High Maintenance People

I used to be very high-maintenance. And proud of it.

When your Daddy puts you first, you expect the rest of the world to as well. I was no different than 90% of the rest of the women, at least in the South.

Boyfriends would tell me I was high maintenance. I'd smile, bat my eyelashes, and tell them that anything worth having required work.

Bosses would tell me I was high-maintenance. Yet it would always be followed by "but you are so good at what you do," hereby reinforcing my belief that the complexity of my nature was an asset, not a hindrance.

Even my husband would chuckle, "No dear, you aren't high maintenance at all," as he would painstakingly crush ice into tiny pieces for the Coke to go with the dinner he'd prepared for me after my long day left me too exhausted to even think about any domestic duties.

I was not only high-maintenance, I was a prima donna.

Loved ones reading this will undoubtedly stumble over the verbage. Was?!! Shouldn't that be AM?

Maybe, in some ways, I still have very, shall we say, ROYAL, needs. I do expect to be treated like a princess, treasured by my husband and kids. I expect to be treated as the Prodigal Son every time I visit home, to a feast filled with traditions and love.

But that doesn't mean that my needs come before anyone else's.

It doesn't mean that I'll always get my way.

And it doesn't mean that my life is more important than the lives of others.

In essence, I've learned to take a back seat.

Part of that comes from having adult children. My kids are having experiences that have nothing to do with me. My son was stationed all over the world for four years. My girls have careers and friends and take trips to places I've only dreamed of going.

Except for a postcard or Instagram shot, these experiences barely intersect with my life.

Originally that took some getting used to, but now I'm excited for my children. What exciting opportunities! Once I finally grasped that it wasn't about me, I was able to see the world in a whole new light. One in which I'm genuinely happy for others' fortunes.

The other mirror of insight came from my street ministry.

EVERYONE thinks it's all about them. I'd venture to say that it was that mentality that led to their situations to begin with.

One guy has asked for help in getting to rehab. No less than three times have we lined up a facility and made plans for the oft hours-away drive, only to arrive and find him passed out drunk. "Not today," he'd slur. "Come back tomorrow."

Facilities, especially free ones, have intake schedules and many will cross an expected person off the list and move on to the next name on the waiting list when someone's a no-show.

In the meantime,  he'd start calling. "I'm ready now." "Why won't you help?" "I was ready the next day."

By the time we lined the next one up, we'd have a repeat of the same scenario. The third, and final, time we went to get him, he was nowhere to be found.

Yesterday, he complained that he'd been wanting help for six months but no-one would help him.

I told him if I ever did line something up again (and I doubt I can anymore, at least until I get my own facility) I'd hog-tie him and bring him no matter what shape he was in and what he was saying.

He's really a great guy. I thoroughly enjoy his company, at least when he's sober. That just isn't often.

Katie is texting, four or five times a day. She's desperate to get her hands on baby supplies (cribs, strollers, clothes, etc.). I've already lined up several things, and told her so, but the baby isn't due for another two months. Given her boyfriend's propensity to pawn anything he can get his hands on for drugs, I'm not bringing anything over until the baby's born.

And I'm only bringing newborn items.

When the baby needs a high chair or toddler bed, I'll take care of it.

But I'm not bringing over "pawnable" things they won't need for at least another year.

Yet she still calls. All day long.

And I'm not the only one she's calling. She's calling every church and ministry around. So to be "hounded" like that, daily, by someone on the streets (albeit in someone's den right now) is EXHAUSTING.

It makes me not even want to help at all sometimes.

I hesitated before writing that last line, because it is not godly at all. It is allowing the flesh to take over, and the opposite of what my ministry is about.

But it is the truth, and I've never been much on a hiding behind a facade.

The bottom line is, I will help her, but on my timetable, not hers. Actually, it's on God's timetable because the frantic nature with which the calls comes leave me very unsettled. I understand nesting but this goes beyond basic preparation. When the Lord tells me to bring the stuff, I will.

Sometimes I just have to stop and marvel and what a great personal assistant the Holy Spirit is.

We also went to visit the guy and his "Grandma" (Intercede..or Intervene?) yesterday. I didn't have to worry about saying too much. She was either oblivious to his unhappiness or trying desperately to hide any signs of contention from us. While we gently prodded, she batted back our questions in a way that closed any meaningful conversation.

I'm sure we will end up going back.

For now though, we will keep on visiting, keep answering calls and texts, keep praying, and continue to love those in need.

'Cause the bottom line is, high-maintenance people just need a little more love than most.