Before the fixing can begin...

In the winter of 2012 I decided I needed a break, and everyone within a fifty-mile radius seemed to agree.  I had not been very good at taking time off and still couldn't allow myself an extended vacation so I decided to call it a "sabbatical".  Yes, that sounded much better.

I took off the entire month of January and spent three weeks of that time on the beach with my favorite dog, Lulu - just the two of us - at a surprisingly affordable place right on the water.  It was perfect.  Other than an occasional fisherman, I rarely spotted anyone as far as I could see in either direction.  I thought I had landed in heaven.

As soon as I arrived I felt compelled to make a list of things to accomplish on my sabbatical, which somehow took up an entire page.  Next I explored the beach and collected a bucket full of shells but immediately felt it was excessive and decided to keep only one a day.  What was that about?  Clearly I needed to learn how to relax - and indulge.

Despite my distorted perception of why I was there, this trip quickly became a mountaintop experience for me.  I spent most of that time in constant prayer and felt the presence of God in powerful ways that sometimes brought me to tears.  There were days when I didn't speak to another living soul other than my husband so he'd know I was still alive.

One of the things I wanted to accomplish on this trip was to develop a greater love for my Bible.  Although I had grown up in the church and as a child could recite the books of the Bible by heart, (were those called Bible drills?), I had never really enjoyed my Bible.  So I asked God to help me.  And oh my word, did He.

Every morning I jumped out of bed at 5:30 a.m. and rushed out the door to make sure I didn't miss the magnificent sunrise over the ocean.  But the strangest thing happened as Lulu and I walked the beach each morning.  The numbers of a specific chapter and verse would come to me - again and again - until I hurried back and anxiously grabbed my Bible to to see what it said.  Never did it take me to the middle of a sentence or to a "so and so begat so and so".  It ALWAYS related to EXACTLY what was on my heart that day.

The first morning this happened, I was walking the beach feeling a little guilty for taking so much time off when suddenly "Ecclesiastes 3" jumped into my head for no reason.  It seemed like such a random book of the Bible so out of curiosity I looked it up when I got back to the house.  It was the passage about how there is a time for everything, which I interpreted to include taking time off.  After this I tore up my list of "Things to Accomplish on My Sabbatical" and gave myself permission to keep every last shell I found the least bit fascinating.

The next morning I walked the beach feeling weary and down right exhausted from carrying the load of hundreds of women and children for whom I had felt responsible over the past nine years.  There were many times when it no longer felt like a joy and privilege - but an enormous burden, especially when things didn't turn out the way I thought they should.

Out of nowhere, "Numbers 11:11-15" popped into my head and I thought it had to be a mistake.  Wasn't Numbers all about numbers?  Surely I either heard God wrong or perhaps He accidentally gave me the wrong verse.  "Don't you mean one of the other books that start with 'N'?"

Much to my surprise, Numbers 11:11-15 showed me that Moses had felt just as burdened, frustrated, and overwhelmed as I did.  Wow!  That was so comforting.  Turned out God had the verse right all along and I felt like He was telling me, "It's okay that you feel this way."

I know I'm not the only one who has had this kind of experience.  But this was such a special time for me, spending this one-on-one time with Jesus each day.  Since then it's turned into my "happy place" and my mind goes back to that time on the beach at the most unexpected times.

Toward the end of my trip as I felt stronger and healthier, I asked God to show me how I might avoid getting so exhausted again, and how I could protect my staff from getting to that point as well.  This time the answer came in a clear and powerful directive that forever changed the course of how we operate at Blue Monarch.

"Your job is to serve, not fix.  To love, not judge." 

This stopped me in my tracks.  I began thinking back on some of the most exhausting ordeals we had experienced at Blue Monarch and in every single incident we were indeed trying to fix someone, and perhaps even judging them, which was really hard to admit.  I realized that by starting each day trying to fix people, we were bound to end the day feeling like we had failed because we can't fix people.  But God can.  No wonder I was so exhausted!  I was trying to do God's job.

I also saw that by starting each day with the goal to serve, we can end every single day knowing that yes, we indeed served the women and children of Blue Monarch that day.

I brought this back to my staff and since then, when we find ourselves overwhelmed and defeated, we ask ourselves, "Wait.  Are we trying to serve this person?  Or are we trying to fix this person?"  This usually puts everything back into perspective.

We'd all rather fix.  By fixing we get to be in charge and determine what's best for someone.  But by simply serving, the outcome may fall way short of what we want and our hearts may get broken in the process.

This is never more clear than when we lose a resident before she's accomplished all we had in mind for her.  We want her to drive out with an exciting job in place, a new home in a wonderful neighborhood, and happy children by her side.  However, sometimes as we watch them drive off, even though it's painful, we must accept that by serving them we may have stopped the madness for a while, in a safe and loving home, and they may have avoided a disaster that only God knows about.

So this is what I've come to realize:
God may first need us to love and serve - before the fixing can truly begin.

A Standard for Measuring True Grit

For some reason my great-grandmother was always called "Kay" when that was actually her last name. She was tiny, practically deaf, a widow for thirty years before she died at the age of 93 – and she was tough as nails. 

Kay always wore a handmade bonnet when she worked outside, and as a child I found her collection of colorful bonnets endlessly fascinating. She made a child-sized bonnet for me to wear, which I proudly wore when I was with her but quickly hid in my closet when I got home where it suddenly lost its appeal. Somehow everything at her home was different, almost like I had entered another world and time. Kay remained in another era and never embraced modern conveniences, including indoor plumbing. 

Mornings at Kay’s house were sacred. She always started her day way before daybreak and silently prepared her breakfast, which was the same every day:  one piece of dark toast topped with a fried egg cooked in bacon grease, a slice of tomato, and a cup of strong, black coffee.  She never said a word as she went through this morning ritual and except for the fact she placed an identical plate in front of me, there was no indication she even noticed I was there.

Kay had grey hair that hung way below her waist, which she wore in a tightly wound braid on the back of her head.  There was only one occasion that I saw her hair down and when I remarked that she looked like a witch, I was quickly reprimanded by my grandmother and never said it again. It was merely an observation…

Kay’s routine was the same every day. After her morning breakfast routine we wouldn’t see her again until lunch. She checked on the cows, she worked in her massive vegetable garden, she tended to her chickens, or she occasionally worked in the family sawmill down the road.  

One day Kay did not show up for lunch. This had never happened. So, off we went on a massive search, afraid she may have had a heart attack or gotten hurt. The search became more and more frantic until we finally returned to the house to discover something I would never forget.

When we walked in, Kay was sitting with her left arm stretched across the kitchen table, exposing a nasty, open gash that ran almost the length of her forearm - a hideous injury with nasty results. She was steadily sewing up her own arm with a large needle and black thread.  Except for the fact her hand was in a tight fist, there was no indication that this was anything more than just a necessary task that had to be done in order to fix a problem.  At that moment she became the standard by which to measure all strong and determined women.

It’s no wonder that I am reminded of this often as I watch the amazing women of Blue Monarch.  I imagine that they are repairing their own wounds in much the same way Kay did, and it takes nothing less than that same level of true grit and determination to heal - with each and every agonizing stitch. 

It’s painful to take an honest look at yourself and see how your choices may have hurt your children and the ones you love, especially when you can no longer numb the pain with drugs. It’s sometimes unbearable to see the struggles your children are having because you were not giving them the care they so desperately needed. It hurts to process memories of atrocities you have endured at the hands of people you should have been able to trust. It's even harder to come to a point of true forgiveness that will eventually set you free from the pain.

And it’s profoundly difficult to embrace an entirely new way of life in order to reach the point of freedom you want so badly that it almost takes your breath away. 

However, each step is like one more stitch toward healing and wholeness. I have watched this process many, many times - and yet God’s healing power still amazes me! Sometimes I think just one of these experiences could keep someone in therapy the rest of her life. But the women we serve throw themselves at the feet of Jesus and completely rely on him to overcome their addictions, heal their broken hearts, and restore their relationships with their children who were also hurting. They count on him for true freedom. 

So the truth is, I have met lots and lots of “Kays” at Blue Monarch and I am surrounded by them every single day. They are the most courageous women I have ever known. But when I picture them sitting at the table with their wounded arms stretched across the table, stitching up one painful hurt after another, I also know that Jesus is sitting at the table with them - holding their hands with each and every stitch.  And that is why they are healed.   

He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.  Psalm 147:3

Christmas Made Me Sick...Until It Made Sense

I found Christmas very troubling as a child. It made absolutely no sense to me that everyone, even grownups I trusted, were going along with what was clearly a hoax - that Santa was real. 

How could it possibly be true? He didn’t look the same from store to store. For starters, his nose changed from one place to the other. Each Santa had a different voice and smell. (One Santa even smelled like mothballs.) Sometimes Santa was jolly but at the next store he might be sort of cranky. I remember demanding an explanation, “Why is Santa here and down the street at the same time?”  The answer was that Santa had helpers, so then I wanted to know if the one I saw was the real thing – or just a helper, because surely it made a difference. 

It.  Made.  No.  Sense.

So, I can remember sitting on Santa’s knee at the Sears and Roebuck department store, looking around at everyone else, hoping to make eye contact with anyone who might nod to indicate they also knew the terrible truth. Hey, y'all. Is no one seeing what I'm seeing here? 

Each year this charade became increasingly troubling to me the closer we got to Christmas. So, by Christmas morning, right after opening my presents and seeing what “Santa” left for me, I spent the rest of the morning lying on the sofa, sick with a terrible upset stomach. My parents always chalked it up to excitement. But I believe it was actually anxiety from watching everyone go along with something that was clearly a big fat lie.

Okay, I am very aware that I was ridiculously and unnecessarily analytical. I get that. However, once I finally declared I did not believe in Santa and my parents confirmed I was right, I was never sick on Christmas again.

What made more sense to me, though, was that Christmas was about celebrating the birth of Jesus. I loved the Christmas story of Mary miraculously becoming pregnant, and Joseph supporting her even though it probably made no sense to him and required superhuman faith. I found it exciting and fascinating that wise men carried all kinds of exotic gifts and followed a brilliant star in the sky until they found baby Jesus. It was also such a moving image for Jesus, our Lord and Savior, to begin his life in an ordinary barn with farm animals. It made him so real – just like us. 

For God to send his only son to save us, when none of us really deserved it, well this just proved his powerful love for us, which was incredibly comforting and humbling. And for Jesus to come as a baby, knowing that he would die the most cruel death of all – just for each of us to have everlasting life – this made my heart sing and ache at the same time. Now, that was a Christmas story that made sense, even though so much of it was even harder to explain than Santa and his flying reindeer.

All of this is why it hurts my heart every time I hear of someone wanting to take Jesus out of his own birthday. How can that make any sense? What would be the meaning of Christmas if not for the celebration of Jesus’ birth? What would be the point?

Through the years, several people have suggested we should take Jesus out of Blue Monarch, too. After all, this would allow us to “reach a larger audience and perhaps gain greater support." The first time I heard this my knee jerk reaction surprised me. My heart began to physically hurt in my chest and I remember wondering if Jesus’ heart was hurting, too. But my answer has always been the same. Jesus is not negotiable. We have Blue Monarch because of Jesus and I keep this picture in my office as a constant reminder.

Each week our staff prays together for the women and children we serve and for the wisdom and discernment to do our jobs well. Jesus’ presence in that room is sometimes so tangible it brings tears to my eyes. It’s powerful. Blue Monarch is where hundreds of children have learned about Jesus for the first time and really grasped that he loves them and will always be with them – even after they leave Blue Monarch one day. Jesus assures the women who need to hear it the most, that the love of a heavenly father can be quite different from the love of an earthly father. And Jesus is the one who sometimes gently whispers in my ear, “Remember, this woman is my child and I love her. So, look at her through my eyes.”

Jesus is not only the reason for the season. He is the reason for the hope and healing Blue Monarch offers to his wounded women and children who come to us for help. After all, they don’t just show up by accident. Jesus is the one who brings them. 

This is how God showed his love among us:  He sent his one and only Son into the world that we might live through him.  1 John 4:9

 

That’s a day worth celebrating. And it has a name. Christmas.

A Thankful Smarty-Pants

For many years my mother worked very hard to get us to be thankful people on Thanksgiving Day.  I imagine she had this Norman Rockwell fantasy that we would go around the table, each of us listing the five things we were thankful for in moving and compelling ways.  But in reality she had a lot of trouble getting us to cooperate.  She tried everything.  One year she even held dessert hostage until we listed the five things, but most of us just decided to forego dessert, altogether.  In looking back, I’m not sure why it became such a struggle, but the more pressure I felt to be grateful, the less grateful I became.

So one year I prepared my list in advance, hoping it would put an end to this dreadful exercise.  I was grateful the whales made it out from under the ice okay.  (Do you remember that?)  I was grateful that Elvis was still alive, from what some were saying.  (I could hear my cousin’s grandmother whispering, “Elvis.  Elvis is still alive?!”) My third thing was some derogatory comment about the women my brother had dated that year.  And I’m too ashamed to list the last two. 

Needless to say, my five things were not received with quite the humor I thought they deserved.  They bombed, actually.  And immediately after reciting the five things I was thankful for, my dear, sweet aunt tearfully described how thankful she was for her successful cancer surgery.  That’s when I realized, yep, it’s official.  I’m a terrible person.  If I were going through a 12-step program today, I’m sure this incident would be included in my moral inventory. 

Well, a lot has changed since then because I’m so thankful today, it would be impossible to list only five.  I suppose my mother is grateful I finally grew up, so I’m certainly thankful for her patience and tolerance.  In fact, I could spend the rest of the day listing how thankful I am for my family - especially my husband and daughter who have supported me in this Blue Monarch venture and faithfully held me up through the years. 

But we just finished Thanksgiving Dinner at Blue Monarch today and I am completely overwhelmed at all God’s blessings.  Honestly, as I look around at all the women and children we serve, as I scan the room and recall the specific experiences of each woman and child and what led them here, when I look at the amazing staff members who dedicate their lives to this ministry – well, it literally takes my breath away. 

I mean this literally.  There are many times when the enormity of God’s goodness is so overwhelming, it causes me to lose my breath for a moment and get all teary with no warning.  I often have these moments when I’m alone in my car, when I really allow myself to take it all in and feel such huge emotion. 

So if I could get a do-over for being such a smarty-pants all those years ago, I think my new list would look something like this:

1.  I am thankful for all the precious, little children who show up at Blue Monarch tired, angry, and wounded but still have a willingness to give their moms another chance to earn their trust.  Their remarkable resilience and capacity to forgive amazes me.

2.  I am thankful for the women who were once those same children, who desperately want to provide a happier and healthier future for their kids, despite the fact they never had a childhood of their own.  Their courage to smile after a lifetime of atrocious traumas and hardships is truly an inspiration to me.

3.  I am thankful for my loving family’s support, our gifted and dedicated staff, our courageous board members, and all the many, many volunteers and donors who make Blue Monarch possible for so many hurting women and children.  I can’t even count the number of times individuals have described to me the way God placed Blue Monarch on their hearts to help us.  I am grateful they listened and were obedient.

4.  I am thankful for my precious granddaughter, who despite the daily challenges of her special needs, greets each new day with nothing less than complete joy and tremendous courage.  She never fails to put my world into proper perspective – and always makes me laugh.  I have watched her little body fight some fierce battles but what I have never seen is the first shred of discouragement.  She is by far the happiest person I know and has taught me volumes about endurance.

5.  Most of all, I am thankful for the huge and amazing God we serve.  My word.  It’s impossible to describe.  Often when I leave my office, I have the great pleasure of seeing a breathtaking sunset that I’m convinced has been put there for the benefit of our women and children.  Sometimes I drag them from the dinner table to see it because it’s a gift especially for them!  I get to hear our precious children say the blessing before they eat.  I get to hear the women laugh among themselves as they reflect on their activities that day.  I get to see women caring for babies that may have been born addicted if they had not come to Blue Monarch.   And as I walk out the door, I always catch a glimpse of something, even something as insignificant as this row of infant seats, that reminds me of how enormous God’s plan was for Blue Monarch and yes, it takes my breath away and puts tears in my eyes with no warning.  So for all of that – I am thankful beyond words – and now I think I will rush to my car for some alone time.

Therefore, since we receive a kingdom, which cannot be shaken, let us show gratitude, by which we may offer to God an acceptable service with reverence and awe; for our God is a consuming fire. 

Hebrews 12:28-29

To Those Who Fill the Gap

One of our first residents arrived with a four-month-old baby who had a heart condition that had not been treated.  The child did not have a healthy, pink glow like most children, and she appeared to have gone without a bath for some time.

Not too long after this mother and child arrived, the woman left her baby at Blue Monarch and went to Florida to reunite with the baby's father.  Yes, that's right.  She asked us to care for her child and left town with no clear plans to return.

Naturally I contacted the child's grandmother and assumed she and her husband would immediately rescue their grandchild.  But guess what?  They did not.  They had no intentions of solving this mother's problems.  They had helped her so many times - they were finished.

This is something I understand much better today.  But at the time, I was completely confused and angered by this reaction.

So I did what seemed reasonable at the time.  I went to court and got temporary custody of the child.  I went to work as usual one day - and came home with a baby.  I just couldn't bear the thought of her going to strangers when she had an ordeal like surgery coming up soon.

At this point in our lives, my only child was in college.  A baby didn't really fit into our world very well, and she screamed most nights because of night terrors.  Our world was turned upside down and I didn't really have a clear plan for how this might play out.

Soon we began multiple trips back and forth to Vanderbilt Children's Hospital to prepare for heart surgery, and it was difficult to watch her tiny, little body go through all that was involved in that process.  I have vivid memories of curling up next to her in the hospital crib, desperate to give her a sense of love and comfort during such a frightening time.  There was one scary incident when she fought with the oxygen tube until it developed into a middle of the night crisis with a team of nurses and doctors struggling to help her.  My heart ached as I had to explain over and over who I was, and why she was not with her mother during such a critical time.

There was a young, single mom working at Blue Monarch, whose lifestyle made much better sense to take on the role of primary caregiver for this baby, but Evie (not her real name) was still my responsibility and I loved her.  Needless to say, I became extremely attached to this precious child and watched her thrive and grow from a sickly four-month-old, to a vibrant toddler.  She was bright, funny, and had a fiery temper to go along with her beautiful red hair.  I loved this child and felt a fierce need to protect her.  She had a supportive and loving family surrounding her and her future looked bright.

But after we had ten months of falling in love with Evie, the grandmother decided she wanted to have her after all.  I couldn't imagine a judge granting her custody when we had become Evie's family, but he did.  It was that simple.  She was family.  We were not.

So on an otherwise ordinary day in a Stuckey's parking lot, we handed her over to the grandmother, along with a list of her favorite foods, which only illustrated how little this grandmother knew about our baby.  I felt like my heart had been ripped out of my chest as I watched them drive away.  It's a pain that was so severe, it's really impossible to describe.

However, today, all these years later, I thank God for that painful experience.  You know why?  It's because Blue Monarch is in the business of restoring families.  We help women become better parents so they can regain custody of their children.  In fact, at this point over 200 children have reestablished relationships with their mothers who had previously lost custody.  But for every child that is reunited with his mother, there is likely a caregiver out there who is left with a broken heart, perhaps watching our car leave the parking lot with the child he or she loves.

I know only too well how hard it is to hand your heart to a precious little person, make sacrifices for that child, let your guard down, and dare to imagine a future together, always acutely aware that your time together may be temporary - or may be forever.  Either way, you must do the best you can to love this child, without limitations, each and every day, because that's what they need more than anything in that moment.

If not for this personal experience, we may not have encouraged our mothers for all these years, to recognize and thank the many foster parents, grandparents, family members, and friends who were willing to care for their children when they were unable to do so themselves.

We rejoice when mothers are able to reunite with their children after lots of hard work and self-improvement.  That's a glorious blessing!  But we must also celebrate and honor the loving caregivers who are willing to offer their unprotected hearts to a child in a crisis.  It's possibly God's best way to wrap his arms around his precious children when they need it the most.  And the impact of that special gift is truly immeasurable.

Thank you, Lord, for showing me that in our efforts to reunite mothers and children we must never forget the sacrifices of those who bravely and selflessly step in to fill the gap.


Update:  The grandparents have done a wonderful job of raising Evie.  She is healthy, happy, extremely bright, speaks two languages, and is, of course, still beautiful.

Even when God sounds crazy...

Sometimes when I hear others talk about their relationship with God it sounds so beautiful and reverent.  But throughout my Blue Monarch journey, there have been many times when my conversations with God have included lines such as, “What were you thinking, Lord?!” or even “Dear God - are you crazy?!”

One such time was a late night when I was driving down the interstate returning from Nashville.  There I was, minding my own business, listening to music way too loud with the sunroof open.  But suddenly, out of the blue, I heard God tell me, “You need to go by Blue Monarch and pray over Kristi”.  (This is not her real name, by the way.)

Well, it was almost 10:30 and there was no way I was doing that.  I wasn’t accustomed to walking in the door that late at night and certainly not into someone’s bedroom.  Our residents would think I had lost my mind!  And I also convinced myself it would frighten them, and that was reason enough not to go.  So, there.

“For crying out loud, that’s crazy.  I’m not doing it.”  End of story.

But as I drove further down the interstate I began thinking of Kristi and the struggles she had recently experienced.  Over the previous weeks she had lost most of her hearing and no one could figure out why.  It was frustrating for her because she could barely hear, and as a recovering addict in a new place, recently out of jail, healing from a severely abusive marriage, she had enough to deal with.

As I got closer and closer to the exit I would need to take for Blue Monarch, the message from God just got louder and louder.  I couldn’t ignore it no matter how loud I turned up the music.  So as usual, I thought I would cut a deal with God and settle this conflict on my terms.

“Okay, okay, God.  This is the deal.  I will drive out to Blue Monarch – even though it’s now almost 11:00 at night.  If Kristi’s light is on, I’ll go in.  But if she’s in bed, I’m turning around and going home.  And by the way, this is crazy, just so you know.” 

As I drove into the dark driveway at Blue Monarch, and made my way to the Woods House where Kristi was staying, I expected to see a totally dark house.  But there was one single light on downstairs.  I quietly opened the door and walked inside.  And what did I find?  Kristi was the only one awake, and she was sitting there almost like she was expecting me. 

I sat down next to her and said, “I know this sounds crazy, but God told me to come pray with you.”  And at that point I could hear God telling me to place my hands over her ears, which I did, even though it felt like a weird thing to do. Then He told me to tell Kristi that it was safe for her to hear now, that she was not going to hear the hurtful things she had heard in the past. 

As soon as I told her this she collapsed and began to weep.  And I’m sure you know the rest of the story.  Her hearing began returning almost immediately.

Thank you, Lord, for showing me your tremendous power of healing through something I thought was just a crazy idea.  And, oh by the way, thank you for being so patient with me for thinking I knew better. What was I thinking?!  

Confessions of a Child Burglar

When women apply to Blue Monarch, they are required to fill out an eight-page application that asks, among other things, “What is your drug of choice and when did you start using this drug?”  They are given the opportunity to list lots of drugs, not just one, and rank them in order of preference.

Remarkably, the age for first time use that shows up quite often is eleven.  This has always been hard for me to imagine.  Naturally it makes me immediately picture my own world at the age of eleven and wonder what would have caused me to start using drugs at such a young age.

I’d say the closest I came to breaking the law at the age of eleven was when my best friend, Debbie, and I decided to pretend we were burglars.  I am not sure in thinking back why that was so fascinating to us, but I suspect we had watched way too much GET SMART on television.  We put lots of preparation into this plan and had every detail rehearsed well in advance of the heist. 

When the appointed night came, after a tall glass of chocolate milk, we innocently said goodnight to Debbie’s parents and went off to bed.  As soon as the house got quiet, we stripped off our nightgowns, revealing the black shirts and pants we had hidden underneath.  After synchronizing our watches – not sure why - we pulled her mother’s expensive, nylon stockings over our heads (which distorted our faces beyond recognition) and stuck black stocking caps on top before grabbing pillowcases for our stash – her mother’s jewels (which we honestly planned to return the following day).

The first order of business was to go through the entire house and unscrew all the light bulbs so we would not be discovered in the dark.  First stop: her parents’ bathroom, which in looking back seems awfully ambitious.  We tiptoed into their bedroom, quietly opened the bathroom door, and I proceeded to crawl up on top of the sink.  Their vanity had a Hollywood mirror with lots of large, round light bulbs all around it.  I stood up and straddled the sink, reached up to the top of the mirror, and carefully unscrewed the first bulb just enough so that it wouldn’t light if someone turned on the switch.  Good job.  But just as I began unscrewing the second bulb, it suddenly fell into the sink and bounced around making the most horrible, unbelievably loud clanging sound.

Debbie’s parents rushed into the bathroom and that moment forever froze in time.  First of all, I had never seen Debbie’s glamorous mother without her makeup, so that was a stunning surprise.  And her father was already a mystery to me, so I didn’t quite know what to expect from him.  But the looks of horror that quickly turned into shock and then disgust, were something I will never forget.  It was a long time before I was invited back for a sleepover, and my life of crime ended that night.

But the other day as I was talking with our residents around the kitchen table, I asked them to recall some of their own memories at the age of eleven so I could understand how drug use could start at such a tender age – an age when I didn’t even know what drugs were, and could barely get my cat eye glasses on straight.

One immediately told about being molested by her mother’s boyfriend and how her mother wouldn’t believe her.  Another talked about having to drive the car at the age of eleven because her mother was often in no shape to drive.  One woman remembers her father driving away from the house in a rage and running over her on her bike.  And sadly, another woman recalled walking the streets for hours looking for her mother who would disappear for weeks, leaving her to care for her younger brother.

So it’s no mystery why drugs looked like a good solution at the age of eleven.  Why not?  It numbed the pain, and the adults in the house were doing it, too.

We can’t go back and redo those painful eleven-year-old memories for our residents, even though I often wish we could.  But here is what we can do:

We can make sure that the precious children we serve at Blue Monarch have good memories of their mothers tucking them in bed at night after saying their prayers.  They will remember waking up in the morning, not wondering where their mom was, but seeing her as soon as they opened their eyes.  They’ll know they didn’t have to wonder if she would be there when they got off the school bus.  And they will remember feeling the safety of a secure home, night after night, and the love of a nurturing environment on a beautiful farm with room to romp and play the way children are supposed to.

And then the cycle will be broken.  One eleven-year-old at a time.

Lord, we thank you that Blue Monarch is a place where beautiful memories are made.  We believe an eleven-year-old is still a child who deserves a happy childhood.  Thank you for making that happen in such an amazing way for the precious children we serve.  And we pray for healing for all the eleven-year-old memories that are not what they should be but are hopefully the last of their kind in the family tree.  Amen.