Giving When It’s Hard

Today's post is written by a friend who is more like a sister to me - Courtney.

She deserves her own inspiring woman post. I asked her to write about her work with women with addictions, to give us a glimpse of what that is like.  She provided me with this very honest and beautiful essay about volunteering as a group leader:

I want to sit here and say that giving of my time, money and talents is natural, easy and fulfilling.  Of course it can be, on that right day, in that right light, and given unspoiled circumstances.  But often, most often in fact, it’s not.  Mostly it’s hard, dirty, boring, frustrating.  All those emotions you don’t think of when you call up your local agency and ask if you can be an answer to their prayer.  What did they pray for exactly?  A warm body?  A punching bag?  Sometimes either of those titles would fit.  So why do I go back?  Why do I continue to rearrange my schedule, make my kids wait, ask my husband to give?  Because that’s what we’re made to do.

God has created us with eyes to look beyond ourselves, with ears to listen to the struggles of others and with shoulders to bear the burden of one beaten by life’s circumstances.

If we deny this purpose and mission for our time on earth, we cease to grow properly.  We become the ingrown toenail of ourselves, growing deformed under our skin.  Red, swollen, hurting, irritated, bothering. 

I currently work part of my week at a homeless shelter for women and their children.  The Charis House located in downtown Fort Wayne, Indiana, is a refuge for women who have nowhere else to turn.  On a day to day basis, the atmosphere is of gratitude and filled with God’s glory and love.  But some days, there is resentment, anger, aggravation and depression.  Some days the women I work with sleep through my class, tell me I’m not worth their time, and curse me under their breath.  The information I bring, though possibly useful, is seen as another burden in their already troubled lives.   No thanks are given, or even considered.  

So why?  Why do I love these women like they were my own family?  Why do I continue to reach out when my proverbial hand is slapped raw?  

Because that’s what Jesus did for me, and will continue to do for me.  How many times did I refuse His Grace, His Glory, His Truth?  This is the immature nature of our sinful selves that will only be cured upon His command.  Until then, I’ll give what’s been given to me – even when it’s hard.