We are in the garden.  My sister is telling me about her latest Project.  She persuaded the Charity she works for to visit a shelter for women who fled domestic violence.  She involved other Counsellors and now she is developing the Project, a project in which women are given a voice, an opportunity to talk, to be listened to.


She points to her ‘phone.

‘That’s my baby.’

Inspired by my story, a woman she knows who almost got lost in the system.


I listen in silence.  My whole life I asked God to use my suffering, and he never seemed to.

“What is the point of all this?”  I used to wonder.


Now I open the book, and begin to read.  The book of my memories, and I hear other voices of women who have been silent so long, but who were interviewed, wrote their story down, felt empowered, gained confidence.

The sun is setting, and the moss glows in the last rays.  My sister helped someone, because

‘That could have been you.  That might have been my sister.’




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