come from the experience? Has it slowed you down and taught you appreciate the small victories?

Sometimes the most productive response is to embrace pain and suffering, while recognizing and growing from the resiliency we practice. We were designed by a Creator, who made us sturdy enough to walk outside of bubles.  And look around, chances are someone nearby has either walked through, is walking through, or will walk through. Lean into that support.

Little Lessons on Accountability

Oh the things that inspires us to blog…

I often find myself itching to document my day at work because it’s just so dang entertaining. While most of my stories revolve around those that utilize the EM services, today, I am urged to communicate a different type story/challenge.

It all started when I walked over to the Men’s Social Service office, where my good friend/co-worker Jeffrey Tennant is stationed. As I do upon most greetings, I managed to regurgitate all of the morning’s events (you know normal stuff, like investigating who is defecating in the shower, conducting 7 drug tests while attempting not to spill urine on myself, and praying that we have enough beds to house all the needs for the night).

Jeffrey patiently listens, but often has his own set of issues. We listen to each other. Quinton “Q” Williams also joins us from time to time.

I can’t quite remember the context of the conversation, but Jeffrey decided he would include me in on a previous debate between he and Q. You see we, at the Eugene Mission, aren’t really attached or too proud to change things. If something isn’t working, we tend to strategically figure out a new or better method.

Jeff’s suggestion: eliminate disallows (asking those who are not manageable to leave) and implement the “tickling policy.” The current dialogue and thoughts are why I am a fan and will support Jeffrey’s platform.

Jeff: “Q didn’t like my idea of creating a ‘tickling policy’ rather than disallow.”

Holleigh: “So you’re suggesting we tickle uncooperative and sometimes violent guests instead of disallowing them?”

Jeff: “yes, tickling is painful, my family used to hold me to the ground and tickle me.”

Q: (with a very sincere and almost distraught expression) “I don’t have enough people tickling me in my life.”

While this may just be an ordinary conversation, it represents so much more than what meets the eye. You see, I recall being tickled when I was young and it was painful. But through the pain and torture, I could not help but release an innate response of laughter.

In the context of this conversation, Jeffrey is suggesting that tickling be used for accountability.  While I’m not sure that tickling is the most appropriate technique to encourage accountability, it is obvious that accountability is absolutely necessary among the population we work alongside and to be perfectly honest, it is necessary for us. However, it’s important that we figure out a way to produce effective strategies to hold individuals accountable.

What I’ve noticed is that accountability requires genuineness and love and for some reason, we humans can’t seem to figure out how to give and receive accountability in a way that does not leave scars.

How to love each other so much that we want people to move away from things that aren’t producing anything positive in their lives.

The process of accountability is so tricky because it takes a delicate balancing act of love, support, and truth.

Which leads me to reflect on the correlation between being tickled and held accountable. The process doesn’t feel good but for some reason (unknown to me) our body responds with an instinct of a sort of freedom (uncontrollable laughter or bladder). It’s like you now have a reason to let loose, whether you want to or not. When we're tickled we cannot hold anything back, we laugh through the pain.

I can’t help but wonder if true, genuine accountability could produce similar results. If we loved each other so much that we confront somewhat painful topics head on, but find immediate freedom and joy when we aren’t trying so hard to hold it all together.

The most interesting thought in the midst of this conversation is Q’s response; “I don’t have enough people tickling me in my life.”

So my challenge is simply this:

Do you have people tickling you in your life?

Volcanoes, day hikes, and desert squirrels

I love Central Oregon.  It’s got to be the most beautiful part of Oregon (many argue this opinion).

While driving through the mountain pass there seems to be an invisible line, where once crossed, all my stress dissipates. Seriously, it’s an incredible phenomenon.

Not growing up here, I learn something new each adventure. Mustache Man knows a lot about this area. I can glean all kinds of new information from him.

He has shared his insight on how not to create an avalanche (not that I would ever venture into the backcountry without him). He has shown me what to do if we encounter a cougar (although, I still question whether the technique will work or not). He guides me on how to be green and to “leave no trace behind.” And if I ever go hiking without him he always stocks my pack with items that I argue are just added weight, however, I always end up using. Its like he can see into the future.

Recently, he taught me that most of the mountains here are actually live, dormant, or extinct volcanoes. The last time we were driving I noticed a house on top of one of those volcanoes. I told Alec that I thought it was probably dumb to build a house on a volcano because their house insurance premiums were probably out of this world. He gently explained that it was not a house, but an observation deck for scientists to track volcanic activity. That makes more sense.

I often wonder if Mustache Man is secretly priming me to live in the wild.

Not too long ago, Audrey and I found time to hike Black Butte.  According to Merriam-Webster a butte is an “isolated hill with steep sides and a flat top.”  I learned that when I first moved here. Apparently, most of the “mountains” I have been exposed to were actually more butte-like.

We drove about 2 ½ hours to the trailhead. I didn’t know this beforehand, but Black Butte is referred to as a stratovolcano, which is composed of different layers (lava, tephra, and volcanic ash) and has a steep profile. Unlike some of the other “mountains,” Black Butte, has no glaciers and hence, hardly any erosion. That being said, it appears to be a baby butte but is actually older than some of the other Cascade Mountains.

The hike was about 4 miles roundtrip. I think the elevation gain for this section of the trail was over 1500 ft., which if you do the math, is a decent little hike. Needless to say, we weren’t talking much on the way up.

                                         (photo credit: Audrey Williams)

When we arrived at the summit there are a couple of old fire watch towers. The older (condemned) fire tower was built in 1934. They were cool, but the view was unbelievable. 

                                         (photo credit: Audrey Williams)

Black Butte is approximately 6,300 ft. of elevation, at the summit. And in my humble opinion, the panoramic view was even better than that of Smith Rock (maybe because it felt more remote).

                                         (photo credit: Audrey Williams)

You can see in the pictures several peaks. In no particular order, you may see, Broken Top, North Sister, South Sister, Mt. Washington, Belknap Crater, Three Finger Jack, and I believe Mt. Jefferson. The pictures do not do the view justice. And there were a few forest fires, so it was a bit hazy that day. On clear days, some claim, Mt. Hood can also be seen, which is over 100 miles away, as the crow flies.

                                         (photo credit: Audrey Williams)

I really appreciate the desert squirrels. They seem to be somewhat trusting. I thought this little guy was gonna sit in Audrey’s lap.

                                         (photo credit: You guessed it, Audrey Williams)

Anyways, if you ever get a chance, this is one of the many wonders of Oregon, again, my opinion. Maybe my next entry will be about hiking South Sister (Mustache Man will definitely need to be present for that one).

 -Freckles

"in my weakness"

Recently I had my yearly evaluation at work. Evaluations are always hard for me. I tend to focus on the “areas that need improvement,” rather than celebrate my strengths. The day of the review I tried really hard to restructure my thinking and focus on the fact that “in my weakness, He is stronger.”

Although this thought stopping technique worked for a bit, I decided to do my own work performance inventory and critique myself. You know, so there’d be no surprises. As I reflected on the past year, half of which was spent in a different role than I currently serve, I obsessed on the mistakes I made. The real frustrating part is that I feel like I gave 100% most days. I mean, long work days, midnight phone calls, death threats, etc. To most people, giving your all should be enough to feel accomplished. However, I became more discouraged because I felt that my all wasn’t good enough.

My thoughts continued to spiral out of control…I suddenly felt defeated and like a failure, and the review had not even begun. Yikes, I started to question why I would even be put in this place. I wept. I seriously had a mini-meltdown. I questioned my ability to lead. I am so young. I am the youngest of all the staff. Some days (a lot of days) I don’t even know how to respond, but somewhere along the line, it became my responsibility. “I don’t understand, why me?” I thought to myself. “I’m not seasoned enough for all this.”

I struggle with my mind on a regular basis, maybe we all do. I can remember having a conversation with my mother-in-law about something unrelated to me. But she mentioned a statement that stuck with me. I can’t remember the dialogue word for word, but she said something like “you learn life by the mistakes you make, that’s how we all figured it out. People shouldn’t be so hard on themselves.”

When I was in graduate school I kept thinking that I was missing something. I graduated confused and completely unsure of how this was all supposed to fit together and what a real career would look like. I thought this was only my problem. I was afraid to tell anyone that I really didn’t know that much more than before I started, for fear of not landing a job, of course.

The review went well, partially because I work with amazing people who are super gracious and could tell me I was the worst human being alive and I’d probably still love them. They are the type of employers that I can be honest about my insecurities. They challenge me and encourage me.

After the review I went back to my office and had a few voicemails. One of my first career lessons was that it’s important to call people back, or they get really upset. I had a voicemail from a lady in the community who wanted to volunteer. We chatted and she told me she had recently seen me during a local t.v. interview. I was floored when she asked me if I were from the south…I thought my accent had gotten a little less distinct. I replied “why yes, how did you know.” She said, “I met you 2½ years ago, when you first moved here.” We discussed our first interaction and she began to share her heart with me. I was humbled and moved by her words. She continued to describe how timid I was when I arrived in Oregon. I was so intimidated and she said “and now you are head of the Women’s Center, you are so young, and God is doing huge works.” She was so excited because she felt that if God could use this timid girl from Alabama, He was big enough to do anything. Her words pierced the lies and I was so convicted. My “thorn” was her joy.

God uses my age, my mistakes, my lack of knowledge and “seasoning”, and my timidity to show His power.

I still get anxious and nervous often at work. But I remind myself of this phone call. This is really what it means when Paul says, “In my weakness, He is stronger.” So now, when I can remember, I find joy in my screw-ups.

Crazy is My New Normal

Living in Eugene has been journey to say the least. Before moving here, I used to believe that I was cultured and possessed a well-rounded view of the world. The longer I live here, the more I realize how little I know. I think the most eye opening experience has come over the last year. To be honest, even what I am about to share can in no way describe the reality among the homeless population. I am writing this as I am watching a documentary that exposes life on Skid Row. I am not even sure why I am watching it, because to me, it is depressing. It’s depressing because the stories are similar to the stories I hear on a daily basis. The hard part is that this issue continues to expand all over the nation. It’s easy to avoid such districts as Skid Row and pretend that this issue does not exist. But it does and the hard part is that the remedy is not always clear.

Once hearing personal accounts it is evident that this is not all about hard working individuals, losing their jobs, in a declining economy. If you listen, you hear stories of tragedy, domestic violence, mental illness, addictions, and the list goes on. We as a society believe the solution to such an epidemic is more jobs. I wish it were that easy. I believe that at least half of the individuals I work with daily are not able to maintain employment for one reason or another.  So what’s the solution for these folks? Please note that this is not about any political agenda. I am simply sharing my heart because this is such a struggle for me. I truly am overwhelmed by the needs. This is not about people being hungry or cold. Again, those problems would be an easy resolve.

Moving out of your comfort zone forces you to become a good listener.  Apparently I was not a good listener, even after six years of training. It did not take long to realize that I talk too much. I suddenly became insecure and self-conscious of how much I talk. So now I listen. I listen because I’ve been taught that listening makes people feel heard and special. But I also listen because I am not always sure how to respond. You would think that after a while you become desensitized to the stories, to the erratic behavior or even the lack of structure in a day. Every moment is unpredictable. We never know what story is going to walk into the Women’s Center.

To many of the homeless, their life is stuck in a revolving door. They can’t keep a job because they can’t function in society. They can’t function in society because they don’t take their medication. They don’t take their medication because they can’t pay for the medication. They can’t pay for the medication because they don’t have a job. Similar scenarios seem to plague most of the people I work with. And to be honest, not all of the people I serve desire to live a life beyond what they are experiencing. However, there are others who want to move forward, but can’t because they are stereotyped as a thief or an addict.

A few weeks ago, I was completely blown away as I was greeted by a random Eugene citizen looking to hire an in-home caregiver for her mother. She had no idea who I was and I was shocked that she would take a stranger’s recommendation. I gave her some options and within three days a guest who had been stuck in the Women’s Center, seeking employment for over a year, now has a home and a secure income. A week later, I had another guest participate in a news interview promoting the new Women’s Center. She was nervous because she knew that revealing her homeless status would make her less employable. But she chose obedience and a few days after the interview aired, she received a call from a local employer, who heard her story and wanted to give her an chance.

All this to say that while crazy is my new normal, there are days when I get to sit back and watch God work. While in one moment I can have a disgruntled guest threatening my life and refusing to leave until an intervention takes place (kudos to EPD and CAHOOTS) and the next I have the pleasure of watching God restore relationships, rebuild lives, and conquer mental illness and addictions. The latter always reminds me why I am in this season.

I encourage you guys to check out the documentary Lost Angels to learn more. Expand your horizons, it will change you.

Also, here is information about volunteering with the Eugene Mission.