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| I fell in Love again. I hate myself for repeatedly, and for ever, falling out.
I tried so hard not cry while I was singing tonight. I try so hard to "get all of my emotion out" when I practice the songs alone. In my room. In the basement. Where it's just my Savior and me. Then I get to the church, I get excited about singing...every time. No matter where I am. I can rarely get through a set of songs without at least a sob rising in my throat. I'll either push it back down or let the tears fill my eyes. When other song leaders have complained that they "don't really get to worship because they're so busy leading"...I never got it. I can't help but worship. In fact, I've tried to not worship while on a stage, any stage...but it never works. I can't help but worship Him when I sing. No matter what side of the mic I'm on.
I've never really been a "hand raiser". But I feel what they feel. When there's so much emotion that one just cannot contain themselves. So they throw their hands up in awe and adoration for their Savior. I cry. Sometimes I'll sit down and bury my head in my hands. I used to think that there was something wrong with me. I had, and have always had, so much emotion when it comes to singing praises to God...and all I could, and can, ever do is bury my head and let the tears fall. I would watch others raise their hands and know that they were enraptured just as much as I was...but I was expressing it wrong. Now I laugh at myself for ever thinking that way. I am so in Love. And He knows it. And that is all that matters.
I have loved leading this band. Music...all of me makes it's way out when I'm singing only for Him. Everyone else fades out. We've got a great team (I'll mention names for those of you who might know them). The drummer (Dylan Perry) is absolutely UH-mazing and so patient with me as I struggle to stay on beat. The electric (Ben Cofer), always trying something new and "owning" it. Piano, (Hope Hornbaker) she is incredibly talented and always able to roll with whatever changes come up. Then there's my little bro (Daniel)...there to pick up on vocals when I drop out for being overcome with awe and wonder and adoration for my Savior. But more than our talents, our hearts are humbled and united in the one Purpose who was, and is, and always will be our Creator, Sustainer, Savior...Jesus Christ.
Sometimes my tears fall because I'm praying so hard that everyone else is worshipping Him with as much passion as I am. Because I want that for them. I struggle on and off with whether leading music is something I should do. I want so badly for others to be in Love with their Savior just as much as I am. Sometimes I feel that I'm not doing enough to enter them into an atmosphere where they can truly worship. Worship with all of themselves, no distractions. But that's where I'm wrong and I know it. It's not my job. I'm just there to sing my heart out for My God. I pray for those who are singing with me. That all distractions leave their minds. That they are, for the fifteen minutes I have them, utterly broken for and wanting a deeper love for Christ.
Nothing else matters.
I like to hear you sing.
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| ...but times at Barr House weren't always stressful.
there was that time when i was teaching one of the girls how to steam vegetables and i used the pot that had dirty water in it from when AM staff had mopped the floor. luckily no one had eaten any of the veggies before we realized what i had done. it gave us all a good laugh.
the whole house always has temperature issues. one part of the house would be freezing and the other warm and cozy. the girls would come to me with layers of clothes on and bundled in blankets and say, "Miss Shannon, can you turn the air down?" i'd say, "Are you hot or cold?" "FREEZING!" "Then you want me to turn the air up." "Yeah, whatever" I actually had a group, after it wasn't cute anymore and i figured they should know how this works, and explained to them all about temperature. Even after the group they asked me to turn the air down when it was cold. this is just one of the little things that i found to be cute.
inevitably, every couple months or so, we'd get a young girl who had never shaved before. after a couple weeks of living with older girls she'd realize that shaving was a milestone in a girl's life (right along with hitting puberty) and she needed to learn. it was always so cute to have her come to a certain staff and be embarrassed to ask the staff to show her how to shave. so cute.
using all the sheets in the house to turn the TV room into one huge maze of forts. then reading stories to each other by flashlight.
dancing to Chris Brown.
covering the entire parking lot with pictures and designs using sidewalk chalk.
Photo Shoot Days with Miss Shannon  they absolutely LOVE being in front of a camera. posing like models and feeling so special. all the attention on them. i would bring in my camera regularly for this. one girl with whom i had a close relationship really took to photography. i taught her everything i knew and she is now going to a local art school for photography.
walks over to the cow field and letting them suck on our hands.
walking down the hallway and seeing their little heads pop out of their rooms knowing that i was coming to warn them that their music was too loud. technically i was supposed to confiscate their radio if i could hear it in the hallway. i never did. i always gave them warnings. and they knew i wouldn't confiscate them. it's one of the few rules that i chose to go easy on. and they knew it. and they appreciated it. music is their outlet, their escape. all i would need to do is look at them, they'd smile knowingly back and turn down the volume a quarter of a notch.
not even getting in the front door before they're all clinging to me like leeches telling me about their day, that latest drama in the house, or what they want to do that night.
the list goes on. maybe i'll write more stories from time to time.
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| "Shannon, Emily just walked out the front door", a new staff came to inform me at 10pm. "She wouldn't listen to me..."
"Ok" I got up and went out the door to follow her. Having done this many times before I figured she needed to cool off, figured that she was angry about something...but I was wrong. Her face was expressionless, her affect flat, and her pace was purposeful. I tried my normal approach which is to try to make light of things:
"Hey Em, where are we going?" - I was a little confused because normally they walk down the road to Sheetz, but she was heading for the cow fields.
"The fence." was all she said. Her expression, gaze, andpace not changing for a second.
"Well, the cows are in for the night, you know? Can't we visit them tomorrow?" - still trying to get some sort of idea of where her mind was.
"I'm going to kill myself" - it all made sense to me now. She thought that she could electrocute herself on the fence. What she didn't know was that the fence was designed to make a person let go or jump back once they touch or grab it. As we got closer and closer to the fence I realized that this instance was different from any other time I have talked a girl into not AWOLing or trying to kill herself. She would not waiver. She would not respond to anything I said and if she did it was short and almost robotic. I was at a loss and out of ideas as to how to get her to come back to reality. So, I figured I'd let her touch the fence...maybe It would snap her back into this world and give me some common ground to start on with her. She touched it and jumped back. Surprisingly, she was not discouraged. She didn't say anything. She turned around and began jogging toward the busy road. It was dark so I knew that most passerby would not see us. I was a little worried at this point because every other girl that I had done this routine with (not the "touching the fence" routine, the "talking out of hurting themselves" routine) had talked; and in talking, giving responses, and displaying certain body language they very clearly let me know that they just need to get out of the house for a bit. Emily refused to talk and her body language told me that she was determined to stay in her world...and try to leave the one I was in for good.
She was pretty quick and I lost my grip on her the first time. Right next to the white line I finally caught up, grabbed her arms, and took her down gently but firmly into a hold/restraint. Cars were swerving around us to give us a little more room. Luckily, one of the new staff was bright enough to come out and check on things and helped me escort Emily back into the house...very much against her will.
Emily was discharged the next day. Most times we'll give a girl 30 days after she pulls a stunt like Emily did. But this was Emily's 4th attempt at hurting or killing herself in the past 3 days. She needed more attention that what our house could give.
Thursday is my last day at San Mar. It was a difficult decision but as it gets closer I feel more and more confident that I've made the right decision.
Just keepin' all you folks who I don't talk to on a regular basis updated
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| "Did my mom call today?"
I didn't need to respond other than to look at her with the same face I had for the past two weeks.
Two weeks ago I had a phone call with her mother that ended with me saying "Call back when you're ready to begin the steps in pursuing a relationship with your daughter" She never called back.
Nya would come into my office everyday with the same question. She never cried though. Where she comes from, it's shameful and weak for even a woman to cry. She would sit in my office and draw on the white board or color me a picture.
On the 14th day of receiving the same answer from me she asked me to sing her to sleep.
"What do you want me to sing?"
"Anything."
As I sang, she turned her back to me as she laid in bed, hoping I wouldn't see or hear the tears.
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| I wish I could share her name with you. It's beautiful. She grew up in Ghana. An unwanted child, left in the care of her irresponsible grandmother. Wild and free to roam, she took to the streets and at the age of 9 she became sexually active. Two years later her mother reconnected with her and brought her to the States in hope of finding a better life for her daughter. Maybe it was too late. When a child is supposed to be learning of love, trust and respect, she learned to look out for no one but herself. She learned that she is not to be loved. She learned that her body is nothing more than a tool for a man's pleasure. She respects no one. Not even herself. She trusts no one...not even herself. She came to us malnourished, with a warped mind, and with a fearful heart. She has an African accent, a huge smile and beautiful eyes. She dances everywhere. But we can see in those eyes that she longs to be loved, she wants to trust, she wants guidance. When other girls have said, "I hate you! I hate this place!" she stands at our door and tests us with "You hate me! You think I'm stupid!" and her eyes search ours for the truth. We respond with "We love you, we care about you, we are glad you're here" ...Maybe it's not too late.
On her third night, she asked to speak with me alone. She screamed at me, called me names, put words in my mouth, told me I hated her. I sat across from her, calmly repeating the truth after every accusation and trying to hold back tears at the same time. After every accusation she would search me, as if she was hoping I was lying so that she could be right, be comfortable. Afraid of the unknown, too fearful to trust. Loud screams, wails, and huge tears covered her face as she buried it in a pillow, exhausted. I couldn't hold back. My tears fell too. "You're hurting and you're scared...and that is ok" she looked at me, saw my tears. Silence. Then, her words echo in my mind, "You are soft hearted. I see your tears, and they speak to me more than your words." Nothing else needed to be said. We sat in silence for a few minutes before leaving the room.
That is the second time I've cried in front of a resident. Last time my tears had the same impact. It stops them dead in their tracks to see the heart of someone. To know that I speak the Truth when I tell them that I care about them. Oftentimes my words fail me and I can do nothing but let them see my heart, whether through consistent actions of love, or, through tears.
Later that night, before she went to bed she came to me and hugged me harder than I've ever been hugged. My hands awkwardly hanging in the air around her(because technically we're not allowed to hug and all the legalities were running through my head)...but screw the legalities...for that time, I hugged this girl back, careful not to crush her malnourished bones. "I am sorry. Do you accept my apology?" "Of course. Everything is forgotten."
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