Another oops-crazy-week-prevented-blogging moment.
My volunteer training for the domestic violence/sexual abuse shelter started Thursday night.
It didn't beat around the bush. The executive director promised long hours (75 for training, then 5 in the shelter practicum!), disturbing sights and hard-to-swallow facts and advice (the women that go back to an abusive partner or the child who shows signs of violence).
But it gave me hope. Hope for helping. Hope for making a difference.
I know that if I make it through these three hours a week now through December, I will become a part of something that gives me more pride than anything else I might do with my life.
I can help. I can heal.
With my hands; with a reassuring voice; with the tools I'll be learning.
I feel suddenly full of more strength than I knew possible. And I know that strength isn't for me, but for a complete stranger at the other end of the phone or standing at the door of a shelter in the middle of the night.
Life is funny sometimes.