Annette (name changed) was sobbing, pools of tears forming on the Bible she held. I was absolutely disconcerted. For myself more than for her. Was it a mistake that I was there? She needed an expert’s help.
It was a youth retreat. I had been asked to help with the counseling. That was a first for me, although I had been organising youth ministry for a couple of years. I agreed to counsel a few of the “front benchers”; they were the enthusiastic and attentive section. I reasoned that they should be having most of the answers. All I would need to do is say a prayer for them and offer some affirmation or prayer guidance.
Annette was the first in the queue. When I saw her approaching me, I thought: This should be an easy session. She looked very traditional and seemed a bit “hyper charismatic,” as she greeted me with a bright smile and a rather happy “Praise the Lord!”
As I began the session praying in simple words of praise, I saw the person before me crumble in grief and hopelessness. She began to share her story. She had been abused from the age of six by her own brothers. In her teens, when they left the country, she got into a series of very abusive relationships. She had stopped going to Church. She told me she hated her family, hated everyone, hated herself and didn’t believe in God. She was forced to come for this retreat by her cousins.
Maria Sangeetha Sanjeevi
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