"Can we please come back here?"

As we approached our 20^th Anniversary Celebration my mind began doing somersaults. I noticed I was recalling random memories from not just the past twenty years, but my entire life. It was like a constant movie reel of things I had not thought about in many years, if ever. I finally decided to pay more attention and see if there was a common theme. Were they all related to some challenge I overcame that helped me at Blue Monarch? I thought I was onto something until I had the memory of wandering to a nearby creek as a four-year-old, scooping up tadpoles and swallowing them to see if they might turn into frogs in my stomach. Guess not.   

 

This incredible milestone walked simultaneously with the release of my new book, From My Front Row Seat, which has been another mind-blowing experience for me because it reveals personal experiences, some rather supernatural, that I have never shared in public. (My privacy bubble is quite large.) Was I the only one having nightmares of being naked on the playground? 

 

So, it’s been several weeks since our 20^th Anniversary Celebration, the random memories have ended, but I realize I have been avoiding writing about that day. As I scan through the photos from this magnificent event, I am aware of why the delay. It’s so dang emotional.

 

Twenty years is an eternity - and it is the blink of an eye. I remember thinking I wanted to do something to mark such a milestone, but “let’s keep it simple and laid back.” Ha. It turned into quite a production with an enormous tent (at the very spot we hope to build a multi-purpose building soon), hundreds of chairs, a string of food trucks, a dozen golf carts, an afternoon and evening full of activities, and a million details that I dumped on poor Deanna, with nearly 425 in attendance throughout the day. But that event will be the “happy place” in my head for quite some time. It was spectacular and this photo says it all. Just look at how the clouds dropped out of the sky and nearly landed on our tent - and I’ll let you come up with your own theory about the interesting cloud in the corner that doesn’t match the others. Yes, it’s fun to speculate.

 

I thought I’d take you on a stroll of these photos through my eyes - in no particular order.

 

Let’s take this one of Howell Adams. My word, this man believed in me when there was no reason to, and nearly a thousand women and children have been served since that day when I was nothing more than a stranger with an ambitious plan on paper. “Thank you” will always feel completely inadequate but we keep saying it anyway.

 

Our campus is named after Howell and his wife, Madeline, and through the generosity of key individuals and lots of generous folks, it has grown from 50 acres and 3 homes to 108 acres with 14 homes since we opened in 2003. We were excited to offer a first-ever tour of our entire property. Our residents were so proud to host our guests at each stop along the way and show off their beautiful home. 

We had guests who traveled many hours from numerous states to share this day with us. One was very special to me, personally, and came all the way from Chicago. Alicia was my very first assistant in 2014 and she always encouraged, okay pushed me, to write my Blue Monarch experiences in the form of a blog. It was exciting to hand her a book that includes a collection of powerful stories that I am now grateful she inspired me to record. I was moved by the people who wanted a signed copy of their own and hope they will be blessed by what they read.

 

While I was signing books, someone came up behind me and gave me a big bear hug. Before I could turn around, he whispered in my ear, “Can we please come back here? I felt safe here.” It was a boy who had lived here in the past with his mom and siblings. The whole gang had come to celebrate the day with us and as the one who has probably been the man in the family from time to time, he was looking for a way to keep his family safe. It struck me how Blue Monarch creates a sense of family that stays alive as long as the ones who leave want it to. No doubt, this boy will someday be a protective father and strive to create a home like he had with us. As I looked at this young man with his siblings I was reminded of the impact they had on our program. We now have better accommodations for larger families with almost two generations of children. I made a mental note to follow up and make sure there wasn't more to that comment.

 

This was just one example of the families who returned to visit that incredible day - because Blue Monarch feels like home. In fact, this young lady and her mom surprised me and showed up. They lived with us in our first year. As this beautiful young woman sat here waiting on our program to begin, little did she know we would show a video from our first year and her four-year-old spunky self would be in it. I remember her family's struggles back then and it is so great to see them both doing so well now. Oh, my heart.

I am grateful for my “front row seat” but I wanted to be surrounded by our incredible staff and my husband who share that front row with me. There was even a seat for Alicia, of course. We had a blast! There was an almost giddy sense of joy in the air, all of us were on the verge of tears at the magnitude of the day, and we simply had loads of fun and lots of laughs. I even cracked myself up sometimes.  

Jeannie shared her experience as one of our first residents and now serving as our Program Director. Lauren described her journey at Blue Monarch that not only resulted in her serving as our Director of Case Management, but also gave her the confidence to become a pilot. And Savannah, who is currently in our program and recently regained custody of her three children after a long, painful separation, shared her story with a standing ovation. When I looked at the photos from the day, there were many of Savannah getting hugs by lots of people congratulating her afterward. 

Of course, we took the opportunity to lift up the amazing women of Blue Monarch and I think the look on Taylor’s face says it all. Just look how proud she is - and for good reason. Blue Monarch is not for sissies.   

Even from the get-go I wanted to make sure we gave God all the glory for the hundreds, perhaps thousands, of miracles we have seen at Blue Monarch over the past twenty years. We ended the day with a powerful praise and worship concert and Natural State Band helped us do just that.

 

Thinking back over the past twenty years at Blue Monarch, there is only one way to ever understand it. Glory be to God. Nothing else makes any sense whatsoever and that brings me great peace as we face the next twenty years.

Now glory be to God, who by his mighty power at work within us is able to do far more than we would ever dare to ask or even dream of - infinitely beyond our highest prayers, desires, thoughts, or hopes. Ephesians 3:20

"Holy cow."

"The good news is that they want to publish your book. But there are a few changes you need to make."

“Like what?”

 

“Well, they want you to take out all the profanity and gore, for example.”

 

“Are we talking about the same book?”

 

I was devastated. For the past year I had been working on a book, which was a collection of my blog posts through the years, and the process had been exhausting, confusing, and very frustrating. I thought we were near the finish line, and this felt like a huge punch in the stomach. 

 

The woman on the phone represented a well-known Christian publisher so this was like hearing I wasn’t Christian enough. And I didn’t remember any profanity or gore.

 

She sent me four pages of changes that needed to be made - and the profanity section was at the top. They were nice to provide some examples of where I had used profanity. The first two were “Holy cow" and "Oh my word." Seriously?

 

I jumped to the gore section. One example was when I described how a little girl made a huge puddle on the kitchen floor during lunch, still wearing her bathing suit after swim lessons. Is that really considered “gore?”  

 

For complete disclosure, there was one example where I had used “H - E - double hockey sticks” but it was an important component to the story and if changed, it would totally lose its impact.

 

In fact, as I scanned the four pages of changes they required, I began to get completely offended and even a little hurt. Not for myself - but for the women and children we serve. Watering down their experiences would not honor their journeys. They didn’t get the opportunity to dilute their trauma or abuse. 

 

I called the woman back and said, “This list is a great example of why some people don’t like Christians. In fact, I don’t think I want their name on my book.” Out of curiosity, I asked for some clarification on the profanity. She explained that my use of “Holy cow” and “Oh my word” was a substitution for something else that was unacceptable. I asked what we should say if we stump our toe, and she had no answer.  

 

I went on to explain how I felt about altering the stories and why that wasn’t an option. Surprisingly, she sympathized and gave me several examples of authors, even pastors, who felt the same. And then she added, “Well, just so you know, they don’t even allow talking animals in children’s books anymore.” I couldn’t let that one go without pointing out the talking donkey in the Bible. Geez. 

 

So, it was back to the drawing board. I felt like an entire year had been wasted and it was tempting to give up. But through nothing less than divine intervention, I found someone who published Christian books but saw no need to water down or sugar coat the material. In fact, they totally got it. I scrolled through the books they had published before and immediately felt a connection. “Yes! Those are my people.” And now that book will be released in a few weeks!

Remarkably, as it turns out, because of the delay, From My Front Row Seat will be coming out just a few days before our 20th Anniversary at Blue Monarch, so the timing is perfect. What a wonderful way to celebrate such a powerful twenty year long journey.

 

This entire process has been an emotional one. One I had planned to experience at the end of my life, not now. For the past twenty years, when anyone asked me, “Can you believe what’s happened at Blue Monarch?” I would respond with, “I try not to think about it. If I do, I may start crying and never stop. I will think about that when I get to heaven and have more time.”

 

As I have read, re-read, and edited the stories a million times, I have relived some of my most memorable experiences at Blue Monarch over and over. They have caused me to tear up when I least expected it, and they have taken my breath away even though I knew the ending. It has been such an honor to walk alongside the women and children we serve as they navigate the treacherous road to recovery and healing. And at the very least, I hope I have honored them in the way I have shared their stories.

 

Today is such a great example of my Blue Monarch life. This morning one of our moms regained custody of her three children. It has been an uphill battle since the beginning, and there were days her fight to restore her family took the support of our entire team. It’s been a tough one. There were players involved who were unscrupulously trying to terminate her parental rights and permanently sever her relationship with them. I shudder to think of what might have happened if she had not been surrounded by strong folks to help navigate that clunky process with her. And I can’t help but think of the moms out there who may not have the support they need and needlessly lose their children forever.

 

But I want to share another Blue Monarch miracle story with you before I close. It’s one of my favorites and will be the last one I share before we turn 20 on April 15!

 

I have struggled to find a way to describe this because of the nature of the details, but I think I have figured out a way to do so. (I doubt the first publisher would approve, but that only makes it more fun to tell now. It’s not about a talking animal, but a talking dollhouse sink instead.)

Let’s say “Alyssa” was not an adorable little girl, but a dollhouse sink named, “Alice.” Alice came to Blue Monarch with her mom and siblings having suffered from neglect and suspected sexual abuse at her young age. Her family was complicated. Each one of them had severe, equally traumatic issues of their own, but as a group they hung together in their mess.

 

One of the first things we discovered was that Alice was having problems with her faucet. Her plumbing was too small, which meant lots of unpleasant visits over months and months to doctors and specialists to figure out a solution. I’ll leave the rest to your imagination. Needless to say, its’ no dollhouse sink’s dream to go through that.

 

Once Alice’s faucet got to working properly, she had another problem. This time with her garbage disposal. Lots of food would go down the drain but for weeks it would just get clogged in the pipes. This resulted in even more trips to doctors and specialists, yet again, no fun for a cute little dollhouse sink.

 

Finally, the clogged pipes sent Alice to the hospital. The problem had become so severe it required days in the hospital with strategic treatments of all kinds. As with any clogged sink, there are numerous approaches that increase in intensity and unpleasantness. It was no fun for Alice or her mom, who became more frantic and frightened with every day. Alice remained very brave for a young little sink, and I have a colorful birdhouse she made for me while sitting in the hospital for so many days.

 

None of the methods to unclog Alice’s pipes worked, much to the dismay of the doctors and nurses. After several days went by with no results, there was talk of surgery, which seemed to be the last resort. Oh, no. 

 

At this point it seemed there was no justice for Alice, the sweet little dollhouse sink. She didn’t deserve this. How much could a little sink take? She had been through more than many adult sinks experience in an entire lifetime. 

 

After several days with loads of prayers but no luck whatsoever, another test was done to examine the clogged pipes in preparation for possible surgery. Shortly after, however, Alice’s mother was notified they were being discharged and sent home as if the hospital was simply giving up. 

 

Alice’s mom was hysterical. “I’m not taking her home until this problem gets resolved!” Even the nurse advised her to stand her ground and refuse to be discharged until there was a plan to solve the problem. After all, what could potentially happen if she went home with no resolution to the clogged pipes?

 

Finally, the doctor came in to speak to Alice and her mom. He showed them the x-ray from that morning. “We have no way to understand or explain this, but the clog is completely gone. See, it’s no longer there.” 

 

“But where did it go?”

 

“We don’t have an answer for that.” 

 

Well, we do. It’s another Blue Monarch miracle and a great example of how God is in the details - even Alice’s clogged pipes, which have been working fine ever since. And this little sink and her mom learned the power of prayer in a way they will never forget. 

 

All I can say is, “Holy cow...oh my word...and thank you, Jesus.” Yep, it’s been a great twenty years, and it's an honor to share them from my front row seat.

Jesus looked at them and said, "With man this is impossible, but not with God; all things are possible with God." Mark 10:27 NIV

From My Front Row Seat is available on our online store and also Amazon, where E-book and Audiobook (in author's voice) are available.

  

 

 

 

"If I don't come to Blue Monarch, I'm going to die!"

We were accustomed to getting calls from women who were desperate, but this one stood out from the rest. We never have the space for all the women who apply, but this applicant was trying to solve our space problem for us. “I’ll even share a room with someone if I need to! If I don’t come to Blue Monarch, I’m going to die!” 

Her suggestion was taken to heart, and we put her in a room with another woman who didn’t have her children with her yet. They could share our largest room until that mom was reunited with her children and then we’d figure something out.

I asked a former staff member about Deanna’s custody situation with her own three children and the answer was, “It’s pretty hopeless. It’s too late to do anything about it.”

Deanna had an eighteen-year meth addiction, and a history of incarceration and poor choices that had cost her everything she owned. But worst of all, she had lost what was most precious to her: her children. Deanna still had a relationship with her 17-year-old daughter (who was beyond our age limit to live at Blue Monarch with her), but her parental rights had been terminated regarding her middle son, and she had lost custody of her youngest daughter and was not allowed any communication with her, either. Yeah, it looked pretty bad. At this point it had been over a year since she had seen her 11-year-old son, and 9-year-old daughter.

Nevertheless, there was a particular day when Deanna made the decision to soak up every single thing that she could from her Blue Monarch recovery experience. She dove in with everything she had, became a leader in the community (that is still reflected by her peers’ success), and did her recovery work with robust determination. She refused to waste time on meaningless conflict, gossip, or drama. Meanwhile her heart continued to break over the loss of her children - a situation that didn’t seem to be getting any traction whatsoever. 

Our program focuses on the reunification of moms and kids, so Deanna often watched mothers get their children back and she was surrounded by lots of reminders of what she had lost. Nevertheless, she loved on the children around her as if they were her own. And she unselfishly shared in the excitement of all the other moms who successfully got their families back together, even if she did so with tears in her eyes.

Despite the heavy weight Deanna constantly carried with her, she excelled in everything she touched. She did exceptional work in her classes yet maintained an impressive level of humility. She graduated from our program and moved into our WINGS transitional community yet saw no progress in reuniting with her children, which I can only imagine was embarrassing and disheartening.

Recognizing Deanna’s amazing skills and strong business mind, we promoted her to supervisor for our granola business, Out of the Blue. And shortly after that we began employing her as an administrative assistant for Blue Monarch, too. Then, in no time, we put her in charge of our biggest fundraising event of the year. She marched across the stage with the other residents during the cardboard testimonies carrying a sign that said, “NEEDLE JUNKIE” on one side and “ORGANIZED THIS BANQUET” on the other. The crowd roared. 

It became more and more obvious that Deanna was a genius. In fact, even with all her responsibilities at Blue Monarch she somehow got her bachelor’s degree and graduated with a 4.0 average going to night school. I often tell her, if she hadn’t gotten sidetracked with drugs, I believe she could have cured cancer.

Meanwhile there were many days when Deanna collapsed in tears and continued to grieve over the ongoing separation from her children. The overwhelming pain was tangible and even painful to watch. I am ashamed to admit our staff probably reached a point where we felt there were no options but to accept the painful reality that nothing could be done for Deanna to restore her family. But there was a day when all that changed.

Deanna marched into my office, slammed the photos of her children on my desk and said, “Their names are Maison and Makenna. I want you to see their faces because I am not giving up and I need your help!” This was a game changer for me. I realized in that moment that we never should have accepted what looked hopeless - and quite frankly, I wish I had never listened to that nonsense in the beginning. I vowed to never tolerate that kind of declaration again. With God there is always hope.

We arranged for Deanna to get help from a local attorney who was willing to take on her difficult case. A generous donor agreed to help with the legal expenses. And Deanna put on her boots and began the long, treacherous process to get what she wanted. I could see she would not stop until she did.

That process took supernatural patience and humility. It went at a snail’s pace, and Deanna made hundreds of unreasonable compromises. But after six frustrating years, Deanna and her daughter were reunited, and she eventually regained custody. She had two of her three children back - but there was another and she would not rest until she had reestablished a relationship with him, too. 

After seven long years of separation, I am happy to say Deanna was eventually reunited with her son as well. She finally had her family back together after a fight that was one of the most remarkable undertakings I have ever seen. I wish we could take credit for it, but I have to say, Deanna and God did this, and she has never hesitated to give him the glory.

In fact, from the outside looking in, I would say this entire situation took a dramatic turn when Deanna finally lifted it up to God and completely surrendered it to him. She reached a point where she was willing to accept his will, regardless of the form that might take. And God blessed her tremendously for that commitment. I think Blue Monarch simply offered her a safe place to heal, surrounded by people who loved her, while she and God worked out the details.

Deanna is now the Administration Director at Blue Monarch, and my best description is that if any one person on our staff got hit by a train, she would pick up the pieces the next day and make sure we never skipped a beat. She beautifully manages every special project I throw her way, she understands our finances inside and out, she knows every detail of our granola business, she can juggle a million balls at one time or solve any problem with a smile, she loves and hugs on every child that crosses our threshold - and she appreciates, firsthand, the loss and regret for every mother we serve. 

But it’s the words of encouragement I overhear her say from time to time that probably carry the most weight for the women we serve. “I promise you; God can do it. No matter how hopeless it looks, do not give up.” Perhaps we should all listen to her. She knows what she's talking about.

Update: In 2023, Deanna was appointed Executive Director of Blue Monarch! I am proud to share the enormous responsibility of Blue Monarch with her. And I'm delighted she does such a wonderful job of running the daily operation so I can focus on upcoming big projects and future expansion. What a testament to the success and effectiveness of our program to have a graduate  in this position!

 

"Mary, did you know you could have said no?"

This year I discovered a tiny part of the Christmas story I never noticed before. As I listened to a pastor read the familiar passage in the book of Luke, something jumped out at me. But the angel said to her, “Do not be afraid, Mary; you have found favor with God. You will conceive and give birth to a son, and you are to call him Jesus.” Luke 1:30-31

It did not say, “Guess what, Mary, you are pregnant, (and how you got that way is complicated) but this is what you are going to do.” Gabriel told her what was going to happen before it did. This meant Mary had an opportunity to say no. Wow. I never thought about that. There’s that amazing gift of free will, even in the most critical world changing moment. I wonder if God even had a backup plan if she declined. Was there a group of “Mary Runners-up?”

That was Mary’s chance to say, “No, thank you. I’m flattered but I think I’ll pass.” Instead, what Mary did was go right into the storm with nothing but tremendous blind faith and obedience - even though she had to know it was not going to be easy and she probably felt in her spirit that it would break her heart at some point. However, she knew the mission was worth the price she would pay and that there would be beautiful blessings along the way that would belong to only her.

I think this passage jumped out at me because of a question someone asked me recently. I had just described some of the intense problems we had experienced over the past year, extremely severe issues regarding the children we serve that were way beyond anything we had seen in almost twenty years. The level of trauma and resulting behavior have been staggering.

“After everything you have been through with the children you serve, has it caused you to re-think whether you should include children at Blue Monarch?”

Yikes.  My immediate response was, “Absolutely not! It makes me want to serve them better.” I couldn't help but briefly imagine what might have happened if some of those families had not come to Blue Monarch for help.

I have the amazing privilege and honor of working with some incredible women of God. Every person on our staff comes to work each day not knowing what she will face before the day is out. She may get called a “big fat (blank)” and spit on by an angry child, or she may see a mother finally reunited with her children after we have prayed and cried with her and poured countless hours through the treacherous process to restore her family. Both can potentially happen on the same day. It can feel like quite a roller coaster ride.

But our gifted team doesn’t turn away from this challenge. In fact, in many ways I feel I work with a team of fierce first responders. When the building is on fire, they are the ones to run directly into it rather than turn and run away. In fact, I don’t even think you can work at Blue Monarch and not be willing to run directly into the fire and never look back.

Heroes that serve heroes

We are about to enter our 20th year at Blue Monarch, which is a little overwhelming to even comprehend. But it is because I am surrounded by a team of first responders with hearts of Mary that I look forward to whatever the new year brings.

After all, we have yet to experience a year that is not full of God's breathtaking miracles that he graciously allows me to see from my worn-out front row seat. May it be a Happy New Year, indeed. 

 

"Who broke the jar?!"

Like a lot of kids my age, I had my tonsils removed when I was younger. I asked the doctor if I could keep them, and much to my mother’s regret he was happy to oblige. I came home with a sore throat, all the ice cream I could eat, and two nasty looking tonsils floating in some kind of clear liquid.  

The jar of tonsils had an important job to do and were immediately tucked away on the top shelf in my closet.  

I had a powder blue diary with flowers on the front, along with a small metal lock to keep out intruders. The tiny key was kept in a separate undisclosed location that I frequently moved for extra security. Nevertheless, I was still concerned someone might read my private thoughts, so this diary eventually became the decoy diary. It developed into a false narrative about how much I loved practicing the piano, going to church, and minding my parents - just in case.  

The real diary was out of sight strategically hidden behind the jar of tonsils. That journal described a night when my friend, Janet, and I sneaked out of her house to smoke a cigarette down by the creek and how I watched another friend steal bikini underwear from a dime store downtown. I don’t think it included how disgusting the cigarette tasted or how I lost respect for my friend for being a thief. I probably couldn’t include those things because this diary was the raw, uncut version, which meant there was a standard of badness to uphold. In the meantime, the tonsils were there to discourage anyone who might be tempted to dig.

One day I came home, and the jar of tonsils had fallen off the shelf and broken wide open on the floor. The odor was something so hideous it became the standard by which to measure all bad smells the rest of my life. I was mostly concerned about the diary and potential invasion of privacy and vowed to never put my secrets on paper again. Even to this day, I keep a dream journal but that’s it.

As I observe the incredible women of Blue Monarch, I am often impressed and amazed at their willingness to share such personal feelings, failures, and poor choices to their peers and even large crowds of strangers. They don’t start out with that level of transparency, but as they eventually reveal their true stories to others, they begin to find freedom from no longer carrying the dark, ugly secrets. 

This process is not easy and usually brings lots of tears. But once they release the ugliness into the atmosphere, we literally see the weight lifted as well. The secrets no longer hold power over them, which is why the process is so healing.

This steady building of integrity brings them to a place where honesty becomes a much easier way to live. It is often surprising how truthfulness takes so much less energy than covering up lies and keeping them straight. That can be exhausting. Just think of the time and energy that went into keeping two diaries that were nothing alike. And neither told the whole story so both were essentially worthless.

There is a crossing over point, so to speak, when we can tell a woman has reached a significant level of integrity in her recovery. It usually reveals itself in a confession with lots of tears.

This is how it often goes. She will probably leave a note on my desk with a heartfelt apology for breaking a rule and not respecting our program or staff by her indiscretion. She will come into my office, sit in the least comfortable chair because she thinks she deserves it, reach for a tissue or two when I hand her the box, and she will spill the beans about a rule she broke when she clearly knew better.

We will talk about all the red flags and how her behavior impacts her recovery. We may even discuss how the specific act was listed on her own plan to prevent possible relapse, and then we will talk about how to go forward. She will later dissect each step of the act with our counselor and program director to examine the thought pattern that caused her to stumble. 

But sometimes I almost have to smile privately to myself because whatever “it” was, will typically be much less severe than even the smallest crime she committed before coming to Blue Monarch. The comparison will be dramatic.  

This is such a tangible indication of how the woman's world has shifted. Her standard for honesty has changed and she desires a clean heart over a deceitful one. An act that was not even worth noting in her old life feels completely unacceptable in her new life, and she recognizes how it may lead to other poor choices if gone unchecked. Where she may have previously allowed her pride to get in the way, she will come to us for accountability, which demonstrates great humility and maturity.

It is evident the children we serve have paid close attention to their parents’ behavior. It shows in their language and actions and some things may take a while to reteach. But as our moms and kids heal and recover together, they will also pay close attention to moments like this one. The day Mommy decided to be honest will make an impression on her children because they will see the relief and freedom reflected on her face.  

Our program is lengthy with many hiccups and struggles along the way but there is a brilliant rainbow at the end of that crooked road. With every day, we get one step closer to the moment that family will look back and be proud of their journey together. They will say, "Look what we did! It was a tough one, but we did it with integrity and honesty." 

Now that I think about it, maybe it’s time to tell my mom about the real diary and stop wondering who broke the jar.  I believe that’s what the women of Blue Monarch would tell me to do.

The righteous lead blameless lives; blessed are their children after them. Proverbs 20:7 NIV

 

 

"But I love the boogie man! And I miss him."

He was snaggle toothed, needed a haircut in a bad way, and had a smile that would melt your heart. Those were all the things we could see on the outside. What we couldn’t see were all the dark things swirling around on the inside that should never belong to a child.

Little did we know, this six-year-old boy was withdrawing from alcohol when he walked through our doors, something he had enjoyed since he was a toddler. His mother had not disclosed this information because of her shame for allowing it to happen in the first place. And Lucas probably thought it was something all little boys did, that all children had hangovers from time to time. So, while the other kids at Blue Monarch were “jonesing” for Sundrop, he was craving Budweiser.  

Apparently, alcohol was not the only thing Lucas was suddenly doing without. We later learned his father thought it was “educational” to allow him to view things on TV that even adults shouldn’t see. Things I’m sure were burned into his young, impressionable mind that will be difficult, if not impossible, to erase.

One thing abundantly clear was that Lucas was attached to his daddy and going through withdrawal from him along with everything else. Naturally we wanted to encourage his relationship with his dad, but it didn’t take long to discover this was not a good idea.

Time after time we drove to meet Lucas’ father for weekend visits, and he wouldn’t show up. It was one lousy excuse after another and none of them made the disappointment less painful for Lucas. Each time our staff exchanged angry threads of text messages as we hurt along with him. The few times the father did show up, it became clear he was exposing Lucas to drugs in the home, so we quickly went to court to get the visits stopped as soon as possible. Lucas was angry with us - and the judge, for keeping him from his father. We were the bad guys.

The visits were replaced by scheduled phone calls, but these were just as inconsistent and disappointing as the visits. On one occasion the dad allowed a buddy of his to get on the phone and call Lucas inappropriate, ugly names, just for fun. Fun for whom? Lucas was crushed and hung up the phone in tears. He also knew his father wasn’t taking the necessary steps to resume weekend visits, which added to his overflowing bucket of hurt.

We were relieved when Lucas’ father went to jail but that only made his son even more depressed and angry. Is it any wonder Lucas struggled in school and wasn’t interested in all the typical little boy things? It was a heavy load for a young child, and we had a limited window of time to rewire his troubled, distorted world. 

Unfortunately, the father got out of jail and the disappointing phone calls returned. But they were just as inconsistent as before. Lucas’ behavior declined, and he decided he no longer cared about consequences or even rewards. All seemed silly to him. Well, his word was “stupid.” The only thing that motivated Lucas was the hope of seeing his dad. I think he would have done anything if that man was the carrot we dangled in front of him, which was not one of our options. 

Lucas eventually revealed he was carrying an even heavier load than we thought. Just when it seemed it couldn’t get worse, we learned his father had suggested a pact between the two of them that would mean if one hurt himself, the other would as well. How much more could this boy take? The separation left him constantly wondering whether his father had followed through with their plan. Was he dead or alive?

Sometimes I think our boys have the greatest struggle at Blue Monarch. They are surrounded by women, so we work very hard to introduce strong, good men into their lives through our mentors, tutors, and volunteers. But let’s face it. No one replaces Dad, even when he is the boogie man.  

Sadly, Lucas’ story is not unique. Quite often our boys struggle with their dads being in and out of jail. That seems to be a common trigger for them, and their behavior reflects the uncertainty and pain they feel. They seem to absorb the news in a different way from our girls.  

As grim as this seems, however, we have seen great healing with our boys, which is nothing less than miraculous. I remember one boy in particular, who constantly tried to run away when he and his mother moved in. He was angry with everyone, including us, because he couldn’t see his father who was in and out of jail like a revolving door - and it was easy to blame Blue Monarch for everything.

I was driving out one day after work when I found this boy running away again. I stopped and talked with him and cleverly found a project for him to do that diverted his attention. His mother eventually joined in the activity with him. My plan seemed to work pretty well, and I was pleased with my brilliant maneuver. They enjoyed working together to get something accomplished, which also allowed him to vent some of his frustration. As he and his mother walked back to the house hand in hand, he turned to me and said, “Don’t think I don’t know what you just did.” Couldn’t get much past him. He had grown up way before his time.

That troubled boy turned into an amazing young man, though. He visited us recently and as he and I stood outside admiring our amazing campus, he said, “You know, I wish I had spent more time appreciating this beautiful place when I lived here. And I should have acted nicer on the bus.” Then after a long pause, he said, “I guess that’s my way of saying I’m sorry I didn’t always act the way I should have.” 

This young man’s father is still in and out of jail, but he is no longer haunted by the boogie man. He prays for his father and wants the best for him, but he is still able to thrive and enjoy life despite the disappointments. He holds himself to a higher standard and doesn’t allow his father to bring him down, even though I’m sure the love for his dad is still there.

As long as we continue to serve little boys, I’m sure the challenge with struggling fathers will still be a part of our lives. But I am grateful to say, with time and lots of hard work, our boys eventually learn from the boogie man instead of becoming one. 

That's what I call a powerful, answered prayer ... and it's the same one we say for Lucas. 

Lord, please guide us as we serve the boys in our care.  Let them reach for your hand and know you as Father.  Amen

  

 

Someone Give the Pink Panther a Break

I am not sure when she officially crossed over, but there was a definite point when my Great Aunt Lula gave herself permission to say whatever was on her mind – regardless of how offensive it might be.  For instance, it was not unusual for her to look at a kindhearted visitor after only a few minutes and say, “Okay, it’s time for you to leave now.”  Or to call someone, “Big Fat So-and-So” within earshot.  A few times this lack of filter made her say things completely inappropriate, some I wish I could forget.  However, I found her very entertaining, and I enjoyed her company.

One time I decided to visit Aunt Lula at her place in Florida.  Her “vacation home.”  That sounds pretty impressive, but it was actually an old, rusted, single wide trailer on a dead-end street among other mobile homes from the same era, occupied by widows, widowers, and couples around her age.  The lots were large and everyone on the street had thriving fruit trees, mostly orange.     

The ceiling in Aunt Lula’s trailer seemed especially low, the light was dim, the hallway was tight, and ants ran rampant across the kitchen counter, despite the dish of raw cucumber that was rumored to keep them away.  She was particularly fond of canned Sweet Sue chicken and dumplings with canned cranberry sauce, which was a far cry from the local seafood I assumed we would enjoy during my Florida visit.

 

As soon as I arrived, Aunt Lula took me on a marathon down one side of the street and up the other side the next day.  I met every single neighbor, except one, and visited for a while until it was time to go to the next lot and repeat the same thing.  (We did this routine all over again in reverse at the end of my visit.)  The people on the street had created a close community and it was clear they enjoyed reconnecting every year as they and their trailers grew old together.

 

It also became clear that we were going to repeat the same conversation at every stop.  There were two major items to discuss.  One.  Even though everyone had beautiful orange trees of their own, they were convinced someone else’s oranges were better so they bought oranges from one another despite the fact they had plenty.  So, at each home we either bought or sold a commodity no one needed.  As far as I could tell, everyone was simply breaking even.    

 

Two.  Every single person was appalled and disgusted that Aunt Lula’s neighbor across the street was sneaking over and stealing her next-door neighbor’s oranges while they were out of town.  (He was the one I didn’t get to meet.)  Aunt Lula and her friends were completely outraged and wanted the dirty thief caught.  The man was the focus of a vicious feeding frenzy that gained momentum with every conversation and Aunt Lula’s close connection to the situation made her a celebrity of sorts.  Her friends were itching to hear the latest details, analyze her evidence, and hear her unfiltered opinions.  The daily, senseless exchange of product and currency kept the topic alive.  

 

I had serious concerns about getting out of the tight, back bedroom in the event of a fire, so I chose to sleep on the screened-in porch.  Aunt Lula was delighted because this meant I might be able to catch the thief red-handed.  If so, I was instructed to wake her up immediately.  Gotcha.  She didn’t describe what we would do after that.  

 

It wasn’t peaceful sleep.  There was the Florida heat and humidity and especially the streetlight, not to mention the stickiness of the oilcloth sofa.  So, I was still wide awake at midnight when I spotted the dark silhouette of an elderly man carefully tiptoe across the street like the Pink Panther and begin stuffing oranges into a big bag.  But here’s the thing.  He only got the ones that had already fallen onto the ground and were going to rot before the owners got back anyway.  Seriously.  Was there really any harm in that?

 

I found myself quietly cheering him on as the scene continued to unfold in front of my eyes.  “You go, man!”  I decided to keep this little discovery to myself, and I immediately formed an unspoken bond with the Pink Panther, who appeared a couple more times before I left.  I sympathized with the guy on some level because it seemed the punishment of becoming such a despised target among his neighbors, and being the topic of every conversation, was out of proportion to the crime.  

 

People often ask me what it’s like with so many women living in community with one another at Blue Monarch.  One can only imagine the mixture of personalities and mood swings.  It can sometimes get intense.  In fact, let’s throw their kids into the mix and you’d better duck.

 

Occasionally we will have a woman who just can’t help becoming a target.  She will charge into an already established community and set herself apart by all the ways she feels superior.  “Well, at least I didn’t let my drug use affect my parenting.”  (Naturally, someone will immediately point out she doesn’t have custody of her children.)  Or “My drug of choice wasn’t as bad as yours.”  Step back.  

 

So, yes, it is common that we have some who do not get along because these kinds of comments can be electric.  That’s not to say anyone gets violent, because we don’t tolerate that, but sometimes it takes a while for a new resident to develop some humility, look at herself honestly, and take ownership of the choices she made.    

 

Until then, it is our responsibility to make certain this woman does not become the victim of a nasty feeding frenzy out of control.  We remind her peers that they do not know all the trauma, wounds, disappointments, and loss that may have caused their neighbor to act in a way that was hurtful or offensive.  In other words, “She came to Blue Monarch for healing – just like you did.  Remember some of the things you did and said when you first got here?”  Once they connect on that level, they often become the best of friends, encouraging one other throughout the rest of their recovery journeys together.  The lasting sisterhood that develops at Blue Monarch is a beautiful thing to watch.

 

Unfortunately, this ugly seduction of a feeding frenzy can be a temptation for all of us.  Just think of how many times this has happened in other settings like the workplace or even church.  It becomes intoxicating and irresistible to engage in daily rhetoric about one person’s indiscretions, faults, or even untrue accusations.  Updates can become an addiction that must be fed daily.  It’s really no different from the times we occasionally have a child get off the bus after taking the brunt of cruel bullying.  The tears will break your heart and the hurt shows on their faces.  Adults, unfortunately, can inflict the same kind of pain on one another. 

  

I can't help but notice that no one on Aunt Lula's street took any kind of action other than to criticize and pontificate.  Was the man stealing oranges in the middle of the night because he needed food and was embarrassed?  Or was he just a spiteful old man who loved the thrill of taking something that didn't belong to him?  We will never know.  No one bothered to find out because it was the sport that they enjoyed more than resolution or even justice.

The practice of extending grace is something we try to teach at Blue Monarch as just one little component of recovery and it is tangible when that concept finally sinks in.  Conversations become gentler and friendships become richer when they gain the strength to say, “You know what?  I’m not going to participate in that, so leave me out.”  

 

Just think.  When our residents leave with the tool of grace in their belts, they become the kind of neighbors who might offer the Pink Panther a kind word and an orange (a good one from down the street, of course) instead of feeding their own unhealthy behavior at his expense.  Even better – they teach their children to do the same.

 

And that’s the family you want to live next door.

 

Let no corrupting talk come out of your mouths, but only such as is good for building up, as fits the occasion, that it may give grace to those who hear.  Ephesians 4:29