Sometimes the moments that change us most come from the smallest voices.
“The most impactful person I’ve ever met was a 7-year-old boy we’ll call Josh.”
Josh sat hunched over a kiddie table, crayons scattered, oversized backpack slumped to the floor with a thud. His drawing looked like any other—green grass, blue sky, stick-figure smiles. But right through the middle was a jagged black slash.
“It’s a metal pipe,” he whispered. “He was waving it around, yelling, ‘I’ll kill you.’”
That was the day Josh’s world split in two—the day his grandparents drove him away, his mother’s face shrinking in the rear window. He thought it was his fault. He thought he had done something wrong.
He wasn’t broken. He was in pain. And that’s where so many of us start.