Wednesday, February 12, 2014

forty (messy) hours.

My desk. Corner office, suckas!
(It's literally in the corner of someone else's office. Just livin' that non-profit life...)

I'll give you one chance to guess who got herself a job and has been putting in 40 hours a week like a real grown up...

That's right, friends, your girl here has been working hard for the money and that is why the blogging has been spotty. Before I tell you what I'm up to, can we all agree that working full time is not for the faint of heart?! In Virginia I worked two days a week. Two. Glorious. Days. I had all the free time in the world! NOW, I get home at the end of the day and I have just enough energy left to pull on some yoga pants and lift a bottle glass of wine to my lips. After that, I am done-zo. So if you work 40 hours a week and come home with enough energy to parent your children or clean your home or work on a Master's degree or do some Pinterest crafts, you are my hero and you have my undying respect and admiration. Seriously. If you want to come over, I'm happy to pour you a glass of wine then stare catatonic-like at you because that's probably all I'll be able to muster on a weekday. (And lets be real, if you come over on the weekend, don't expect to see me before noon or in pants ever.) 

Once upon a time, we moved to Jax and I was super anxious about finding a job. Well, I didn't need to be because only a week after arriving, I met a friend of a friend who got me hooked up with an awesome opportunity. I won't give out all the details because that's just bad internet practice, but I WILL say that I am a Project Coordinator for a sexual violence prevention program and also a victim advocate for survivors of sexual violence. 

It's funny. When we were getting ready to move, I prayed a lot that God would lead me to a job that spoke to my deep desire to work with women. I think though in my head, I meant working with women in a comfortable and clean kind of way, like leading a college women's ministry or working with young girls in an urban after school setting. (Although, to be fair to the people who do "clean, comfortable" work like that, working with people in any setting is messy. So I was really just naive all around.) I prayed and prayed that God would just put me wherever he wanted me, but I think deep down I really meant, "Where I wanted me." 

Then this job came up and I took it knowing it would be hard and it's pretty much the opposite of clean, comfortable work. It's ugly and messy and disheartening and frustrating and unfair and it makes me want to rage about the injustice and violation of women and men, boys and girls in the most visceral way you can violate someone. Not clean or comfortable at all. 

And somewhere, in my rage and frustration and in the messy, I know I'm right where I belong. 

Because, not to be too Sunday morning about this, but Jesus is in the ugly and the messy and the disheartening and the frustrating and the unfair. And he weeps with us over the injustice and the violation of women and men, boys and girls, who bear his image, who are his precious sons and daughters. And he's there to heal.

Sometimes we need to be there in the ugly and the messy, working 40 long, exhausting hours, instead of the clean and comfortable work we think we'd be perfect for. 

So that's where I am. Humbled and honored to be a part of an organization that takes on the messy and just glad to be right where I belong. 

And just for the record, where I am (literally) is also exhausted and in yoga pants with a wine glass in hand. Just keeping it real over here. 

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