Finding Help

What a year…We can all say it. Some can say it more than others. I’ve tried to let experience teach me so that I can better teach others, so that I can better understand how to help.

 

We’ve needed help ourselves this year. We’ve found some. We’ve lost some. And some that I expected just never showed up. I’m learning not to expect…

 

There was a really bad night, really bad. One that lingered into morning leaving hearts’ edges ragged, and minds consumed with worry. We’ve done the hard and costly work of securing help. At least you would think so if you saw the price tag soaring into the many thousands, yet 72 hours passed before we heard back from either professional who had readily signed on to help. SEVENTY-TWO hours… I’ve worked in crisis mental health. I’ve been in mental health crisis myself before, and I can tell you now, 72 hours later you are no longer credible in the mind of the hurting. That is why we have the tragedies we have. If/when a return call comes in, you sort of feel like saying “thanks, but no thanks, we got it from here.”

 

More unexpected has hit us hard today. We are not two chumps who just stumble through life without making serious efforts to prepare and provide stability, but doggone it, we simply cannot achieve what is needed. We just don’t have the power.

 

Nothing stirs my own insecurities like dealing with school administrations. As a kid, I was pummeled through the system. I can count the adults who walked right by without offering a bit of help; can still see their faces as they averted eyes to keep from meeting mine. Some try hard and do some good, but the systems are broken despite good effort and actual lives are lost in the process; somebody’s child… I’m sick of saying it. I’m sick of watching it. I’m just sick of being sick…

 

Ever feel like yelling from the rooftops? I’m watching the cities burn, and I grieve, but I can admit in my heart of hearts that I have a bit of that rage to stir from time to time. Just feel like your heart is ripping right out of your chest and though some may care there is still a roadblock between you and the help that’s needed. Imagine generations of that sort of grief and imagine it multiplied by millions. I’m guessing that’s how lots of folks are feeling right now.

 

I’ve watched that video of Mr. Floyd dying. I’ve watched it with my husband near. I had to say it, and I did, “you know I would have tackled that man with his knee to the throat of another.” Erick concurred, “yep, you would.” I’ll tell you I hope I would have. It would have been worth an arrest or a bullet to at least know I tried to stop it. Some days I feel like I’m trying to stop a train that’s bearing down straight for my loved one anyway, and it’s probably just gonna take us both down because no matter the efforts we make, the mountains against us continue to rise. I’ll keep trying, though, and I’ll keep hoping. I’ll keep praying, and one day relief will come. One day. One way or another, Jesus will carry us home…

 

 

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