I wept for that Melbourne woman who was robbed of life in the early hours of a Saturday morning – that pretty young thing who had a world ahead of her, who had talent and passion and hope. Most of all, hope. We all did.

We cried for the lost chances, the children unborn, the happy family life that will never be.

I thank God that she is now in His arms, away from the pain and shame of her last moments.

But it’s not Jill Meagher I’m talking about, it’s a woman named “Missy” who was found in a muddy, stinky back lane in Melbourne’s ‘suburb of sin’, St Kilda, her body dumped amid a pile of household detritus– broken Ikea furniture, an old barbie, cracked garden chairs.

You may have heard her story on the talkback radio stations. It ran on a few news bulletins… then faded away.

She too was 29, with a love for fashion and high heels which suited her tiny frame.

There were no marches for Missy, no masses of flowers left at the local church let alone the bridal boutique, no calls for women to reclaim the night in honour of Missy.

Missy was picked off the streets, bashed senseless and left to die, the life draining out of her over several lonely hours. She wasn’t even afforded a shallow grave by her perpetrator, who was never found. They never are.

No police search, no homicide squad, no Facebook campaign.

Missy was a street worker but her career was not of her choosing. Her ‘boyfriend’ pimped her to feed their growing addiction to heroin and ice.

I’d heard about Missy; she regularly dropped into St Kilda Gatehouse, a Christian outreach centre on the suburb’s most notorious beat– Greaves St. Gatehouse is supported by local churches, and even the local Council openly promotes its values and its virtue.

There, Missy found a safe zone; volunteers to pamper her, to give her hope, tell her she was beautiful and to love her unconditionally.

There, she found a soft couch to rest her weary head after a night on the ‘job’. She found food, a shower, a Christian counsellor, and the chance to talk about her dreams beyond the streets.

But sometimes the lure was too bright, sometimes a regular client wanted a bit of fun, sometimes the demons in her head would remind her how ugly she was, how useless her life, how unnecessary she is to society.

Despite our prayers, our care, our cries for her soul, sometimes the vice of Man, the sin of Man has a greater hold… and we don’t succeed.

It’s then we weep for another beautiful life lost. And then we pray for her eternal life where her spirit is free.

We lace our massive 2 metre cross, wooden and splintered, with nasturtiums and daisies plucked from our own gardens.
And we know she is forgiven.

There are many Missys throughout Australia. We just never hear about them. They now operate through text message, social media, Facebook. Some are new migrants, many are half Missy’s age.

It makes our work at St Kilda Gatehouse that much harder, praying for girls, barely women, who we will never meet.

Will you pray for them, just as you prayed for Jill?