I share a lot on here, sometimes I wonder if it’s too much. But if you've read my blogs you know I've been suicidal, I've been depressed, I've struggled with porn. There's more to my life you don't know - I could never imagine it possible to share all 21 years in just a few short blog pieces. But I've gone through hard stuff. I've been in a car crash, I've had my heart broken, I've felt worthless and unloved, I've been laughed at, bullied, teased, looked down on. I've been made fun of, I've been unemployed, I've been broke, I've been stressed. I've been hurt and I've hurt others, I've been confused, and I've been frustrated.
You? I'm sure you have a story. I'm sure there are things you've been through that are harder than what I've been through, I'm sure that you have had your own valleys, your own low points. I don't know your whole story, in fact I may have no idea of your story, but I have no doubt there have been hard moments. I've had it rough, but I've never been to jail. My parents are still together. I've never gone without food for lack of money. My close relatives are still alive. Perhaps you consider me fortunate compared to yourself.
But when we compare ourselves to the world, why is it so focused on us and our struggles? We view our lives through the lens of the things that have been hard and have caused us pain. But what about those less fortunate than us? Why do we spend so much time thinking about how hard our life is, yet so little time thinking about how we can use the gifts we have been given (and our experience through hardship) to ensure that someone else must not go through the same or harder struggles than we did? Why are we so self-focused?
I see it in myself, and I don't like it.
I've experienced a lot, but one thing that has changed my life has been the blessing I have had to interact with and build relationship with foster kids at camps since I was fifteen. And I would love to share a quick story with you from this experience.
I was 17, and I was leading a group of 8-10 year old boys. Happy and smiling, with insecurities, dreams, and talents. Normal in so many ways. Yet at the snap of a finger you could see an entirely new side of their life and behaviour. One boy in particular, who I will call Josh (as I hold him so dearly to my heart), stood out to me from this group. I had insisted that he be in my group as I knew that he had struggles, but we had a connection. He was the sweetest boy you could meet - he would sit on your lap if you let him, bring you flowers, play sport, talk to you, and want to be with you non-stop. He just wanted to be my friend! At eight years old he was as cute as any little boy you could picture, with a curly reddish blond hair, a grin that lit up his face, and a heart of gold.
Yet Josh had another side. Another boy would brush past, upsetting his balance. Josh's face turned red, his eyes filled with murder, and his tongue would lash out with threats. Not idle threats either, Josh would seek to fulfill these threats with violence.
It was this violent angry side that scared others, it saw Josh lose a tooth attacking another leader in rage, break windows, and rip air conditioning units of walls. It was this side that saw leaders begin to shrink away, and even some camp directors refuse him coming back.
But I saw something different in Josh. I had heard the testimonies of other young boys, I knew some of the terrible things they had been through, I knew how unfortunate their lives had been. And so I continued to fight for him. I continued to build relationship with him as he pushed others away. I continued to show him grace as he broke the rules, hurt me, and yelled at my fellow leaders. And after a week of showing him unconditional love, I hugged him as he cried and begged to not be sent back to his home.
The next camp though was when he truly broke my heart. Amidst his acting out, his violent outbreaks, his refusal to follow the rules - the camp speaker challenged him (along with the whole camp) to write down their greatest fear. Many of my other boys, each so precious, wrote something down. "heights", wrote many, or "the dark" was another common response, along with "Spiders", and I'm sure many others. Josh wrote an answer as well, one that he never shared with anyone, but simply folded and put in his pocket. But I happened to manage a glance over his shoulder as he wrote two words that changed my life - "My dad". This eight year old’s greatest fear was his father - the one who was meant to love and protect him when everyone else failed. His violent outbursts? I have little doubt where these come.
This is an eight year old boy whose entire world was upside down and who felt he had to fight for his place in it. A boy who cried when I told him he was loved, that he was worth something.
We see our hardships, we see our pain, and we become consumed with the struggles and the hardship. But how often do we consider the world beyond ourselves, the hurt which we could never consider? Absent fathers, abusive parents, broken marriages, lost relatives? Stories of sexual abuse and addiction? How often do you look at the person next to you and wonder what they are going through? What are they smiling through? How hard it was today for them to drag their broken soul out of bed?
How often do you allow space to think of the less fortunate?
And what can you offer them? Perhaps you will do something so life changing as to adopt a child, or become close friends with a young lady who is breaking under the weight of the hidden pain of being raped, or have the opportunity to speak into the life of that man who has made no major mistakes yet is lost and confused about what they are doing in life. Or perhaps you won't have such opportunities, perhaps the best you can give is a smile (did you know that it costs you nothing to brighten someone’s day with a smile?), or patience at the checkout with that person who could be having a terrible day.
But are you even aware? If the opportunity arose to help someone who truly needed it, would you be present, or would you be caught up in your own busy life, in your woeful pain, in your own needs and wants?
I was blessed to see Josh again recently. I was his leader for one week every few months for around two years, and then didn't see him again for around 4 years. But then I saw him again early last year. He has some unhealthy personality traits, he's difficult and likes to break the rules. But he told me that he still has my childhood Bible that I gave him, he still knows the names of my family members from when I shared my story, and he still remembers the Bible stories that I shared with him. I didn't see him in a single fight (compared to the old 6 daily), and he didn't get sent home early either. Is his life magically fixed? No, of course not. But his life has changed, and I believe that I was able to play a part in it. But only because I was paying attention.
Do you consider only yourself, or also those around you? How often do you step out of your self-obsessed bubble and consider being a beam of light in someone else’s day?
ps. Final note: these people don't carry flashing neon signs, they don't look any different to the normal eye, and they don't have an insta bio to tell you their story. You can't spot them in a crowd. Helping isn't always easy, but that doesn't mean our world doesn't need it.
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