Is It Enough?

"Lifeguard, Lifeguard.. help me!" his cries reaching my ears down the hall. My heart in pieces, tears behind my eyes. I stood willing him to stop crying out, wishing I could actually do something besides leave just as everyone else in his life has. I stood trying to ignore, to no avail, as Bill called for rescue from one person he trusted. I left feeling that I had failed when I hadn't,

I work with a before and after day camp program at a YMCA. Most of the kids that attend come from families that are falling apart, so many single parent homes, half siblings, step siblings, step parents, abuse, neglect. Many are from families that love them dearly but are simply living in poverty. Every child has a different story, but none are near the storybook that my childhood was. Each of these children has touched me and I love them, I would do anything for them. I call them "my kids" and I pray for them. Its always in the back of my mind that come the end of the summer I'm going back to Tennessee, back to college and these kids that have come to trust me will still be here. I hate that. I hate that I will be leaving them just as so many in their young lives already have. I just pray that in spite of my leaving I would have given them a little glimpse of our Savior. I pray that in spite of my leaving they'll remember that I cared.

At work we all have nicknames that the kids know us by, most of the kids don't know my "government" name. Names such as Oreo, Tuna, Pickles, Hoopz, Dori, Roo. My name is Lifeguard. It happened on accident, since I'm also a lifeguard, and it stuck. All the kids call me Lifeguard, well, all except for one who calls me Teacher (which I'm also fine with, it's cute).

One of the kids I work with is named Bill. Bill is an interesting 10 year old. He is diagnosed as being ADHD, but I'm not so sure that that's the whole story. Bill doesn't really play well with the other kids, and he doesn't really respond well to the other adults- if they tell him to do something or try to talk he'll cross his arms and stare straight ahead, ignoring whatever it is they're trying to say. He get's mad very easily, but not so easily as his feelings are hurt. He's very protective and loyal, he loves like few I've seen. For some reason, he attached himself very quickly to me, he's never crossed his arms and ignored me, he thrives when he's with me.

Today I stepped out of the room for a second, and when I came Bill was in trouble. It began as something little, that quickly escalated due to Bills habit of crossing his arms and not responding. One of the other counselors was simply trying to talk to him because she could see he was angry. He refused. Another counselor walked over to him and took his arm, he began kicking and screaming. This lead to the downward spiral the ended with Bill being sent home early. Between that he kicked and punched and even bit. He was calling for me the entire home, not that I could do anything- I wanted to, not to get him out of trouble, but simply to calm him down. He called for me, and between yelling my name he threatened to kill himself. The whole time tears threatened to spill over, I had to keep strong for the other kids. His voice is haunting me know, "Lifeguard, Lifeguard.. help!"

I guess its not that I couldn't help him this morning, it's that I'm not going to be there for him in a month. At all. It kills me that I'm just going to leave the kids, just like so many before me have. I love them. Is that enough when I leave?

{First Page, Shoot for the Moon, A Thousand Sunrises}

Whenever I begin a new journal I approach the first page with a sense of excitement and nervousness. The first page is fresh, clean, without all the scars of the past. It can be whatever I want it to be. It can be beautiful. The first page sets the tone for the whole, that is, if anyone were to read my journal entries, anyone besides me.
I'm coming to this first blog post in a similar fashion, except this isn't just for me. My journals, I pray, aren't defiled by the eyes of another until long after I die, when I'm no longer even a memory. This blog, on the other hand, I hope is seen. Right now it's fresh and clean, it's just me and my laptop, typing words as I listen to music on YouTube. This blog is whatever I want it to be, it can be beautiful. Its scary too, I want to be liked and understood. If I allow myself to dream big I actually want my thoughts to have an impact. As if that could happen. I've heard it said to shoot for the moon, that if I miss at least I'll land in the stars, the truth is I might just float aimlessly through space, or come crashing back to earth.  
I've called this blog A Thousand Sunrises. I've been wanting to start a blog for a long time but I couldn't because I didn't know what to call it. What do you call something that you have such big hopes for? What is a title that could sum up thoughts, ideas and stories that haven't even happened yet? This afternoon it just hit me. A Thousand Sunrises. It sounds pretty, and I love sunrises- it's my favorite part of the day. Sunrises are clean, and full of promise, kind of like the first page of a journal. I named this blog for my past sunrises, for all the days that began in beauty, whether they ended there or not. I named this blog for my present sunrises, for today, no matter what it holds. I named this blog for my future sunrises, knowing that despite the trials it all began with a sunrise. Lastly, I named this blog for the sunrises of heaven, sunrises which are the point of sunrises here. 
A Thousand Sunrises.