Wounded

I met a wounded soul today.  She is 18 and says she has been homeless for 6 months.  She finally came to the county to see if they could help her so she could finish school like she so desperately wants.  She is taking culinary arts and is determined to be a chef and only had her last semester to go when she had to leave her home.   She says only when she is cooking does she feel good about herself.  And she is good at it she claims.

She grew up with a mom who was a prostitute and who birthed her at 15.  Her mom, she says, has tried to kill her 6 times and she said she couldn’t take it anymore and left.  She says her mom hates her and blames her for ruining her life.  Her voice broke and I could hear it choke up as she said “I can’t get into this now, I have things to do” and leaped out when I stopped the car.  I couldn’t even come up with something to say, all I could do was send her love.

All this was told to me in the course of a two mile ride to a shelter where she’ll stay until they can find her a place.  I so wanted to say, “Come stay with me, I have lots of room!”  I always want to do that and actually, have done that in the past.  I can’t do that now with this job though.  I have a lot of compassion for this girl and really pray that she finds her inner strength and value and the will to move forward to a better life.

This job is never dull and the people I meet fall across all walks, races and beliefs.  I learn from all of them.  They all touch me.

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