Finding My Norm

“Norm!” everyone at the bar would exclaim, when he walked into Cheers. I remember watching this show as a kid thinking how cool it was that everyone always greeted Norm. Announcing his arrival; validating his existence.

I have searched for this similar belonging, wanting to “go where everybody knows my name,” only to but up my own boundaries when others got too close.

I have adapted myself to meet the expectations of others, or my own perceived expectations they had, only to realize that I still could not measure up.

I have thrown myself into countless good deeds, because it was the right thing to do.

I have given what I thought was needed; realizing I never truly listened to the need.

I have loved conditionally.

I have…. And my list could go on and on.

The truth is I have done some great things, but not always with the right heart motive. Only until I started to love myself as God does, albeit a fraction of how He does, was I able to truly grasp the belonging. I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Designed in His image. My quirks, my imperfections, often magnified as faults, were merely how I chose to view myself and my response to those often belittled who I was.

Embracing the journey of becoming me has resulted in recognizing the simple joy moments of each day. Finding that blessings abound and open to receiving the love that comes from seeing that there really are others who are truly “always glad you came.”

Why I Can't

"Don't touch that!" I heard a woman exclaim as I sat in my office. "Don't touch that!" she said again. I got up from my chair and went to see what she was talking about. Our waiting room is pretty basic and there isn't much that I would consider not kid friendly.

As I peered around the door I was greeted with a red kool-aid stained lipped smile. She had to be about four. Half of her hair held neon bright colored bow barrettes holding braids in place. The other half was not braided and resembled much of what my hair looks like when I wake up in the morning. Her jean shorts fell off of her and her shirt was definitely a bib for her kool-aid.

Mom quickly replied "sorry" when she saw me and started to go into an explanation about her daughter touching things. I reached out and touched Mom's arm and said "no worries."

She looked at me and started to say something else and I assured her that all was well. "Well, when you have kids you'll know what I mean," she had to say as she looked me over.

I hesitated for a second as I stood there standing in a black business dress, with a gold necklace, rings, bracelet, and shiny heeled shoes. My hair styled and make-up just right. Really I felt fake as I presented an image of being perfectly put together.

"Actually..." I began to say. I wanted to tell her I do have three kids and I am just like any other parent, especially when out in public with my kids. That last night at mini golf my kids ran all over the course and threw their golf balls in the water and bushes. And my kids often bare their own food stained faces and clothes, but somehow I could not say this.

So instead I asked her how I could help her. She went into a sad, sad story and I helped her in every way that I could.

Often I try to be empathetic to those that we serve. Often I feel as though I fail. I remember during my first interview at UMI 11 years ago being told that "You can't save everyone." No I can't save everyone, but that does not mean I cannot try in every way that I can to help as many as I can. There are just too many people in this world who need help and are hurting and too many of us do nothing.

I am reminded of this daily.

And when I watch a little girl and her mom leave and the little girl turns around, looks at me with her deep brown eyes, one hand holding up her shorts and the other waving goodbye, I know I cannot stop trying to save everyone. I just can't.

Blessings of a Man

A few months ago I met a man. He appeared in my office door wearing a brown short sleeve T-shirt tucked into his jeans, a brown belt, and mud stained work boots. He was clean-shaven and wore glasses. His eyes were light brown, almost mirroring his shirt.

He took a few steps into my office and I offered him a seat. He shook his head no instead choosing to stand with his right hand holding the back of the chair.

His left hand twitched a little as he starting talking to me. In the course of his dialog, I watched his left hand clench and release, clench and release, over and over. His right hand remained placed on the back of the chair, almost as though he needed the support.

I sat in silence as he story progressed from mildly upset to angry to angrier to hatred for the world. And then with his left hand he reached up and took his glasses off. Almost simultaneously his right hand reached up and he covered his eyes.

The silence in the room was deafening.

I watched as his mud stained work boots moved towards me and when he sat down in the chair I breathed. His shoulders sank as he rested his hands in his lap, left hand still clutching his glasses, and he looked at me as he began weeping.

"I am sorry," was all I could muster up to say. I could find no words that seemed sufficient and was too paralyzed to embrace him.

He looked defeated.

Over the last several months he became a regular visitor of mine, in the beginning he would come in to yell (and always later coming in to apologize), then he started stopping in just to say hello, and then he would come in and share his dreams with me.

I learned in the past few weeks that he is planning to leave. In the midst of all the bad it turns out that he actually had some good things happening to him. It took several years and lots of paperwork, but he is now able to be self sufficient and begin the adventure of working towards his dreams.

He stopped by on Monday to tell me he is leaving this week and wanted to show me the car he had bought. I watched as his eyes danced with excitement as he shared with me his story of purchasing his car. His joy was contagious.

After oohing and aahing over his car, he looked at me with his light brown eyes and said, "I wanted to make sure that I came to see you one last time. You have no idea how much you helped me. You are a blessing and I want you to know that."

For a moment we stood there staring at each other, comfortable in the silence, and our first conversation flashed through my mind. He hugged me goodbye and left. I watched him out of my office window as he crossed the street and got into his car.

And my eyes filled with tears and my heart was happy and I shouted to him, "No you are the blessing."

Pure Sweetness Moments

I first heard the scuffing of feet before they caught my eye as they passed my table at the restaurant. An elderly couple was slowly making their way to the bathroom.

He supported her by holding her left hand and she assisted by using a cane with her right. I watched and snapped a photo because it is these pure sweetness moments that often take my breath away.

Shortly after Cassidy informed me, and half of the restaurant, that she had to go potty. So I took her.

He was sitting on the bench just outside the bathroom, waiting. Cassidy and I entered the bathroom and I immediately saw the woman sitting on the toilet, as her bathroom stall door hung half way open. Trying to avoid Cassidy commenting I quickly ushered her into the nearest stall.

As we were washing Cassidy's hands, the woman came out of the bathroom. I watch her left arm shake as she slowly moved her cane with her right hand. It took everything in me to stand there and not help her.

Finally she made her way to the sink next to us and set her cane down. She washed only her right hand. I placed a paper towel in her right hand and smiled. She quietly said "thank you" while scrunching up the paper towel in her right hand.

Cassidy and I turned to leave and I held the door for her. "Why are you doing that?" Cassidy asked me. "To be nice," I said. Her husband smiled at us and said "Thank you," as he stood up and took his wife's left hand in his.

I watched them as they walked out of the restaurant while thinking about their story--How did they meet?, did they have kids?, what happened to her left hand?-- but knowing that whatever their story contained, it surely contained love.