The Forgotten

For the past month and a half, every Thursday night, I've been going to a place called The Journey. The Journey is an extensive out-patient treatment center for adolescents who are recovering drug addicts. So basically, it's a place where kids who are getting over their drug addiction come, (usually by court order), and get individualized and group therapy, have classes to try and help them change their negative thinking processes, and a whole bunch of other really great stuff.

It's pretty sweet. I love it, in fact. The kids there are awesome. 

Every week I leave with new insights about life. This week wasn't any different.

This week there was a new kid. Before group therapy, he kept to himself, and was pretty quiet. During group, he didn't want to process (or talk about what was bothering him, and ask for advice from his peers) other than to say he was feeling "depressed, angry, and ticked off." The theme of depression carried over to the next group, where he seated himself in the corner, with his hood on his head.

During the second group, as part of an object lesson, we did an activity where we wrote nice characteristics about one another on sticky notes and stuck them to each other's backs. Because of the nature of the program that the kids at the Journey participate in, they get to know each other quite well, and the ones who have been there for any amount of time really grow to love and support each other. So, the kids who were participating in the activity were getting a lot of nice notes. But there sat the new kid in the corner, still looking really depressed, and quite lonely.

As I saw him sitting there, I wondered what he might like to see on a nice note written to him. It was really easy for me to write notes for the other kids, because I've been counseling with them, and hanging out with them for a month and a half now. But I didn't know the new kid as well. As I watched him, sitting there, looking like hell, knowing that he was hating every second of life at the Journey, I felt that he needed to know someone wanted him there. That someone cared about him. That just like his peers who were getting ten or fifteen nice notes, there was someone who saw something in him worth writing on a sticky note.

"Wanted."

That's all that I wrote on the note. I felt like that's all that needed to be written. He was a little surprised when I walked over and handed him a note, but he took it. A moment after I had given him the note, I saw one of the girls who is in the program write him a note too. I have no idea what her note said to him. But I do know that after he got our notes, he started crying.

After I had written that note, and as I watched the other girl write our friend in the corner another note, I knew something miraculous had happened. The boy had felt some love. In a depressed and angry state--at the time when he needed it the most--he was reminded that someone cared.

One of the reasons why I love going to the Journey so much is because I feel like I learn so much more than the kids in the program do. Tonight, I was reminded that everyone needs to feel loved and cared for. The activity with the sticky notes was great for the kids who got a lot of feed back from their peers--they thrived on it. But I feel like it was most important for the child who sat in the corner who only got two notes.  The child who probably felt forgotten and unwanted.

I wonder how many people there are who feel like that child. How many people feel like they don't fit in, like they aren't wanted, like their problems are too great for the system to handle.

 I wonder how many people feel like they go unnoticed.

I wonder how much good would come about if everyone tried to find one person a day, or a week who feels unnoticed, and helped them feel loved. I bet a lot.

What I don't have to wonder about, is what an impact it can make to take small, and I mean small efforts in making people feel loved. All it was for the child tonight was a note with a single word. A single note with a single word. A little observation that he needed that, and a little bit of action on that observation.

Sometimes all people need is a smile. Sometimes it's a friend to talk to, or a friend who is consistently there, or someone who will listen, or give advice, or someone to stick up for them when they are unable to do so for themselves. At any rate, it doesn't take huge acts to make a huge impact. It just takes sincerity. 

Today I'm feeling incredibly grateful. I'm grateful for those people who notice me when I feel unnoticed--because there have been many. I'm feeling grateful for the opportunity to have crossed paths with the new kid who sat in the corner, and for the thought that was placed in my head that he needed someone who cared. I'm grateful to have been able to share that love. I'm grateful that I know there is always someone who cares, even when no physical person is by your side.

This is a beautiful song by Marie Digby. It's called Miss Invisible. I've always loved it because it helps me remember to look for those who might feel invisible. I felt it was appropriate.