How it began…

Sitting on the front steps of my church, I held three little bodies as they cried on my shoulder, begging and pleading with me to not make them go home.

Home for them was filled with nights of strangers sleeping in their beds, Ramen Noodles for supper night after night, and the strange smells of weed floating through the air. I was only 17 and totally unequipped to handle this conversation. Timmy was 3, Jenna was 8, and Lucy was 13. All of them were looking at me, up to me, as if I somehow held the key to a better situation.

That night, I drove home, and after consulting with my parents, decided that the only option from this point, was to call Child Protection Services. Praying hard and asking God for guidance, I picked up my phone the next day and dialed the number that could potentially change three little lives forever. I wasn’t sure if it was going to be for the better, considering these siblings could very well be split up and divided into different homes after being evaluated, but nonetheless, I dialed the number, my heart heavy with anticipation. After explaining the situation, I hung up the phone, and waited.

Every Wednesday, those three kids continued to come to me, describing their living conditions. Their dirty faces explaining the reason why they didn’t sleep the night before. Moma and Daddy’s friends and customers had taken their beds again. They continued to tell me about the countless dinners of Ramen noodles and Vienna sausages. I held my breath, waiting for the week when they would come up to me and tell me about a visit from a social worker. Week after week went by, and still no visit. To my surprise that week never came.

Months later, after I had lost connection with Timmy, Jenna, and Lucy, I was told by a friend of the family that the oldest girl had been raped. Standing there, my mouth hanging wide open, tears flooding my eyes, I suddenly felt more helpless and devastated than I ever have.

These kids had come to me for help, and even though I did as much as possible, I was still unable to help them. That day I decided that I would never be holding the phone, begging and pleading with SOMEONE ELSE to help the people I love. From that moment on, I wanted to make a difference.

My desire to be a lawyer stemmed from that day on the steps. Being an advocate for the less fortunate and for those who simply can’t help themselves is my dream, whatever form that may be. One day I wish to be standing in a court room, fighting for what I believe in while serving those in need. My life has changed in so many ways since that day. God obviously placed a purpose and mission in my heart, and I hope to serve him with the dreams that I’ve been given, because every child deserves a chance at a safe and happy life, every women deserves equal rights, every immigrant deserves a chance to legally enter our borders to achieve the American Dream… the list goes on. I can make a difference, I do make a difference, and one day, I will make a difference, as a lawyer.