On not becoming insensitive

I meet people with horrific stories. In fact, most of the people I meet in any given week have a horrific story. It kind of comes with the job territory.

I can't let their stories overwhelm me. It would be easy to melt into a puddle of empathy anytime someone told me what they had been through. But being a puddle, I'd be no good to anyone.

I was working with a woman last night who came in with two kids, who were both being very vocal about the abuse that they had come from. Their mother was defending her husband, the abuser. It broke my heart. It's one tragedy for a woman to believe that she deserves abuse- it's an even graver tragedy when she believes that her abuser has a right to do the same to her kids.

But when I was driving home last night, I wasn't thinking about the tragedy of their abuse. I was thinking about how tragic it was that I almost missed hearing the story. I almost missed an opportunity to pour into her life. I was busy going through the motions of my job- paperwork, getting them clean and in bed, etc. And she was anxious, and I kept trying to calm her down without ever asking why she was anxious. I almost missed a chance to point her to Jesus.

While they were in the dining room eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, one of my coworkers stepped in to meet her, and came out a few minutes later to tell me that she had asked if I would come pray with her. I was both humbled and confused; how neglectful I had been to never mention the name of Jesus once in my interactions with her, and yet, something had told her that I would be willing to pray with her. When I walked in, I saw her crumbling at the table, and for the first time, I held her hand and asked her what was going on. And then I prayed with her. I prayed a real, pleading prayer, asking Jesus to heal her and give her peace about her decision to leave.

Sometimes I feel like I've heard it all, or seen it all. How presumptuous! How wrong I must be! I've worked here for less than a year! And I have to catch myself so that I don't forget why I do what I do. I have to remind myself that just because I've heard a hundred stories about injustice doesn't mean that the other million women in the world who experience it have any less of a story to tell.

The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me,
because the Lord has anointed me
to bring good news to the poor;
he has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,
to proclaim liberty to the captives,
and the opening of the prison to those who are bound....
² to give them a beautiful headdress instead of ashes,
the oil of gladness instead of mourning,
the garment of praise instead of a faint spirit;
that they may be called oaks of righteousness,
the planting of the Lord, that he may be glorified.

Isaiah 61:1,3