What Could Be More Beautiful?
“If you want to be a true professional, you will do something outside yourself.” RBG
I am sitting in a room surrounded by women who are actually changing the world. They are inherent helpers, carving non-profits from nothing, building whole communities around empathy and ideas and the great need bellowing all around us as we hurry about our days. These women stop to listen. Through open ears, they ease the pain groaning in the streets. In their leggings and overcoat cardigans, they soak up cries from shattered homes throughout cities and rural dead-end roads. They take these cries and use them as fuel to burn the old ways down and start over. With their own money and time, these women birth new organizations, then erect gracious bridges with others who have done the same.
Possibility surges within this modest living room today. I am quiet, awestruck as my gaze drifts around the refurbished house – another powerful project one of these women is assembling. This place in which they sit together, sharing needs and victories, is a new initiative begun by the woman who called everyone here this morning. She has envisioned a more cooperative way to do foster care, one that unites the many dedicated, yet disconnected pieces circling around a foster child. Social workers, volunteers, directors, board members, foster and adoptive mothers, these women are those pieces.
When the leader of this meeting boldly stepped into her purpose, the answer she’d only ever dreamt of abruptly fell into her lap. What better place for nurturing than a woman’s lap? Expectant and able, she caught that too-big-dream and molded it into everything it is becoming – a house called Journey Home, a safety net to hold families before they slip through the ever-widening cracks.
If those were my hands, they would be trembling in fear. I’m not sure I could hold such a dream without dropping it, but these women are focused, eyes set straight on love and solution. They gather atop furniture freshly purchased from the waves of kindred souls their voices have called into action. The generous replies stir joy and envy in me.
I watch ideas spread across the room, fire on an autumn field. The heat radiates, pulling everyone closer, and I am set alight. I came only to record these women’s words; that is where my gifts lie. I glance from face to face, imagining I will fail to paint their magic into print, but I will try because they try.
Every day, they try to make things better than the day before, for one or for many. Each of them began by creating change in small ways. But kindness can only multiply, and this morning, they recount the times in which they’ve seen the human spirit rise to encompass everything it was designed to be. Their small ways have become so very significant, and so have they. Growth begets growth.
It is humbling and rare to observe women moving in their fullest selves. So many of us have been shown that this is not our most desirable form. Watching them do this work, I wonder what could be more beautiful?
The sunshine breaks through a freshly washed window, illuminating the face of a baby girl who has accompanied her mother. Wide-eyed, she watches, too. Toddling visitors are familiar to those who gather here. Each woman smiles at the child, knowing the struggle of a mother who is called to many things at once. The sweet girl topples a mug, splashing coffee across a sparkling floor. Towels appear, and the mess is cleaned by hands ready to help. These hands know no other way.
Despite the cascade of coffee and the babble of a child who has since moved on to another room, the chorus of voices never skips. I scribble, desperate to remember everything as they ruminate over how best to support those whom society has determined deserve only shame and perpetual loss. This collective from various agencies and organizations will not stand for age-old cycles of abuse and alienation. They have seen how the system put in place to preserve families works against itself. They have come to know that policies without people never find success, and families cannot wait forever. There are 90-day deadlines and reports to be written. Court is always looming. Everyone can hear the incessant clock, but it ticks loudest for parents with empty arms.
Steadfast, these women dig deeper into the trenches, knowing this kind of work will sometimes feel like war. Armored in faith and intention, they trudge through the wreckage, creating hope in places where none existed. They heal the wounds others refuse to touch. Unremittingly, they serve and not because it’s their job. For some, this isn’t their job at all. The positions they have shaped for themselves are mostly unpaid and unknown; those who serve others before themselves seldom find the spotlight or much of a salary.
If this nation should ever evolve to fully embrace those who most need warmth, women like these will be the ones at the forefront, ears open, arms outstretched. They are this country’s future. They are confident and unyielding in their mission to leave this place better than they found it. With children on their hips and on their minds, in living rooms and cubicles all across America, they are sopping up messes, forging connections and changing the world.
– Ashley, Woman of a Certain Grace