The Truth About Jenny

"And she fights for her life as she puts on her coat
And she fights for her life on the train
She looks at the rain as it pours

And she fights for her life as she goes in a store
With a thought she has caught by a thread
She pays for the bread and she goes
Nobody knows"
 - "Her Morning Elegance" by Oren Lavie


There's a scene in "Forrest Gump" when young Forrest goes looking for his friend Jenny. He finds her behind her house, and when her father starts shouting from inside, she takes Forrest's hand and runs with him into the cornfield to hide. She kneels down and begins to pray, urgently, "Dear God, make me a bird. So I could fly far. Far far away from here." She repeats this prayer over and over as the camera pans away, the viewer understanding from Forrest's innocent observation that Jenny's father is very 'affectionate' towards his children that little Jenny is being abused.

Of course, the movie follows the stories of both children as they grow into adults, sometimes crossing paths in their very different lives. Jenny is drawn to Forrest because he is safe: throughout his life he maintains his innocence, his kindness, his Anne Frank-like belief that people are all good at heart. Jenny, however, knows all too well that people can have darkness. She is abused, and from this grows both a yearning to be loved and the belief that she is not worthy. So she falls into a cycle of self-abuse, with shameful work, drugs, alcohol, and more mistreatment from men, because after all - that's all she knew since she was a child.

There are far too many Jennys in the world.

In a later scene, Jenny and Forrest return to her old childhood home. She stares at the dilapidated structure which housed her worst pain, pain from a man who was supposed to protect and nurture her. In anger and grief, she picks up stones and begins hurling them at the house. She throws and throws until she falls to the ground, weeping, her long white skirt soiled in the dirt. Slowly, Forrest sits down beside her. He says simply, "Sometimes, I guess there just aren't enough rocks."

Some of the Jennys I've known/know have found friends, family, or counselors to help with their grief. Some, though, have first turned to cutting or substance abuse to try and control the emotional pain. There's a girl at Casa Adalia* whose wrists are so lined with cuts, it looks like the pages of a book. She had one of those particularly horrible pasts that people turn into almost unbelievable lifetime movies. She is free and safe now ... and she's not. Some days she believes it, believes that her future can be paved with dreams and people who truly love her. Some days, the pain and lies of worthlessness are too much and she feels herself gasping for air, preferring to run or cut because that's how she learned to misdirect the pain, and because she still feels the hands and words which said, "You are my property, I own you, you are only worth what I say."

In many ways, the boys of Casa Gabriel* are Jennys too. They learned to fend for themselves on the streets because of poverty, abuse, and neglect. Staggeringly, not one single boy in the house has a father in their lives. Their fathers, like hovering ghosts, have either abandoned their families or are no longer alive. The wounds run deep, deep, deep. Therefore the healing must run even deeper.

The truth about Jenny is that in the end, there may not be enough rocks to crush the ugly structure of pain, or a desperate prayer which is answered in a moment by turning one into a bird and letting them fly away. The truth is, there are so many Jennys who hide in plain sight all around us. Yet the truth is, every person has great worth. Every person is uniquely valued and loved. So I believe in hope and help and semicolon tattoos and honest conversations. Bit by bit, we are built from experiences and words, and how we handle them. We are effected by the people around us, as we in turn effect others.

The Jennys of this world are many. But the truth is, we as the human race are all linked. We can hurt and be hurt, but through God's grace and guidance and goodness, we can reach out and heal as well. Only through Him. We are weighed down by the rocks of this world, until we pray to God, crying out in faith and other less pretty places, and though we may not sense it right away, He will give us wings. He will set us free.


*Casa Gabriel and Casa Adalia are the homes for at-risk youth in Ecuador I work alongside.