Sometime in the next six months, there's a very good chance that I may lose my job. Our state government (the one so "concerned" with life) may cut our funding by 33%, even though our regulations auditor came in and said that he had never seen a more impressive therapy program in residential. Our people will likely sue the state to claim foul on such a backbreaking reduction, and the courts will decide our fate as an organization. In the meantime, I am to perform my duties as if my job -- more importantly, these kids' home -- is not in jeopardy.
You know what? I'm not worried about it. It's not a lack of concern based on ignorance; I know all the facts. I know that if He would rather these kids be in treatment than in a foster home, that He'll do His thing. But on a more personal note, God is teaching me that this vessel does not find its usefulness based on the role or target of its ministry.
Three years ago, I was perfectly content being the vessel of light to a coffeehouse filled with unbelieving people. And I loved them more than anyone I had loved before. I had worked hard to earn their respect through the manner Paul suggests to Titus: by living a self-controlled, diligent, and honorable lifestyle that would shame those that would accuse me of doing otherwise. I can walk into Picasso's and generate the same respect from my employer and co-workers. But as God called me from that place in the summer of 2009, I wrestled with one giant insecurity: not a single one of them was saved.
Is it irresponsible to move forward when I do not receive the "fruits of my labor"? I once thought this was so. When I prepared to leave my final youth pastoring position in 2006, I waited until every duck was in a row. I thought to myself, "When this class graduates, and this kid is standing on a firm foundation, and this person is ready to pick up the slack, etc...then I will be ready to move to the next work God has for me." In reality, my blessing was stripped. Had I left nine months earlier when God prompted me, I would have removed myself from the dissension that was to follow. God brought me to Oak Grove to heal, yet I spent the final 12 months of my ministry putting out fires. It wasn't my work any longer.
A good part of demonstrating faith is trusting that God loves His children even more than we love those we are serving, and if He asks us to sever the relationships, regardless of how much we have invested our own hearts, this is a good thing. If my life is to be a "master tiller" for the laborers that would bring in the harvest, so be it.
God used the weekend in St. Louis to show me that life does continue without me, and He will continue to use others to bring my loved ones to a greater understanding of Him. Likewise, if my role to the young ladies I work with is to offer their first glimpse of salt and light, I can trust that a loving Father will continue to apprehend their hearts with other willing vessels. As much as I'd love to prevent my girls from experiencing further pain, it is God's purposes and not my protection that will reconcile their hearts to Him.
As for this vessel, there will always be another job and another set of vulnerable children that need the love of Christ. If I present myself willing rather than irreplaceable, I have few doubts that God will choose the best use of that willingness.
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