no words

I would like to tell you about what I have seen in my time here in Phoenix. But I can't explain most of it. I can't put it into words. Let me try it this way: I have met faces and I have been places, I won't forget any of them. Women have told me their stories and I have nodded, listened, and handed them a tissue when needed. After taking a tissue for me, I have realized that, of course I cannot describe it to you, because it is their story. Not mine, I just was able to be a part of it. Sitting at an uncomfortable booth at a fast food place, I have watched woman after woman, walk up to me with different looks in their eyes; uncaring, tired, not sure of what hope is, doubt, vacancy, mistrust, surprise because sometimes I am younger than them, pain and un-forgiveness. All of these are not erased when they leave the booth. Sometimes there is relief after - by talking to someone who isn't judging them, we have battled the figurative weight they came in with. Their shoulders leave a little lighter. I'd like to think that, anyway. I have seen women walk out the door of our home, months later, after moving in, passing the fast food interview. I have seen them walk out with a sparkle, a light, confidence, love, a softness, and hope. Again, I know that they aren't cured, but when that light turns inside, and I get to witness it, my heart leaps.
I don't know how to tell you about the women that walked away from the booth, and I never saw them again. Their faces burn into my heart deeply. They must have felt sadness after telling us so much of their life and then maybe not being able to move into our home. They went back to the abuser, the shelter, the drugs, the street, the rain and other places. Sometimes they don't have such a tragic ending, they got their chance in another way. I pray. I read a letter from one of the women, who let me know that 2 weeks before our meeting her, she stood in the street waiting for a car to come and take her life. Desperation has fueled many of the lives that I cross paths with, and I hope that they can find a passion to fuel it with instead. That same woman was able to come to our home and leave a little lighter. A woman that couldn't come to our home, left with a wall up. She shut down, her eyes lost their color, when I said, she wouldn't be able to come for her own safety reasons. She took it personally, I saw it. I pray for the hardness in her life to be gone, I pray for the baby that is being born soon. I wish they knew they are not forgotten by me, by others, or by God.
I feel that I am still not conveying this for you to understand, do you have an image in your head yet?
Try imagining: hearing the slap of pavement on a 19 year olds feet as she runs to our home after being thrown to the ground by her abusive boyfriend. She was awarded bruises up and down, and lost her sandals in an effort to run faster.
Try: walking by the room of the 18 year old that puts a sheet over her window and sleeps with the light on, the door open, and the radio on. She faces the hallway and sleeps light, as she remembers being molested in her past.
Try: smelling the body odor of the 27 year old woman who we picked up from the local women's shelter. She hadn't showered in at least a week, there were some incidents at the shelter when she did try to shower.
Try: cradling your baby when you hear about the 34 year old woman that met Child Protective Services on day 2 at the hospital after delivering Casearean. They threatened to take her son away that day, they accused her of not changing at all from her past. They said horrible things to her face.
Can you hold a straight face when you go drug testing and the 22 year old bubbly blond next to you, lets you know that she is experiencing PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) because she has to pee.While she waits in line she has to hold it and you find out holding it reminds her of her childhood abuse when her foster parents demanded she drink gallons of water and then made her hold it until it hurt.

I am depressing you?

I can tell you that the 19 year old, got new sandals and went to stay somewhere safe. They put a warrant out for the abuser. The 18 year old slept safely for her 3 months at our home. The 27 year old got to shower. The 34 year old proved that she had changed and kept her baby. The 22 year old has overcome many obstacles including getting counseling for the abuse.

Whenever I hear someones story, I stop and think, that I have heard it all now. But I haven't. I will keep hearing stories that will make me cringe, my eyes water, and my heart break.

I thank God for this time of sorrow. Because I can be united to him and his suffering. I can pray for the women to be united with him as the sufferers themselves.
I know that the third day brings hope, the resurrection always follows. I pray for the sparkles that appear in their eyes and I wait for my heart to delight in their new found joys.
I guess I found more words than I thought that I would... I hope you understand a little better now.