Black girls are missing, in Nigeria and at home. #BringBackOurGirls

Read this now, and help bring back our girls.

Dr. Rebecca Hains

Two weeks ago, a Nigerian high school was raided by armed militants from the terrifying Islamist group Boko Haram. These terrorists kidnapped more than 200 Nigerian girls—allegedly to sell them as brides for about $12 USD each. It’s a devastating case of human trafficking, but the girls’ distraught families say their pleas for governmental assistance in recovering their stolen daughters have fallen on deaf ears.

Nigerian families grieveAfter a failed attempt to rescue their daughters themselves, the families went public with their story. Disturbingly, the story did not gain the instant traction with the news media that it should have—another reminder of the fact that the media tends to overlook cases of abducted girls of color. Studies have found that white girls who are stolen in “stereotypical” abduction scenarios (such as that endured by Elizabeth Smart) receive disproportionate media attention: Nearly 800,000 children are reported missing every year in the U.S. alone, of which only…

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New Perspectives

Where you are in your life now is just a snapshot into the greater picture that encompasses your life. You cannot predict the future of a 9 year old girl like tarot cards strung across a table, anymore than you can predict the past of a senior citizen upon first glance. If a body in motion stays in motion, then I guess it only seems logical that your perspective on life would change with you too. Therefore, as we gain new insight into our lives, it can become easy to loose sight of others perspectives and struggles. I wrote the poem below entitled, “Hands” about a man in an assisted living community who is seemingly insane although, only after reading it do you realize the depth of how loss can shift someones perspective.


There is a man holding out his hands like the extended branches of a grand oak tree

He has worn and weathered hands

Wise hands

The kind of hands you can trust

Hands that were meant for holding

Although there is power in his fingers as they spread like the wings of an eagle

And I can tell these hands were meant for giving, not for taking

In the sunlight his hands become paper- thin leaves, revealing the roots of a family tree

This is a man who had mastered the art of reckless love

Carefree hands, hands that were meant to run wild

Someone who gave his heart away before it was acceptable

Hands that were before their time

This is a man who had proven his unyielding love everyday of his life

Nurturing hands that raised a family

He was a man who took great pride in his family but his wife was the real light of his life

Hands that had found the answer to every question they were searching for

Hands that didn’t have enough time


This man now sits in an assisted living community

Dementia has robbed him of his last memories of having a family

Whenever questions of his life are asked, the man has no answers now

Except to hold his hands out and whisper,

“I know I did great things with these hands. I can just tell.”

The man in the poem turned out to gain the family he always wanted, only to have it snatched away from him in the midst of his disease. You would never have know by looking at this seemingly crazed man the love he shared in his lifetime. Therefore, you can never really understand the depths of someones pain dealing with a disease like dementia. In the end all we have is perspective.

(Thank you for reading my first ever blog post! I think all this milk before bedtime is making me deep. Haha. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed the post and if you have any thoughts or feelings on the topic I would love to read about it in the comment section below.)

Lots of Hugs,