snapshot of a counselor's office

She sat down and her breathing was ragged. Intermittent sobs were interrupted by large, hurried tears running down her face. She had stood at my door and asked that short question that prefaces many emotionally wrought moments in my job, "do you have a few minutes?"

I always have a few minutes. More than a few minutes. This is why I'm here - sitting in my office, thinking about how to make my space more hospitable, more welcoming. 

I sit in silence as she speaks. I listen and focus on each word and how the weaving of each phrase and statement allows her to share more hurt, more pain, more confusion. She passes each feeling to me and I try to hold them, lightening the burden and offering kindness and understanding in its place.

I feel helpless most of the time. That's the irony of being in a helping profession. I feel helpless 98% of the time. How can speaking our words of pain and loss, our feelings of self-doubt and anger create a better space within us? 

We need each other. We need each other so badly. Each word, each vulnerable moment is creating a fabric that binds us to each other. For too many years, I prided myself on being a solitary figure. I was more than capable of handling the heaviness I felt in my chest. I was strong and stubborn. 

When that false strength was wrested from my trembling and broken hands, I was left with something better. Hope. No, I'm not strong. I have hope and that lasts through seasons of suffering, thriving, confusion and clarity. 

Hope is a small but mighty thing. But I underestimate it. I guard it carefully and try to shield it from trial. But it stands on its own. It doesn't need my tending. Jesus has started something in my heart and in yours that doesn't need my futile attempts to keep it alive. 

I pray for hope today. And for the courage to need others.

She left my office. Eyes still forlorn and the remnants of many exhausted tissues in my trash can. "I'm here for you," I say. And I mean it.

learning is really, really hard

Learning is really, really hard.

I never thought I'd find something from professional development actually helpful and/or poignant.

I think, as adults, we hear this sort of phrase and curtly nod our heads, remember a time from our youthful folly and move on. But learning is something that we do for our whole lives. Our entire lives. And learning is actually hard.

Real learning is hard earned and usually take practice, repetition, and may even cause pain (of the emotional variety). Maybe I'm not learning about history dates or how to measure triangles, but the type of learning that we do as adults is humbling.

How I relate to people, how I see myself, how I function in my job. These are just a few examples. 

I don't have it all figured out. And even when I do "figure" it out, I usually have to relearn it. 

These are a couple thoughts from professional development.