I'm just going to try.

I'll never understand how God works, even if I someday understand why.

If I hadn't been so sketchy in the employment department for so long--and if I hadn't lost my first baby--I would never have thought to apply at the Pregnancy Center. I would have always had admiration for those who did, of course, and I would have donated goods and money just like all the other good church people. But actually work there? No, no, no no no no no no.

My best Whitney worked at one for a long time while she was in college. I absolutely adored her for doing such a good work. I was so proud of her as she casually told me of meeting with fourteen-year-old mothers; of babies and mommies saved; of pro-life marches and fundraisers; of mastering the use of those little tiny models that mimic the developmental stages of unborn babies. But me? Heck no. Never in a million years. I was just not cut out for that.

And, even when I filled out the application, I made it clear that I was interested in secretarial work, or folding clothes and organising shelves. I didn't want to talk directly to anyone.

Some of my acquaintances may be shocked to hear this--although none of my close friends who've seen what a ball of insecurity I am will be--but I'm actually pretty shy. I used to be what you'd call 'painfully shy,' although the word 'paralysingly' would be a better way to put it. And, although I've gotten a lot better since I became a Christian, there are still times when I open my mouth only to discover that my tongue has gone numb, my throat has closed up, and I'm shaking a little. If I'm that bad now, imagine what I was like before, right?

Usually, my shyness attacks in direct proportion to how much I want to talk to the person. If it's someone whom I have no real intent to invest in--a cashier I just need to ask a question of, for example--I may feel a little thrill of fright, but outwardly, I'm totally fine. But if it's someone I really want to like me, or minister to, or impress, or befriend, or develop any sort of long-term relationship with, forget it. I'm a clam. Lips calcified and cemented shut.

So, since I was thrown into dealing directly with clients, and since my first client came within two weeks of beginning training, I pretty much expected the worst. I prayed against it, of course, but still expected that I'd pretty much bomb.

By comparison, what actually happened was pretty wonderful. The client, "C," and her boyfriend "K" arrived twenty minutes late, so I only had to talk to them for forty minutes. Every single one of those twenty minutes, I was rooting for them to just cancel the appointment altogether (I admit it. I was that nervous. Just not doing the whole thing sounded better to me), but they did show up.

Furthermore, when they did arrive, K and C made things extremely easy. For one thing, they brought all their kids (normally clients only bring babies). I've always loved kids, and had an easier time befriending them than adults. You never have to be nervous around a kid. Just the fact that you're a grown up makes you awesome in their eyes. Secondly, all I had to say was, "So, since I haven't met you guys before, can you tell me some of your concerns?" They just took off and filled the remainder of the time telling me what they needed help with.

God works in surprising ways. Here I am, a shy, background-type girl who'd rather be folding layettes, listening to a forty-minute shpiel about the issues this little family is dealing with, and the next thing I know, not only am I glad that I was given these clients, I feel a love for them that's tantamount to heartbreak.

If you've ever loved someone who was drowning, but didn't realize it, you know what that's like. This young couple--both of them barely old enough to have their infant son, let alone their five- and four-year-old daughters--had problems with disciplining their children, with finishing their GED's, with keeping food and clothing on their kids, with blending their families, with raising their children whom had previously been raised by other family members, with their own issues from childhood (including alcoholism and sexual abuse), with communicating with their children (whom they believed had already been sexually and physically abused by relatives)--the list went on and on. They wanted solutions to all these problems; but please, don't bother them with God. God-free solutions, please.

On the drive home, I complete mish-mash of emotions. I had joy over some of my new friendships at the center--Hannah, a secretary, and Terri, a director, have already been blessings in my life. I had sorrow over the suffering that K, C, and their little girls have been through. I wept for those little girls. I had sat there with them, trying to win laughs with goofy jokes. Their bright eyes were full of tentative trust, and their little smiles gap-toothed and adorable. How could anyone do such horrible things to such precious, helpless little girls? I'll never understand it, and I don't want to. And regarding their parents, hardened against the Lord by hypocritical "believers" who had preached Christ with their mouths, but abused them with their hands--for C and K, I had a strange mix of fear and love.

Perfect love is supposed to cast out fear. By that definition, I know that I don't have as much love yet as I should. But the fear seems valid, knowing myself as I do. I'm not afraid of them--I'm afraid of me. What if the right moment comes along--the moment when God prompts me to speak on His behalf--and I'm too afraid to speak? I'm afraid I'll be afraid. It's ridiculous to say it, but it's true. I've been me before, and I, as myself, have seen me stay silent when I should speak.

I guess I need more of the basics. I need more faith to believe that the strange, sad set of circumstances that has led me to this place was intentional. I need faith to believe that God appointed me on purpose to speak with C and K. But more importantly, I think I just need more love. If I just had enough love for them, then maybe I could for once be truly transparent--like Amy Carmicheal talked about. I could be so transparent that I'm like air, "through which, unhindered, colors pass/ as though it were not there," and Christ Himself could speak to them, showing them that the curses of sexual abuse, alcohol abuse, broken families, and failure that they so fear for themselves and for their children CAN be broken asunder--totally, completely. I hope that I can become less, that He may become more; that Jehovah Rapha, the Lord Who Heals, could restore the innocence that was ravaged away from those sweet little girls, could protect that little boy, could cleanse the deep wounds borne by C and K after lifetimes of degradation and disappointment.

It's not what I expected. It's better, and it's worse. For the first time in a long time, I feel like I'm in the right place at the right time--but I don't have the slightest clue what I'm doing here, or how this will end.

Hopefully, it will end like a Billy Graham movie, with the whole family becoming Christians and turning their lives around and finding financial success. More likely, it won't, and I should probably prepare myself to only be a sower, and never see a harvest. Whatever happens, I can thank God for pushing me against my will into a place where I have the actual potential of helping others in a real, and profound way.

I've often got on the case of people who whine about all the problems in the world by asking the question, "What are you doing to help?"

I guess it's my turn to ask myself that question. The world is full of child abuse, financial struggles, moral and physical decay, and families that are falling apart. So what am I going to do to help? Shy, fearful, nervous little me?

I'm going to try to help with faith, love, and a listening ear. I can't guarantee any more than that. I'm just going to try.