Reflections from the Front Office: Beauty amid Brokenness

Every Wednesday from 9:00am- 9:30am, I sat in the front office of the local public school in the low-income community in which I live and serve. My youngest was receiving speech therapy from an excellent speech pathologist who was on staff there. He would go back with her to her classroom and I would wait in the front office. I would usually bring a book or some work with me, but after the first few weeks, I was simply too absorbed in all the activity that found its way to the tireless administrative staff in the front office. Some of it was amusing and some of it heartbreaking. This school is located in the heart of the inner city- in an area where crime, poverty and neglect run rampant. This is a school that had at least 4 lockdowns this past year due to the violence happening right outside their building. My sister taught for 5 years at this school and her heart broke for the students living in fear, living without parental oversight or even regular meals. Yet despite the brokenness that pervades this school, beauty, like a subtle ivy, creeps in unexpected places.

I see the loving grandpa who comes each day to drop off his grandsons before heading off to his second job. Once, I even saw him come back to school with the lunch one of his grandsons had forgotten. I see the ever-smiling Ms. Harris who greets every child by name and manages to answer phones, fill out late passes, give hugs and find a spare uniform shirt for the little girl who never has the appropriate attire. Beauty amid brokenness.

I see parents trying- some more than others. I hear “I love yous” but I also hear harshness in the voices of some. I see the exhaustion, desperation (and sometimes despondency) that is a result of adults who are living in generational poverty. I also see teachers who don’t give up on their students- who smile and remain hopeful despite the odds. I see Ms. Holle, Justus’ beloved speech therapist, who still loves on her students after years of teaching. Beauty amid brokeness.

I see the mother who explained to one of the staff that her son wouldn’t be in school for the next few days because he had been attacked by a vicious pitbull while he was playing in his front yard. The dog tore into his leg and this precious boy had to be taken to the ER. I live not to far from this mom- my boys play in our front yard. It all became too real too fast. I watched as the secretary came out from behind her desk and wrapped this shaken mom into a hug and told her, “I’m praying for him and you.” Beauty amid brokenness.

I see a young father getting a late pass for his son. The son’s name is Sirius. Good-naturedly, the secretary asks the dad how he came up with that name. I love his response: “Well, I was studying constellations and the Sirius constellation is the brightest one in the galaxy, so I thought, I want my son to be the brightest star." In a school where many of the children are without loving, involved fathers, here was this dad who deeply valued the incalculabe worth of the son he was raising. Beauty amid brokenness.

I live in a low-income neighborhood. Across the street are two empty lots where houses have been torn down. As I sit on my porch and sip my coffee, I see remnants of broken fences, garbage and overgrown weeds. Yet among the plain weeds, grows these beautiful purple flowers (yes, I know they are weeds). I enjoy gazing at them. They remind me that God creates beauty amid brokenness.

You are Loved

"I know my kids have forgiven me and I know God has forgiven me, but I can't forgive myself."

In her eyes was a mixture of hope and guilt. Hope for a fresh start with the forgiveness she knew had been granted but guilt for a past that still haunted her. I have heard this same refrain from many women over the course of my ministry.

Truthfully, I have heard this in my own mind- a place where my darkest, most insecure parts of me are buried deep. Where I re-live the things I most regret- words I have screamed at my children, the critical comments I have thrown at my own husband and the judgmental thoughts I have harboured toward friends and co-workers, to name a few. Forgiving yourself is hard. Loving yourself, with all your baggage and flaws, is even harder.

How could God love me in my most wretched state? I am not talking about pre-salvation when I had yet to acknowledge my sin or experience God's grace. What about my daily wretchedness? Does God still love me despite the habitual sin- despite the sin of my "secret self" no one sees but me?

At our recent Regional Women' s Retreat several women poured out their hearts as they shared deep wounds and secrets they had deemed "unforgivable." One woman shared how her alcohol addiction had caused her son to be born with fetal-alcohol syndrome. Her shame and guilt over this had caused her to bury this secret. Until that evening, she had never told anyone. Another woman bravely admitted a narcotics addiction she had kept hidden from everyone at her church. In their most vulnerable states, they let us in. And we, in turn, offered love- the love of God. Because God loves us wholly and completely- in our sin and ugliness. No, He does not condone sin but His love isn't lessened because of it.

Dear sister or brother, you are loved just as you are right at this moment- in the midst of your own personal chaos, whatever that may be.

The Son of the Most High God loves YOU.

Noxzema and Nostalgia

Last Saturday as I was perusing the skin care aisle at WalMart (I was enjoying my childless shopping trip), I couldn't resist purchasing a small tub of Noxzema. Every time I take a whiff of this cream, it brings back a flood of childhood memories.

I remember looking at the classic royal blue tub while my mom curled my hair in the bathroom (I think when she wasn't looking, I would open it and smell it).

I remember her gently applying it to my sunburned skin (it always cooled the sting of the burn).

I remember receiving my first jar as a teenager- stumbling my way through puberty but excited by the prospect of using "grown-up" face cream.

So as I stood there in the aisle contemplating on whether I should buy it (I really didn't need it- I already have an arsenal of skin care products), I decided I just had to have it. I had to smell it and revel in nostalgia.

Noxzema is just one in a long line of "smell memories" that when inhaled lets waves of my childhood wash over me. I still have an ounce left of the Love's Baby Soft perfume my parents gave me in fourth grade. Every time I take a whiff, I remember the Christmas I received it. We were living in LA. We flew back to Kansas that year to celebrate with family. It was my first plane ride. Whenever I open I box of Fruit Loops (which is rare these days) and the fruity, lemony flavor wafts toward my nose, I am brought back to childhood vacations to Colorado when we were treated with sugar cereal in those small, travel boxes.

So, here's to smells and all the memories it brings back. Hopefully, some day, my kids will smell a whiff of vanilla and remember how much I loved burning vanilla-scented candles. And maybe that smell of vanilla will bring back happy, contented memories of home and childhood.