Was it all for nothing?

I have felt the call to be a counselor since I was a teenager. I actually can't remember a time when I wasn't counseling someone in some capacity. I was in fifth grade the first time a friend confided in me that her home life was horrible and she didn't know what to do. I remember that day well because I held her while she cried and it happened that way countless times through junior high, high school and college. I knew I wanted to be a Christian counselor in college which is why I got my degree in ministry. It went perfectly with the graduate degree I would earn in counseling to be able to minister to people in the way I felt so called to do. But 4 years of college, 3 years of grad school, a lengthy exam, endless paperwork just to show I passed that exam, months of waiting, an extremely difficult pregnancy, a beautiful baby boy and no supervisor after 3 and a half years and it would seem that this dream, this calling, isn't going to happen. At least not the way I had always thought it would. I have spent 2 years looking for a supervisor with no success. I have loved every minute of being at home with my Conner bug but can't help but wonder how this dream will ever become a reality. I have always known deep in my soul that I was called to counsel and have spent a lot of time this past year angry with God because it seems that my time will run out on my license without earning my hours and I will have to start all over. Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? WHY?!?!?!

Then one night my husband decided to show a video to our students of a sermon on King David. You see, he was anointed to be king at 15 but he did not become king for another 15 years. He did a great number of seemingly thankless jobs, was ridiculed by his brothers, took care of animals, lost his best friend, was hunted by the king he served and the list could go on and on. But David never gave up, though he felt like it, though he thought there was no possible way, though the pain and loss seemed endless, he kept seeking God and believing him for what he had promised.
I struggle very hard with believing God for even the smallest of miracles even though he has proved himself time and again. So, my years spent selling Clinique, watching children, selling toys, doing office work, studying, doing counseling all day and going to class all night were not for nothing. They were worth it to get me to my calling. They were worth it to get me to a place where I can see God for who he is and not what he can give me. They were worth it for me to be able to help women see their value and to be reminded that my value is not in the job I hold but who I am in Christ. They were worth it if all I ever did was learn to love my husband and son well. And most of all they were worth it for that one person who sat across from me in a session and realized their need for a savior.
My calling may never look like I thought or even hoped, it will be more, and to be honest, it became more the day I stopped saying it wasn't enough.

8 Days

Saturday........................Not too bad, I can do this. Sure I'm sick but it's not too bad.

Sunday................................Tired, and getting sicker. Missing David already.

Monday.......................................So sick I just lay there and let Conner crawl on me.

Tuesday...................................................Full of cold medicine and having my worst day yet.

Wednesday...............................................Tear up as I hear Conner call for daddy over and over.

Thursday...................................................Starting to feel a bit better and missing David more than ever.

Friday.......................................................................Just keep going, just keep going, just keep going.

Saturday.......................Daddy brings home dinner and we play in the floor for 2 hours with little bug.

David and I don't spend much time apart. We love being together and don't often tire of each other's company. For the past week David was on a mission trip in south Texas and we were apart longer than we have been in our 8 years together. Normally it would be very difficult for me to be seperated from him but having Conner makes the time apart seem to go on forever. Our little boy is very close to his father and each day they were apart I could see his little emotions show the loss. Each day was a new experience for us as we learned how to cope without his daddy. He would look around more each day seeming to be searching for his dad. He would even keep touching David's face through the phone when we would facetime! It was the cutest thing I have seen yet! His dad reads him stories as night, teaches him how to play soccer, is Conner's own personal jungle gym, teaches him, loves him, and shows him how to love mommy too. I know to many this time was just a week but in everyday life as in our spiritual life, any time away from the father hurts.

At first it doesn't seem so hard and you think you will be fine.  Then as each day passes you realize how much you love, need, count on, feel safe with, enjoy, and long for the company of the father. I struggled with the difficulties of being a single mom for a week and I am so very grateful that I have such an amazing partner to go through life with. David's overwhelming love and kindness, his patience with me and our son, his beautiful walk with God all that he is are so beautiful to me. Yet, seeing the way Conner's face light up with he saw his daddy filled me with more joy than I ever thought possible. He has his daddy back and can't get enough of him. I can hear his giggling at this very moment from across the house. He is delighting in his father. I can learn a thing or 10 from my precious son. I love, adore and delight in his earthly father just as he does. How I long to delight in my heavenly father the way my son delights in his daddy. To reach out and touch his face and hear him sing over me only takes coming to him as a child. To him I will always be his little girl.

A Safe Place

It is quiet in this small comfortable room. There is a couch and an overstuffed chair. The lights are not bright but rather soft and casting a warm glow. Everything about this space is designed to put the occupants at ease. For the last year I have spent hundreds of hours in this small room. I have listened to thousands of stories in this room. Each story shared in this room is unique and beautiful and many are heartbreaking and tragic.  In this room people find hope, peace, awareness and strength. They come into this room angry and broken and together we work toward healing. I truly became a counselor in this room. The previous 2 years I spent in a classroom learning what a counselor should know, but in this room I learned what cannot be taught in a classroom. I learned what it means to help another person grow and heal from things they never thought they could come back from. My heart is full as I sit in this room for the last time and think about the blessing it has been to become like this room, a safe place.

What does it mean to be a safe place? The answer is a little different for each of us. When I am struggling with worry and fear I find a quiet corner, a blanket, my beanbag chair and a fan. I pull the blanket over my head, turn on the fan to tune out the noise and pray until peace overcomes my fear and I often fall asleep. David says he can always tell how my stress level is by how much time I spend curled up with my blanket in my beanbag chair. But what makes this place safe? How is it any safer than my couch? My car? I find the answer in my history.
I first heard God speak to me while I was reading over an airconditioning vent as a child. It was the middle of July and burning hot. I took a blanket and pulled it over the vent and crawled inside. I took my flashlight and read the latest book I had checked out of the library. It was there I heard him speak and tell me I was here for a reason. I found myself reading more and more, searching the Bible and seeking answers to why my parents marriage was falling apart. The Bible yielded no answers as to what was causing my parents to fight but it did show me a father who was not like mine. In this quiet safe place I met my true father.

Eventually the situation got so bad that I stopped seeking God. My parents marriage turned dangerous and we moved away. I stopped reading in the quiet corner and started seeking comfort in hobbies, sports, friends, boys, food and put books and my heavenly father far from my mind. I accepted Christ when I was 13, but my priorities didn't change, I still sought solace in outward things. I wish I could say that this habit changed overnight when I accepted Christ but that was just not the case. I was so angry over what had happened in my home and blamed God for all that I had seen and gone through. I was sure he could not satisfy. If he couldn't keep my home safe, keep me safe, then what could he do?

This is a question anyone who has suffered a trauma asks. It is a valid question. It just doesn't get to the heart of the problem. We are broken and angry. He heals and reconciles. We are hurting and desperate. He comforts and meets our needs. He grieves with us. He has never left our side in every trial we face. The answers to the difficult questions may never come. But when I sit in the presence of Jesus those difficulties fade into the background. I see his love for me. I see him healing my heart as I place my pain before him. I see the lengths he went to to save me and am overwhelmed with peace. He is my safe place in a way that no one and nothing else is. I struggle daily with depending on his grace to live in his presence. But in those moments when I lean on him, he is my safe place. Then it doesn't matter what room I'm in, what matters is who is in the room with me.