I feel as though I have been through some dark hours in my life.  As a trained Stephen Minister and Leader I know better than to push my inner suffering under the carpet and think of those worse off than myself.

So I don’t.

And neither should you.

Our dark moments are just that, ours and nobody else’s.  They are real and painful.  The knowledge that there are others worse off than I am does not help at all.   My dark moments may actually be increased by feelings of guilt, certainly not lightened by euphoric thoughts that someone, somewhere, is worse off than I am…so count your blessings!

My dark thoughts are also fleeting sometimes.  I prefer, for this reason, to keep them within, for I don’t know how long they’ll last.  I don’t want to burden others with my pain when the next day I could be as happy as a sandboy (lucky, happy, sandboy, whoever he is) and have to inform all my burdenees of my mood change.  A veritable see-saw when it comes to women.

However, when I do hear of others’ darkest hours, thrust upon them by the despots and maniacs of their war torn countries, troubles that are so commonplace that they are no longer considered newsworthy, my heart burns.  The injustice makes me want to run out and do what I do best, namely, roll up my proverbial sleeves and mobilise help and relief.

But wisdom gained from a long life, tells me there are good folk out there already doing this, for we prayed for them at mass on Sunday; aid workers struggling to bring help to ravaged, forgotten people in ravaged, forgotten, parts of the world.

What to do then?  Acknowledge your darkest hour as yours alone, then buy this book, your money may help someone in their darkest hour.

Immaculee Ilibagiza’s account of her ninety-one days in hiding, with seven other women in a small bathroom in Rwanda, tells of the slaughter of her family and the faith that sustained her through her darkest hours.  As the sole survivor, she knew she had no choice but to tell her story because she was the only one, Left to Tell.