Angela wore purple

Purple. Angela always work purple. In fact Angela wore the same clothes every day of the school year. She never smiled, never laughed - I was afraid of Angela.

We were in grade 5 together. I walked past her house on my way to school, walking a little faster when I passed by her house on Blair Road. Her family were Scottish and there were 5 little girls with Angela being the oldest. The yard was littered with broken toys, broken windows, and rarely were any of the girls playing in the yard. Angela wore the same purple clothes every day of the school year.

I don't like to wear purple.

Angela's purple clothes had a terrible odour, in fact Angela stank. Her long blond hair was stringy, hanging in her eyes. She had huge brown eyes that watched everyone with such intensity. I was afraid to look in her eyes.

Rumours were all I knew about Angela. They said her father was always drunk, that he beat up his daughters, that he did horrible things to them.

I didn't understand any of it - but I stayed away from Angela, and I never wore purple. Now years later, after working on crisis lines, volunteering on the streets reaching out to prostitutes, working in a ministry that allows me to prepare gourmet meals for beautiful women who are caught in the sex trade, I understand so much more about Angela. And I am ashamed, so sorry that I joined all the others in shunning this wounded broken child. Ashamed that none of us ever got to know her. In Grade 5 I didn't know any of the signs of abuse. Now I know.

Back then we never spoke about "that" - sexual abuse. It was silent, secret and never to be mentioned.

In the last year as I have taken the journey of acknowledging and telling of my own incident of being sexually molested, I have cried for Angela. How I wish I could go back and ask her to play, to sit beside her, with her in the playground dirt, and be unafraid of the odour. Perhaps it was the smell of fear. Where is she now? Did anyone ever break through her silence and allow her to share her story? I have prayed for her, held her in the Light, asking Abba where ever she is to bring her out of darkness, into the healing that only Light can bring. Is there someone to hear her story? Does she still wear purple?

I sat in the sun today, the wind on my face, and looking across the balcony as I drank my jasmine green tea, I saw a lady wearing purple. It was the reminder to pray for Angela, to hold her in the Light.

Of all the things that purple stands for may Angela be wearing nobility, wisdom and dignity today. She was strong, she was courageous, she, in her woundedness, wore the colour of dignity.