A Lesson of Trust
Child care is not an easy job, especially when one works with middle school students.
As afternoons go, today could have been worse. I have certainly had more wild days with the middle school students than today.
But today was difficult because of the words one boy spoke about himself. Extremely harsh, self-deprecating words. And while some may have passed these words off as heat of the moment (he was in the middle of an argument with a friend) I could not allow the boy to continue speaking such words without my telling him how wrong he was. For every bad thing he had said against himself, I had a positive word to give him.
Still, his words haunted me after work all the way to the prayer ministry class I'm currently taking at church.
So during the healing prayer portion of the class I told the two prayer ministers I was with about the whole situation (and there was much more than I mentioned), and how burdened I felt by what the boy had said, but also his whole life situation at the moment (which is pretty messy).
"I know I can't save everyone," I said, "but I just want to--"
"You're not going to save anyone," one prayer minister told me gently.
"You can't save them," the other prayer minister told me a little more bluntly.
For a second that sounded overly harsh. The millennial in me wanted to argue that point, but then I realized that I can't save these kids. Because saving isn't my job.
I can teach them. I can advise them. Comfort them. Lead them.
But I can't save them. Only God can. As cliche sounding as it is (because we've all been told than only God saves, but usually to make us feel better about the fact that our witnessing didn't create converts on the first try), it's true. I can't save the kids I work with, not because I'm witnessing wrong or not spiritual enough, but because I'm not God. I don't have the power to save.
I'm to bring Light to the Dark. I'm meant to bring the Kingdom of God wherever I go by how I live, teach, advise, comfort, lead, and pray. After that, God utilizes what I and other disciples have done, because He's cool like that, and He likes using humans to further His kingdom.
So in that prayer session I released the child and his family to God. I had to and have to trust God. Trust that in His timing He will show Himself to the boy and to the boy's family; and I can only live in hope and prayer that the boy and his family will accept the salvation and redemption offered.
I physically felt a burden lift off my shoulders when I released the boy to God. And for a moment that scared me. I was no longer in control. But then I realized how free I felt, and I knew that releasing the boy to God was the best for everyone. For the boy and for me.
I can't save people. Sometimes I wish I could. But I can bring forth the Kingdom of God by how I live and love; trusting God to do the rest.
As afternoons go, today could have been worse. I have certainly had more wild days with the middle school students than today.
But today was difficult because of the words one boy spoke about himself. Extremely harsh, self-deprecating words. And while some may have passed these words off as heat of the moment (he was in the middle of an argument with a friend) I could not allow the boy to continue speaking such words without my telling him how wrong he was. For every bad thing he had said against himself, I had a positive word to give him.
Still, his words haunted me after work all the way to the prayer ministry class I'm currently taking at church.
So during the healing prayer portion of the class I told the two prayer ministers I was with about the whole situation (and there was much more than I mentioned), and how burdened I felt by what the boy had said, but also his whole life situation at the moment (which is pretty messy).
"I know I can't save everyone," I said, "but I just want to--"
"You're not going to save anyone," one prayer minister told me gently.
"You can't save them," the other prayer minister told me a little more bluntly.
For a second that sounded overly harsh. The millennial in me wanted to argue that point, but then I realized that I can't save these kids. Because saving isn't my job.
I can teach them. I can advise them. Comfort them. Lead them.
But I can't save them. Only God can. As cliche sounding as it is (because we've all been told than only God saves, but usually to make us feel better about the fact that our witnessing didn't create converts on the first try), it's true. I can't save the kids I work with, not because I'm witnessing wrong or not spiritual enough, but because I'm not God. I don't have the power to save.
I'm to bring Light to the Dark. I'm meant to bring the Kingdom of God wherever I go by how I live, teach, advise, comfort, lead, and pray. After that, God utilizes what I and other disciples have done, because He's cool like that, and He likes using humans to further His kingdom.
So in that prayer session I released the child and his family to God. I had to and have to trust God. Trust that in His timing He will show Himself to the boy and to the boy's family; and I can only live in hope and prayer that the boy and his family will accept the salvation and redemption offered.
I physically felt a burden lift off my shoulders when I released the boy to God. And for a moment that scared me. I was no longer in control. But then I realized how free I felt, and I knew that releasing the boy to God was the best for everyone. For the boy and for me.
I can't save people. Sometimes I wish I could. But I can bring forth the Kingdom of God by how I live and love; trusting God to do the rest.
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