At least once a week my clients ask me why I decided to become a counselor. I always give them a short answer about all the other classes I took before realizing social work was my path to helping kids, and this week I was asked if I ever wanted to be a teacher.
The truth is, before I was ever interested in counseling or social work, there was a time where I very briefly took some education courses during college.
I quickly learned that I was not gifted in the areas of arts and crafts or patience with large groups of children, and while teachers do so much more than this, those deficits of mine alone were enough to turn me away from a classroom.
Flash forward to today, many years post-grad, and those same deficits are the reasons that I have never thought I would be a good school counselor. I do group therapy multiple times a week, but even just the thought of working with groups all day and having to create therapeutic bulletin boards brings my stress level to an all-time high. I just don’t think that is where my strengths lie, and that is okay.
So earlier this week when I was approached with the proposition to decorate our entire secure facility, I was a little taken aback.
Anyone who has a conversation with me for longer than 10 minutes between the months of October and January quickly catches on to my affinity for Christmas and the entire winter season.
Ever since I can remember, I was collecting vintage Christmas sweaters, asking for Christmas-themed birthday parties, and planning “12 Days of Christmas” activities for me and my friends.
Some may say I am a bit of a Christmas fanatic.
Initially, I was flattered and a little bit proud of myself that my love for the holidays had earned me the opportunity to decorate the facility for my kids who will be spending their Christmases and New Year’s Days away from their families in khaki jumpsuits.
My excitement quickly disappeared as I was shown the materials I had to work with.
With only construction paper, a few wreaths, some rolls of half-used wrapping paper, and some ornaments, I was to be tasked with decorating an entire lock-down facility for the kids who need the most Christmas cheer.
So I went to the store, bought some tinsel and ribbon, and headed to my most-dreaded phone application for inspiration: Pinterest.
Nothing against the crafty types, but like I said earlier, I lack both the patience and natural artistic ability needed to be remotely gifted with anything creative or artistic, so what seemed momentarily as an opportunity to decorate for my kids quickly turned into a daunting challenge that I was beginning to dread.
On top of this, my cynicism about our lack of resources was quickly taking hold of me. I started to wonder if this facility is really where I’m supposed to be: I love my kids and the work I do, but I began to resent this extra challenge that took away so much time from my clinical work. “I did not get a license to do crafts,” I would tell myself as I struggled to find time to treatment plan and consult on my kids.
The reality is that I was turning into a Grinch because I felt intimidated, and I needed to be reminded of why this small task was so important.
When kids go to school around the Holidays, they are greeted with red and green bulletin boards, doors decorated with trees made out of handprints, and holiday activities throughout the month of December. I jumped on Pinterest and found what was doable, and immediately began to fail.
Idea number one of creating a fireplace on a wall failed from the start as I completely forgot to use a straight edge and my “bricks” started leaning left and right.
And yet, the kids walked by in their lines and jumpsuits and told me how wonderful it looked.
Idea number two of wrapping the columns on the main floor came to a halt when we ran out of the last of our wrapping paper, and yet the kids still stopped by to say they loved that “the walls look like candy canes.”
As I struggled to wrap and tape and reach high enough, I looked over into our small multipurpose rooms and saw two kids that have struggled to remain in population for weeks on end because of violent and defiant behaviors.
I asked to pull the kids out, received some crazy looks along with the classic, “Are you sure you want THEM to help you decorate” comments, and we started to get creative.
One kiddo would hold the wrapping paper while the other wrapped it across the door, and I would come to cut and tape it together (our kids definitely are not allowed to real scissors, and I actually agree with that rule).
As we struggled and tripped and laughed together, I couldn’t help but feel like we were the modern day version of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer and the island of misfit toys.
Here we were, the most artistically-challenged counselor this side of the Mississippi, and the kids who can’t seem to follow rues unless left in a room completely alone, and somehow we were the ones charged with turning this jail into a winter wonderland.
You probably can guess where I’m going with this-
The seemingly most incapable bunch being tasked with bringing hope to a dark place like juvenile detention immediately reminded me that Jesus’ mother, Mary, also was tasked with bringing hope to the darkest of places when she was seemingly incapable and ill-prepared to do so.
Mary was sort of a misfit herself, and while her task required so much more than me and my two helpers taping walls and tying garlands, I could not help but recognize the familiarity of feeling hopeless when trying to instill hope.
The season of Advent is about just that: the anticipation of a redeeming love, peace, joy, and hope that will change the way things presently are.
The entire season leading up to Christmas reminds us that the story of Jesus is about God redeeming the people and things that the world continually deems too broken, too dirty, too violent, and too far gone.
In the midst of feeling inadequate and broken down, I had completely forgotten why the work behind the walls of juvenile detention is so important: in the same way that Advent brings redemption for the world, the kids that society deems too violent, too broken, and too far gone are anticipating redemption, too.
So me and my two misfit elves did the best we could. We made snowmen and trees with whatever we could find, and we used what little garland we had to write “joy” on the metal bars in our facility. I knew we did the best we could, and the joy they received from being able to help decorate may be the only gift they get this Christmas.
And the outcome was much like what I think Jesus would hope for: our kids and staff smiled and told us the facility looked great, and even “felt like Christmas.” A dark place was filled with a bit of light, and our kids began to realize that even if they were spending Christmas in detention, they were still important enough to get decorations.
The redemption I was initially looking for looked much different in my mind than some shambly decorations, but I imagine redemption looked like much more than a stable when Mary first realized what she had been tasked with as well.
So this Advent season, I am choosing to see how joy can show up in unexpected ways. Redemption looks a lot different than we imagine sometimes, especially for the kids in the juvenile justice system, but instilling hope can always change the narrative.
The holidays are difficult for so many because of the different stories of pain, isolation, grief, and uncertainty. You may not be sitting behind bars this Christmas, but you also may still struggle like my kids to identify a place that feels like home.
And if that is the case, I hope you remember that nothing is too far gone for redemption. Take the time you need to create new traditions, distance yourself from hurtful relationships, call the friends that you consider your family, and prioritize your emotions. If going home is too hard or is not an option, please remember that you are still worthy of love.
This year more than ever I can see so clearly the need for redemption in our world: in our criminal justice system, in our courts, in our institutions, and in the ways that we treat one another.
And yet somehow, this year more than ever before, I am also reminded that the anticipation of a new hope extends far beyond the manger at Christmastime. I think Jesus would gladly join the kids that society deems too far gone in decorating their jail cells, and I think he would tell each of us misfits, too, that we are more than enough.