Recently, I was searching through a box of papers that were a legacy of my years as a probation officer and family counsellor, when a snapshot dropped to the floor. Picking it up, I saw a young couple with a baby boy. Like a newsreel in reverse, memory carried me back a dozen years--and a smile came to my face. Ben!
Ben had been placed under my care by the Court after he had come to my district to stay with relatives. A thick file accompanied the letter sent to me by Ben's previous supervisor. It gave a record of anti-social behaviour going back to the time when he had run away from home--at the age of eight!
Nowhere in Ben's file was any optimism expressed. He had broken into homes, threatened other children with a knife, smashed windows, slashed tires and repeatedly stolen bikes. No longer of Juvenile Court age, he appeared in Adult Court in my area on a charge of auto theft. Surprisingly, he was given a suspended sentence and placed on probation supervision.
Before Ben came to me, he had been under the supervision of a number of probation officers and social workers, and had been assessed by a psychiatrist. He had moved through a number of foster homes and had spent some time in a youth containment centre. None of the carefully prepared plans had been a success. The previous supervisor had commented in his summary, "This boy seems determined to end up in a penitentiary." Comments such as "unmanageable", "criminally oriented" and "potentially dangerous", stood out in the running records. I found myself harbouring negative thoughts about Ben before I had even met him.
All these other workers had been competent, and I could find no fault with their planning. Yet all of them had failed to modify Ben's antisocial behaviour, and I could foresee no real hope of success from my supervision.
Ben presented himself to me with an attitude of cocky indifference. Since I could offer nothing different from the plans which the others had used, I decided to concentrate on developing a friendship with Ben.
Surprisingly, Ben accepted my overtures of friendship and quickly arrived at a point where he would discuss openly the problems he was experiencing. I would like to report that there was a concurrent improvement in Ben's behaviour, but such was not the case. It was almost predictable that I would receive complaints from the police about Ben's activities every Monday morning when I arrived at the office. He was in danger of being evicted from the home of the relatives who had taken him in. The prosecutor suggested it was time for Ben to be sent to a young offenders institution. Perhaps sensing that a time of crisis was approaching, Ben took off. I filed a "missing probationer" report with Court Registry, but weeks and then months went by with no word from, or about, Ben.
One day, I received a letter with a mid-west city postmark. Puzzled, I opened the envelope and found, to my surprise, that it was from Ben.
"I'm sorry I took off and caused more problems for you," he wrote. "Things weren't going well for me, and I knew I was going to get into serious trouble if I hung around with the same gang any longer. I'm writing to let you know that things are going better now. I've found some neat friends in a youth group here and a lot has changed. I'll keep in touch. Hope you aren't mad at me. Ben."
"P.S. I'm going with the sweetest girl in town!"
Ben gave no return address, so I put the letter away in his file, expecting to hear from him again. I felt the first glimmer of hope about Ben.
It was four months before Ben wrote again. His next letter told of further changes in his life, changes for the good. He again spoke warmly of the young people he had come to know. The girl he was going with had led him into participation in a local church, and it was obvious from the tone of his letter that he was moving towards belief in God and acceptance of Jesus Christ.
Although Ben was off probation later that year, he continued to correspond with me, and each letter showed continuing growth. He married the girl, and they established a Christian home. Ben still experienced setbacks, but when they were over, he could write about them with insight and even humour. Although aware of his weaknesses, he came to a better awareness of his strengths and this helped him obtain and keep a good factory job.
One day, a letter came with the picture of the young couple and their newborn son. Looking at the happy family, I reflected on what had happened, what had made the difference. Each of us who had worked with Ben had used our individual skills to change his philosophy of life. To one degree or another, each of us had failed. With the help of Jesus Christ, Ben was changed from within. Then the pieces of his life fitted together.
Ben was like Humpty Dumpty of the nursery rhyme. "All the king's men" couldn't untangle the complications of Ben's life without the help of God the King of Kings. He alone, as Creator, knows what His created can be. He freely offers the gift of love to change and transform even the most hopeless, and make them new.
Todd Lee is free-lance writer from Prince George, B.C.