Bibs

I found my bib overalls. I lived in those blessed things for close to fifteen years. They saw me through each pregnancy (pre and post). Now that I know about "Mom Jeans" I'll never need to wear them again. Mom Jeans SNL

I wore them nearly every day when I lived in Angoon ages ago. I often wore them with my big hair and awesome Birkenstock clogs that the teens affectionately called my "can't get laid in those shoes." 

Deanna and I making pizza

Seeing my bibs made me think about living on Admiralty Island over twenty years ago. I loved the village and I despaired in the village. It was relaxing and beautiful; it was lonely and exhausting.

There were tremendous lessons in canoeing, gathering gumboots and clams, and surviving in a town where milk was close to $6 and I was always an outsider. Some crazy stuff happened there, but it's the same stuff that happens everywhere. The difference was that everybody knew.

My dreams were so vivid in Angoon. The pace of life was slow and something amazing happens to the brain and imagination when things slow down. 

One dream has always stuck with me and serves as a reality check to my naïveté and arrogance. In the dream, I gather all the kids into the teen center because I know there are hungry wolves circling outside. But I can't keep them in. They keep wandering back out the door. I know the wolves will get them and I can't do anything to stop them.

I knew I would be a pastor the moment I realized I couldn't save anyone. It's one of the rare callings where you get to sit in the brokenness, the darkness, and sorrow without being able to fix or solve anything. Who wouldn't want to sign up? You don't get to restrain people, shoot the wolves or lock the doors; I can provide a safe place and compassionate heart that gets broken for and with the people I love.

I've fallen in love with the book Tattoos on the Heart: The Power of Boundless Compassion. It is written by the priest who started Homeboy Industries to help ex-gang members claim a new life and identity.

He talks about his early days trying to save everyone. A couple of quotes:
It's infuriating and death-defyingly stressful when, consciously or no, the kids you love cooperate in their own demise.

In the early days . . . I'd ride my bike, in the middle of the night, in the projects, trying to put out fires. Trying to "save lives" is much like the guy spinning plates attempting to keep them from crashing to the floor . . . It was crazy making, and I came close to the sun, to the immolation that comes from burning out completely in the delusion of actually "saving" people

Possessing flashlights and occasionally knowing where to aim them has to be enough for us. Fortunately, none of us can save anybody. But we all find ourselves in this dark, windowless room, fumbling for grace and flashlights. You aim the light this time, and I'll do it the next.
The slow work of God.

I'm thinking about all those folks in the helping professions who know what it is to come close to burning out. I'm thinking of all those who live with children or work with youth who "cooperate in their own demise." I'm thinking of all those who've wandered into the wolves and feel torn apart and abandoned.

We can't keep anyone from the wolves. We can provide safe spaces, reminders that all people matter, and shine a light in the darkness.  Trusting God means trusting I'm not God.

I loved my bibs. I actually loved those shoes too, but when Kirt came to visit Angoon as a sweet nineteen year old I do think I wore my hiking boots instead.