I feel like I have a ton of things to say, yet I am having problems finding words. My heart hurts for those unhealed places in those I love. That much I know. My heart hurts for those screaming at the top of their lungs for whatever it is they need, and nobody hears them. My heart hurts for those violently waving flags for rescue, and nobody sees them. The results of not being heard or seen are detrimental to the very foundation we are built upon. Being ignored causes cracks and buckles in that foundation which then does not allow for a steady homestead, so to speak. “For no one can lay any foundation other than the one already laid, which is Jesus Christ.” How is there anything strong enough to rattle that foundation? I do not have an answer for that, but I know that there is. The devil himself causes those cracks. This is not meant to be some religious rant. I would be the last person to do that. I just see how the cracks widen, deepen, become more dangerous when they are ignored (unseen, unheard). One has to pay attention to them, work on them, repair them to make whatever is sitting upon it safer, more stable.
The last few days that I have worked with children, there is one little boy who is eight years old who has cracks so deep and wide the Grand Canyon could hardly compare. Already at eight years old that little boy’s foundation is crumbling, has crumbled. His anger, outrage, is off the charts. Last night his anger was out of control, and there was a code called. I went to see if I could be of assistance to anyone, and I really knew in my heart that it was him before I got there. It was. I went into his room with him and was talking with him. Note: “talking WITH him” and not AT him as everyone else had been. Yes, he has been in a lot of trouble since hospitalized, but he is a little boy, lost and afraid. I sat and talked with him calmly. I asked him if I could see the stuffed toy snake he was holding which seemed to have been the “reason” for this outbreak. He calmly and willingly handed it to me. We talked some, and he rested himself on his bed while we talked. I asked him if he would like for me to read a book to him, and he nodded and partially covered himself with a blanket and a sheet. I watched his eyelids growing heavy and his little body growing more tired. I finished the story, and he asked if I would read him another one. I was honored to read to him again. He asked for some lemonade while I was reading, and I went to get him some. He drank it and put his head back on the pillow. I continued to read and watch his eyes close slowly for short times and slowly open back up. I completed the story, went over to him, tucked him in, told him goodnight, and lowered another light in the room. All that little boy needed was for someone to listen to him, see him. He will continue to need that for the rest of his life – as we all do. I hope he will have someone who is willing to do that. Just one person is all it takes sometimes.
I had no problems sitting with him, reading to him even though it had been 20 minutes since I was supposed to be off of work. I went back to the office I was in to finish entering notes, and I left work feeling sad for that little boy. I know that his foundation needs to be worked on to the point of tearing it all up, and repairing, re-pouring it to make things stable. He needs a “Carpenter” for this concrete pour.