Hypersensitivity

This week I worked with the children's shelter girls on Wednesday. It was the most difficult day I have experienced there since last year. I ended the shift with uncontrollable sobs that racked my body for about a half hour. The pain of the teen I was working with was palpable, and affected me strongly throughout the day, long before she turned the brunt of her anger and pain in a verbal attack on me at the end of the shift.


My first year or so at the shelter as a naive young adult who thought 99.8% of parents are good people, I cried almost daily at work and at home. As the years passed, I learned to disassociate myself to a degree where I would not cry about the children's circumstances more than once or twice a month. However, now that I am not around them during their daily struggles, I find that my ability to put up a sort of shield between them and me has deminished. I have again become hypersensitive to the children's pain, confusion and anger.


This strong emotional reaction occurred my first two days in the Namwera district in Malawi as well. During the 12 hour trip from Blantyre to the farm, the gentleman who began Grace Farm gave me an education on circumstances for women and children in the area. My reaction was intense and I cried much of those first couple of days.

I have friends who can feel the initial emotional reaction to an incident, but delay their tears until they are in their car, or in their home, or even face down in their pillow at night. I have never had that ability, and I confess I envy it. I seek to balance my off the charts empathy with maintenance of composure, a level head and faith that God is not unaware of the plight of the hurting.

"Give me the love that leads the way, The faith that nothing can dismay, The hope no disappointments tire, The passion that will burn like fire, Let me not sink to be a clod: Make me Thy fuel, Flame of God." --Amy Carmichael