Quiet, but Not Invisible

During Daisy's* first month in the Hope House, she tried her best to be invisible. When the younger girls would go out to the gym area to play soccer, she would stay inside. When the older ones turned on music to dance, she would sit on the couch. I will never forget the day that she came back from a visit with her dad. As he said goodbye, she collapsed into his arms crying. During those first weeks, Daisy struggled to be present in daily life and often secluded herself- despite the other girls’ attempts to reach out to her.

I don't remember when it happened, but sometime after those first weeks she started talking, then smiling, then laughing, then making friends. Daisy saw her dad again last weekend, but this time there were no tears accompanying their hug, only smiles as they shared updates about life.

She is still quiet, but no longer wants to be invisible.

Oftentimes, I will find her curled up on the couch with a book, or playing checkers with a friend. Her demeanor is sweet and quiet, but now when the others turn on Zumba videos, she is often alongside them dancing and laughing.

When these girls come to the Hope House, they are carrying heavy burdens, burdens much too old for them. As much as we love them and teach them healthy life skills, we cannot remove their burdens… but we can introduce them to the one who can- Jesus. The Hope House is a place rich in opportunities to encounter Jesus, and ultimately, he's the only one who can make our burdens lighter. Even when Daisy tried to make herself invisible, Jesus saw her and cared. To the person reading this right now, Jesus cares for you just as much as he does for Daisy. He can be trusted. Don't be afraid to bring your burdens to him. He sees you and cares. You are not invisible.

Two weeks ago, Daisy was doing her homework next to me at the table and I asked her, “You're happier now, aren't you?” She gave a side smile and nodded softly, “Yes.”

*Name changed for safety reasons"

IMG_20180830_104015730.jpg
 
Page-007.png
 
Jordan OvenshireComment