The word resounded in my heart and mind as tears flooded my eyes and I willed them not to overflow.
Forgotten.
What a powerful word. What a powerful feeling.
And, as I sat in that community room in that building decorated with colorful, hopeful banners surrounded by fences lining the premises with razor-sharp barbed wire looped around the top of them, I understood.
Not that I really understood the extent at which she meant it...I know I probably never will. Not that I really understood her circumstances...I know I probably never will. Not that I really understood her...I know that I never will.
But in that moment, I felt like I connected with her. I felt like I understood a small part of what she was trying to get us "outsiders" to understand.
And besides, I've always been one to notice the forgotten people of the world.
* * * * *
Today, I had the priviledge of visiting the Marysville Women's Reformatory during the closing ceremony of Kairos. Some of the residents got to go through a retreat of sorts the past three days and the closing ceremony is where they have an open mic and they stand up and talk about their experiences.
It's amazing to hear their stories. I've always been fascinated by stories in general, but especially people's life stories. I think it's utterly astonishing to learn what some people endure and even thrive during and after. I think people's stories shed more light on why they are who and how they are. I think it's essential to know a person's story as you get to know them. And these women...wow. They are some of the bravest, strongest, most beautiful, most intelligent, most loving people I've ever met.
And you know why no one knows about them?
Because they are the forgotten people of the world.
I've always said that I care about the people no one else does. I care about the ones that others look down on. I care about the people that others question my (I'll admit it) sometimes seemingly obsession with.
Simply put...I have odd passions surrounding subjects that others my age don't even know about, let alone care about.
How many of us think daily about those confined within the fences of Marysville Women's Reformatory and so many others like it all over this nation? And, let's face it, even when we do think about them, how often are our thoughts surrounding it caring ones filled with love rather than fear and hatred?
How many of us think daily about those children in Uganda, Africa (or anywhere else in the world, for that matter) who have no family, no food, no love, no hope? And even when we do, do we care enough to do something about it? Or even just stop and pray for them?
How many of us think daily about those chained to their circumstances and paralyzed by fear in brothels and pay-by-the-hour motels all over the world? And, again, even if we do...are those thoughts ones of love and compassion or judgment and scorn?
How many of us think daily about those in bondage to their addictions, fighting each and every day for a way to get money in order to score their next supply? And even when we do think about them, do we think of them as people who need help but are too deep in their addictions to realize it? Or do we dismiss them as the scum of this earth?
Today, I realized something. All of my passions can be summed up as one.
My passion is for those who are the forgotten people of the world.
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