I was sorting through the morning mail at the dispatch center when I saw a brightly colored envelope. It was addressed simply to: THE LADY WHO LISTENS.
It was a drawing done in crayon. It showed a stick figure of a little girl with red polka dots on her legs, but she was standing up. Next to her was a very tall police officer drawn in blue, and a woman sitting at a desk with a giant headset that looked like Mickey Mouse ears.
Underneath, in shaky block letters, it read:
DEAR HELEN.
MY LEGS ARE FIXED.
MOMMY GOT A NEW APARTMENT. NO ANTS.
I AM BRAVE LIKE BATMAN.
LOVE, MIA.
I pinned the drawing to the fabric wall of my cubicle, right next to the list of emergency codes and the photo of my grandson.
We live in a world that is often loud, scary, and indifferent. We live in a world where six-year-olds are left alone because rent costs more than a mother can make in a week. We live in a world where nature can be cruel and houses can decay.
But as I looked at that drawing, I was reminded of why I sit in this windowless room.
Sometimes, help arrives with sirens and flashing lights. But sometimes, it begins before that. Sometimes, it begins with a whisper in the dark, and the courage of a little girl who knew that even when she couldn’t move, she could still call out.
And as long as there is someone there to answer, there is hope. Continue reading…
