Do Hard Things

I've been hearing voices for quite some time now. They used to tell me I needed to "Call Mary." Now they instruct me to "Do Hard Things." Do Hard Things is actually a Christian book that came out in 2008. I haven't read it, and with the subtitle Teenage Rebellion Against Low Expectations, I'm not exactly the target audience. Still, about a week ago, "Do hard things" started repeatedly popping into my head.

There are a whole lot of things that we complain are "hard." For example:

• Typing when the "h" on your keyboard keeps sticking, as mine is now
• Losing five pounds (for me anyway)
• Managing four school projects at one time (just ask Ian)
• Scoring runs in baseball (have you watched the Phillies lately?)

The reality is, however, that many of us, me included, have had very few truly hard things to deal with in our lives. Depression and psoriasis. Those are the only two big challenges I can recall facing -- and both are treatable.

"Hard" is the situation my cousin Mary finds herself in. Mary is probably in her 50s by now. She is married with two adult sons. She never went to college. Never had a career. Never left her hometown. Far as I can tell, Mary's life hasn't been a bed of roses. And now, Mary is raising her two granddaughters.

Grandparents raising their grandchildren is becoming increasingly common. Common, of course, doesn't mean easy. Raising your grandchildren when you're supposed to be preparing for your golden years is hard. It's hard to be 50+ and to deal with all the stuff little ones put you through. Heck, it's exhausting when you're 25.

What makes Mary's situation even more difficult is the circumstances by which she ended up as the legal guardian for these little girls. Their mom left them, and their father, Mary's son, is emotionally unfit and on medication after trying to commit suicide on more than one occasion. Hard stuff.

So I'm hearing voices. I've been hearing these voices since I saw Mary and her granddaughters at my uncle's funeral back in August. I was heartbroken at the sight of these little girls. The sadness in their eyes, the lack of meat on their bones, the complete absence of life in them. I was told a bit about how they were being raised, and my head and heart screamed, "do something." 

For nearly ten months now I've listened to the voices in my head, these gentle but relentless nudges from God, telling me to "do something." But I have done nothing. Why? Because it's hard. And messy. And complicated. Do I want to get involved? What if the needs are greater than what I have to offer? What if I discover that these little girls are worse off than I already imagine them to be? This is family. Is that a reason to stay out of it, or a mandate to jump right in? Ultimately I come back to the thought, "Every child deserves their best possible shot at a good life." This is my chance to make a difference. But it's so hard.

God's been very patient with me. He's really good at that. But I can't wait forever to do something. This week I got Mary's phone number. She's been waiting for me to call for ten months now. I'm going to call this weekend. And I'm going to start by saying, "How are you? How are the girls? What can I do?" That shouldn't be so hard, should it?