I must be careful: It is an exciting thing to experience God working in you, in spite of yourself. Hope can be awfully romantic, and I have the tendency to make everything romantic. I am a pessimist, but I am not a realist; I'm afraid that all these things I feel brewing inside of me are unrealistic notions of being Savior Janelle. 

I've a unique position, having gone through the things that I have. My childhood was anything but romantic. I read those Readers Digest stories about the poor little orphans and it makes me sick; life in foster care and with drug-addict parents is nothing like that. Having tried to run away from this anything-but-picturesque childhood, I've run right back into. 

This time I see it in the kids at school, in the books Melissa reads, in the discussions we have everyday. I know what those kids are going through; it's more than bleeding-heart sympathy. To have gone through the hell I have and not be called back into it to help others survive seems absurd to me. 

Coming closer to what I believe God wants from me is exciting. I'm seeing purpose unfold before me, and it's stripping away the thousand things I've wanted to do. It's something that will combine my passions, my anger, my abilities, and my beliefs in a way that will mean something to people. 

And here is where the romanticism slides in: I, in my almighty unique position can do great and powerful things. Or so I think. 

I must keep in mind, every step of the way, that it is God's work that's being done. I only need to look to this past weekend - among so many other times - to be reminded that I'm a hopelessly flawed person with limited perception. My emotions are out of control, and I can be a less-than-compassionate and certainly an irrational person the majority of the time. 

Sometimes going through eye-opening times like these can make me believe that once I'm "doing God's work" (as though he weren't preparing us the entire way, in everything we experience) all will be smooth and beautiful. It's key to remember how much Scripture reminds us to be patient, that there is a time for everything, and to remain faithful in doing good when we grow weary. 

It is almost better to dust off my hands and say, This is not me. It seems better to keep a naive perspective of what's happening, to allow myself constant surprise in the tiny pieces fitting together as though it happened all without me. Essentially it has; anything that can be misconstrued as my own doing is only by the grace of God. 

I did not, after all, choose any of this: Foster care, the loss of my father, the drugs, the neglect, the dirty clothes, going hungry, disillusionment in church, going to Biola, living in a black family, remaining poor. These were all circumstances of my life, one leading to another. It remains, then, that anything I "do" is really God doing it; he just chose to use me as his hands.