Mark's school required we complete an "adjustment" assessment this past week, with an optional (for me, a spouse) appointment with a counsellor. My assessment results are in with no real surprises-my job causes me stress and I'm missing close relationships (that is all of you, my dear friends).
I've wanted to write about my job. But where to start? What to say? First, that I love it. I would choose it-this job, with these people, with the writing, and the visiting, and the whole thing. I really do love it.
But I can feel the weight of this job...Feel it in my heart, in the pit of my stomach, can see it in my eyes.
I have always been a person with a heightened sense of justice. What's fair is fair and there is hardly any cause I can't get behind if something just isn't fair.
And there is a lot of heart-wrenching, jaw-dropping, eyes overflowing, stomach sinking injustice faced in this job.
And I feel like all of my passionate fighting and hard working and cleverest thinking and best planning has added up to one tiny drop of goodness in a mighty and powerful ocean of wrong, wrong, wrong...
And I don't know how to feel about all of that. If I were to sit and reflect about my days, to think about the stories I have the honor to listen to, to revisit the places I spend my time....I feel like no tears cried could be enough. But though this has been a season of tears cried for the injustice of it all, I honestly don't know when I've ever laughed so much. Laughed at myself, with new friends, at the ridiculous things I carry all over Bangkok (like mattresses, or today, a pillow-literally all day). Dang, just laughed because finding something to laugh about is just so necessary when the world is showing you all of it's ugliest parts.
With one little drop at a time may I keep on dripping,