We use that phrase a lot. And we believe it, because we have seen the stories unfold before our eyes. Two weeks ago, I saw the story of Patricia, one of the girls in our graduate transition home, begin to be written. Patricia came to us, like virtually all of our kids, a victim of abuse, exploitation, and abandonment. When Patricia arrived at Hope, she quickly showed herself to be a good student, with a special drive and focus. In a rare occurrence, she completed high school by the time she was ready to leave for the graduate house.

But that is not the final telling of her story.

Patricia really, really wanted to pursue university studies. And not just at the easier-admission private, for-profit school that many of our kids attend. She wanted to attend the prestigious public university where students from privileged backgrounds go; students with academic pedigrees. Not the kind of place where a child of the slums, of the streets, enrolls.

So a few weeks ago, she sat for entrance exams. And that is where the story gets really exciting. She did not just pass the exams; her scores were so strong, she will attend this top university on scholarship — and who knows how the next chapter of her story will be written?

And so we celebrate the telling of her story.

But I have a real worry: how many of the stories never get told? What if Patricia had never come to Hope? Would she still be a child of the streets, with university only an impossible dream? Would she be destined to perpetuate the cycle of poverty into which she was born? Would she still be alive?

Would her story have ever been told?