Crime and Courage
Blog / Produced by The High Calling
Three friends and I arrived just before 6:30 p.m. The house director greeted us at the door and quickly took us down a long, bare corridor. Over the PA system, we heard the announcement: "ALL WOMEN REPORT TO THE DINING AREA IMMEDIATELY. NO EXCEPTIONS." I'd been here once before but still felt a chill.
This was Sally's House, a Salvation Army temporary shelter for women. The lives here were newly released from prison, on parole, in treatment—all needing not only a home, but more understanding and comfort than they had received, probably, even once in their lifetimes. I'd been asked to talk about pain and healing . . . about finding the way in spite of enormous obstacles. For many that night, the obstacles included abuse, addictions, lack of skills and education . . . and layers on layers of pain.
In the cramped space, I began to speak to the fifty women marked by long suffering. Most of them looked back at me, but some heads remained down, hands shielding their faces. I took a deep breath; I told them about my acquaintance with pain, knowing as I spoke that my suffering was luxury compared to theirs. But because I spoke personally, they listened. Within a few moments two-thirds of the women openly wept. After a while, I stopped speaking and asked them to speak. The power in the room shifted then, and we visitors began to reassess our understanding of courage.
They spoke a relentless litany of hardship and deprivation, most originating in early childhood when they were defenseless: abandonment, deceptions, rapes, beatings. And deaths, often multiple deaths, sometimes of both parents—and the child not yet ten years old. There followed tales of running away and long, desperate searches for someone, anyone, to give love.
Now, years past their crimes and prison, they were seeing the cost of so many uncried tears, repressed grief, begging for love from those incapable of loving. But enormous disappointment, heartache, and adversity never extinguished their courage. With a thousand strikes against them, they willed to go on, one day at a time, to heal, and, finally, to experience true love.
One woman took my hand as we left. She'd been crying hard. "Don't forget us," she said. "Pray for us. Because I just learned tonight that I can still love. Love was in me all along."
I left with her words still ringing.
This was Sally's House, a Salvation Army temporary shelter for women. The lives here were newly released from prison, on parole, in treatment—all needing not only a home, but more understanding and comfort than they had received, probably, even once in their lifetimes. I'd been asked to talk about pain and healing . . . about finding the way in spite of enormous obstacles. For many that night, the obstacles included abuse, addictions, lack of skills and education . . . and layers on layers of pain.
In the cramped space, I began to speak to the fifty women marked by long suffering. Most of them looked back at me, but some heads remained down, hands shielding their faces. I took a deep breath; I told them about my acquaintance with pain, knowing as I spoke that my suffering was luxury compared to theirs. But because I spoke personally, they listened. Within a few moments two-thirds of the women openly wept. After a while, I stopped speaking and asked them to speak. The power in the room shifted then, and we visitors began to reassess our understanding of courage.
They spoke a relentless litany of hardship and deprivation, most originating in early childhood when they were defenseless: abandonment, deceptions, rapes, beatings. And deaths, often multiple deaths, sometimes of both parents—and the child not yet ten years old. There followed tales of running away and long, desperate searches for someone, anyone, to give love.
Now, years past their crimes and prison, they were seeing the cost of so many uncried tears, repressed grief, begging for love from those incapable of loving. But enormous disappointment, heartache, and adversity never extinguished their courage. With a thousand strikes against them, they willed to go on, one day at a time, to heal, and, finally, to experience true love.
One woman took my hand as we left. She'd been crying hard. "Don't forget us," she said. "Pray for us. Because I just learned tonight that I can still love. Love was in me all along."
I left with her words still ringing.
The demands, pressures and stress of work can put a huge strain on relationships with our coworkers. This 4-day plan from Theology of Work Project and Workmatters provides simple steps you can take to be more loving to your coworkers that will transform those relationships and increase both joy and productivity at work.