We have privilege and power;
How do we use it in this hour?
For money and fame,
To produce more of the same? Or
In humility seek,
Platforms for those who cannot speak?

Little girl, big brimmed hat,
alone, with suitcases, travelling to boarding school she sat.
Wanting to be embraced by loving arms,
reassuring tones, peaceful pungent breaths, she calms,
but, the war loomed outside,
and onwards she tried.
The constant Chameleon: hairdresser, interiors, reporter and healer,
now, the season of inner healing to transform into a counsellor.
But, it’s the true counsel she heeds,
to transform from the wounds that bleed.
May she hear from You, Emmanuel; the One who truly heals.
May You lovingly embrace and hold all she feels.
May the little girl grow up into the woman You imagined,
And may she bloom into a lush garden with seeds You've planted.