Giving Voice to the Voiceless...a story of silence brought to you by Kristin Fuller, Street Outreach Worker, Outreach, Inc. I had seen her on the streets before. Her head was always down, her eyes concentrating hard on the concrete beneath her feet. Her shaved, black hair hidden under her green hoodie. Silent. That's how I first perceived her. I drove to pick up her friend Kara to celebrate her 25th birthday. Emerging out of the mall I saw her. "Can she come to?" asked Kara. "Sure," I said. Kara ran back into the mall to gather some forgotten personal items. We were alone in the car together. And then she spoke to me. "I've wanted to talk to you. I really need help. You're always helping everyone else. Will you help me too?" A well of overwhelming emotion grabbed at me from the back of the car where she sat. I wondered how long she had been silent and how many others for decades had been silent around her. "I'd love to help you," I said. Kara's birthday party took place in a filthy, cockroach infested apartment in downtown Indianapolis. Seven of us gathered around a Dairy Queen ice cream cake and sang happy birthday to Kara. Shortly afterward, two of the young men quietly went into the adjacent room and began to get high. Another young man's eyes quickly glazed over as he watched SpongeBob on the TV. Over the sounds of drug use and commercials, she told me her story. She could wait no longer. I didn't even ask her to share. She just started talking. Rape. Molestation. A mother whose life had been marked by addiction and domestic violence. Failed classes. Failed dreams. Failed hope. She stared me right in the eyes as she spoke. I listened. "This is no place for either of you," I told them. "You are worth so much more than these men are treating you." "I'll leave with you. I'll go," she said. I didn't even ask her to leave. Her eyes again carried that desperation I first glimpsed in the car. Was it she that had been silent all these years? Or was there simply no one to notice her? No one for her to speak to? No one to advocate for her? Instead of being silent was she silenced? Kara did not come with us. She stayed in the apartment where, on her 25th birthday, three young men got high and ate her cake. She had a choice to leave and she did not. As I left the apartment with my newfound friend I realized the power of giving voice to the voiceless. Unless we are willing to enter into the lives of the poor, many voices will never be heard. Her voice was heard that day, and that's all it took for her to take a step toward life. Silent no more.