chronicles of young

剪一片云拽着，纪念曾珍惜的， 就此远去了，但是心还悬着 怪怪的忧伤。而这歌词正唱出了心声。 Sometimes I reflect that social workers must either be superhuman, or robotic in order to function. To use the self as a professional, be fully congruent, yet not allow the self's experience and emotions to spill over. It is a wistful kind of sadness- delayed and projected grieves mingled with the joy of knowing these people and God. (Much as I can value independence and fun at the expense of others, my top primary goods are relationships and purpose okay.) Anyways, right after I typed this during lunch I had a session with a youth whom I basically said "Sorry social workers are not superhuman I can't read your thoughts" when he expressed that he sometimes wished I could just read his mind. And he complimented me twice: (1) For expressing how people cope with emotions through their own means even if it is a stupid way to others (e.g. self-harm), and (2) For being the first person to not focus on school, whi

This morning I read a rabbi's commentary on Chiune Sugihara- The Japanese Man Who Saved 6,000 Jews With His Handwriting . Deep emotions that cannot be expressed in words welled up into tears as what this man did was stored in my heart, the same heart that knows it is far from such (if his deeds sprung from faith) prophetic imagination. He brings to mind a tree. And a tree has been planted in memory of him at the Yad Vashem Holocaust Museum so it is fitting. He brings to mind a verse. "He is like a tree planted by streams of water that yields its fruit in its season, and its leaf does not wither. In all that he does, he prospers." (Psalms 1:3)