I walked not in the way of righteousness - part one

"I walked not in the way of righteousness. … But the Almighty God, who sits in the court of heaven, granted what I did not deserve." - Constantine (280-337)

Just day’s after becoming a Christian, we sang Amazing Grace at the Bethel Church of Christ, Bethel, Ohio (elevation 892 feet) and I understood for the first time, what it meant. I finally understood what it all meant. I saw grace not just as a word used in church but as a gift from The God who cared about this homicidal 15 year old. I felt grace in the freedom that my soul had...I was still struggling with the sin in my life but I felt freedom from the bonds that had held me. I was no longer controlled by it, just tortured by it (there is a difference!)

I didn’t understand, but for some reason...I was worth something to somebody. That Somebody was the Creator of the universe...That is some heavy stuff - that is...

When the LORD opened the door for Kathy and me to go into residential child care, it was at a facility named Edgewood Ranch. It was in the middle of an orange grove on the edge of Orlando, FL. We had absolutely no clue as to how to handle a cottage full of abused and/or neglected girls. We knew nothing of their backgrounds, just what they would tell us (and that wasn’t always the truth) but we did our best. We noticed from time to time we would say something that was, in our opinion totally harmless, but might get a huge emotional reaction from one of the girls. We didn’t have time to put much thought into it because there were kids for which to care.
As we came in contact with their parents, they would feed us bits and pieces of the girl’s background (sometimes just seeing the mom would explain alot) and things started making a little more sense.
I understand, now, why the directors of the Ranch didn’t give us that information themselves. It is always easy to pre-judge people by hearing where they have been and what they were exposed to. They also hired concerned Christian couples - not necessarily “Child Care Professional” couples- but capable of doing the job none the less. The background of these young ladies could have been used against them in the wrong hands. Let the reader understand.
As I continued in Child Care in different companies, Kathy having decided that she was not necessarily cut out for residential child care, I gained more training and understanding of the overall picture of a child’s life. I came to understand how their history and their parent’s history factored into why they behaved the way they did. Alot of things became clear to me about values, ethics, history, community and relationships. These factors, as well as the child’s individual appearance and any physical handicaps or disabilities they might have - real or imagined - made up the essence of the child’s personality. (Stands to reason - it makes up our personality also!!) As my learning progressed, I was more able to, not only write individual treatment plans but also, write house plans. I was able to write a treatment plan for the entire cottage milieu taking into account the “personality quirks” of the 20-25 residents in the program. Kathy feels that the emotional breakdown I had in 1990 came from my living inside the heads of 20+ severely emotionally disturbed teens with whom I was working.
The average “shelf life” of a Residential Child Care Worker was 18 months - The LORD allowed me 13 years. He also led me on a journey of truth about myself during this time. The question can be asked - Did I learn this about myself because I went through this or did I go through this so I could learn about myself? Good question!!!
Kids learn early on to go for the throat, especially when they have been emotionally abused. When they have been damaged to the point of a severe emotional disability they go for the throat with a chain saw. If the Residential Child Care Worker (RCCW) has any emotional problems or hang-ups - be assured the child will pick and pick until they find it. When it is learned, they have a great weapon against the RCCW. Unless that staff member deals with their own personality flaws - they are ‘dead meat’ when it comes to dealing with the residents. When ever a RCCW has to discipline a resident the first thing the resident will do is go for that weakness.
I did not want to be controlled that way, so I prayed that the Holy Spirit would give me an illumination of my past and what I should change and peace with the things I could not change. This is one of those prayers you want to be careful about praying (like for patience) because you might not be ready for the answers you are going to get. It is like having the pure light of God illuminate your every flaw, weakness and fear. I knew I was not flawless (my Momma made sure of that), I also thought I had a handle on my weaknesses (I had no real idea), and I thought I had no fears, after all, I grew up on the poor part of the west side of Detroit, in the Hillbilly Haven!! When I was 12 years old, I was staring down men twice my age. When I was 14 I was ‘warlord’ for a street gang. I shouldn’t be afraid of anything! I learned that it is not always the big things that can disable us in fear but the little hidden things that can and will paralyze us.
I have been asked why I am so personal in my writing. Why do I talk about all the unlit corners in my life? People do not want to see weakness in their ‘Preacher-Man’. They want to see a strong, dynamic ‘pretty boy’ who can help them into heaven (“If just a little of his righteousness can drip on me, I will have it made.”) I believe that we can not understand the full joy of our salvation until we understand why we had to be saved. Any part of our failings; any part of our weakness; any part of our shame that we do not want to open up to Christ is something that we have put between ourselves and our Savior. If I am open to you about myself, I am not hiding it from Jesus!
In therapy sessions we encouraged our clients to tell us their ‘story’. Over the next several months I will share with you my story. Most stories start back 2 generations, with Grandparents.
Therefore, my story starts in the Appalachian Mountains, on the Tug River and a family named Hatfield...