The hardest part about this job is the broken people–the ones who come in looking utterly defeated, like they don’t expect that things will ever change.  I often wonder how different my life would be if I wasn’t following the Lord or if I had made different choices. And then I stop wondering because I get freaked out.

The woman who came in with her children at 11:30 last night was fleeing a domestic violence situation. Again. She was forced to leave the rest of her kids with her ex-husband. Her tiny kids seemed so much smaller with their shell-shocked faces.  They had no idea what was happening, and they just sat there in my office, stunned, while I asked their mom invasive questions. It’s times like those that I feel the most helpless, but what can I do? Find tiny pajamas and toothbrushes for them and check them into a room that’s safe.  That’s it, and it has to be enough.

I’m already wondering if there’s a point at which I’ll become jaded–where I won’t feel sorrow or compassion for this people group that I love so much right now. I guess if that ever happens it will be time to move onto something new.


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