The Woman Who Stands

I will always recognize her by the trail of grace that follows her. 

I think a lot about women and how I wish each one could tell her own story and that everyone would listen. I think about all of the women who cannot read or write and are left with their own voices to anyone who will lend an ear. There are women who are disregarded or let their past map out their future. There are women who misunderstand who they were created to be and those who believe they have gone too far to come back.  I think about those who live through their daughters and those who stand up to their mothers. I think about wives, mothers, grandmothers and sisters. I think about daughters and how I am one also. 

Then, I think about her.

Here is a woman who understands the weight of words and how minds can be changed by the wrong ones said. She has walked out of rooms and walked toward new ones with her name found carved on the front door. She has waited and doubted, understood and celebrated. This is a woman who has held onto the grace that has so intently held onto her. That very grace has redirected her and comforted her; her life has been saved because of it, and so when she speaks, I listen.

Not too long ago, she told me about the recent rooms she has walked into. Here are rooms with red stains on the floors that echo the pains of other women. She spoke of how she felt when she walked inside and listened to the broken voices of other daughters and mothers. 

You see, these women have seen the unspeakable and yet they are still standing. They still speak. Their resilience is difficult to ignore and with every door they slam open and every chair they pull out for themselves, one more woman finds the courage to stand. With every voice that is heard and every story that is repeated, change can be seen finding its way through the cracks of the ground we all stand on. 

 

There is a chorus of women speaking up. Those with shaky voices stand side by side with those who are exhausted. Held up by bravery, mothers, daughters, wives and sisters all hold hands and raise their voices. 

I hope that these women learn how to breathe and that they can walk forward without looking back. I hope that they let the sun into their homes and that their feet can rest after all their running. May they stand tall and speak truth with wisdom. I hope they know that they can start again as many times as they need to, and that time will be patient with them. 

 

Today, as she finds herself walking through these doors, it is easy to wonder why it was her name carved outside and not another's. Who would have anticipated that this is where she would go? Her ears hear stories she has never known before and her eyes memorise faces of women she has never met. She has been given a pen to help map out a different direction for these women. With every past door slammed shut and every lie she unlearns, it is she who holds the shaking hands of those women the way hers were once held before. May she never lose hope, and remember that grace is most powerful when hearts are broken. 

I hope she knows that whether she turns to the right or to the left, she can rest in the voice that shows her the way to walk in. I hope she listens to the grace that found her, and trusts the one who carved her name on these doors. She left her home with faith that she is being led to a city with foundations, and I hope that she rests in knowing she is walking the right way. 

I have always admired her grace in how she speaks to those today, and about those she knew. There is a gentleness about her that cannot take away from her strength. Each step she takes reflects the love that has overtaken her heart. She will bear witness to so much change in the lives of these women. I wonder if she knows that she is a vessel for truth to touch the hearts of those she meets. She has come so far and I admire her courage. 

May she never lose her wonder or forget who holds tomorrow. 

And let us women walk each other home.