Safe Families for Children has come to Madison County, and I have found myself being the new director. Miracles happen here, miracles of self discovery and new found love. It’s hard to call it a job.
Calls are made, emails and text messages are sent, voice-mails are left. At the end of those emails and text messages are meetings that look like every day events. One mom meets another in a parking lot. One takes a child out of the car and hands him off to the next. They talk about diapers and nap times and such. It all looks so normal. It all seems so…jobby. But it’s not.
In reality, it’s a miracle. These two mothers are joining forces to take care of another mother’s child. A mother who desperately loves her child but whose mind is not well. A mother who desperately needed a break and had no one to turn to. Her child is given rest in another pair of arms to love him, until his own mother’s arms are ready for him.
Another woman is homeless. Many severe connotations come with the word “homeless.” All it means is she had a squabble with her roommate. She has to leave but has no where to go; no where that she and her kids can live. She calls Safe Families, requests a placement, and says goodbye to her children until she finds a home.
Some people have issues helping “these” people – whose stories look messier than their own. ‘We would never feed that to our kids or neglect our bills.’ It’s hard to understand being homeless. ‘Why don’t they just call a sibling, or a parent, or a friend.’ We separate ourselves from it. It’s much easier.
Judging these people makes my job a job. I can close a case at the end of the day and go home. It keeps myself separate, declaring the splinter in their eye before acknowledging the log in my own.
Sure I pay close attention to what I feed my children, pay my bills on time, and do most of my shopping at garage sales. But could I truly stand blameless before these people and legitimately shake my finger at them? If someone was looking over my shoulder the same way I’m looking over theirs, what would be found? Would my file be squeaky clean? Would I find some wasted dollars? Some bad decisions? Would I really be spotless and justified to point that finger?
A few years ago, I began the long process of removing the log from my our own eye, and I can see a little better now. I can now see these people with a clean heart and resist judgement. Yes, they have made mistakes. Me too.
Safe Families rely on host families. Taking in a child that is not your own with no financial reimbursement is not easy. You may be wiping a bottom that has no relation to you, wondering what in the world his mom is doing.
This is love with no strings attached. And it’s hard. This is where the rubber meets the road; perpetuating the grace and love we have been given to another who may not understand it right now.
This isn’t a job.
It’s a calling. This is loving others as I have been loved. This is loving others as I love myself.
It isn’t easy. But it’s our calling. Working for Safe Families, or volunteering to open up your home, or loving someone different than yourself is reaching a clean hand into another’s messy life.
Only then can we all be changed.
