It is a word we so often associate with force, with dominance and with the ability to bend the world to our will. But recently, a heartbreaking image of a pig named Imogen forced me to look at power through a completely different lens.

Some stories do not begin with a plan. They begin with a feeling. A tug, if you like. For me, it was the tug of a tiny piglet.

“If not you, then who? If not now, when?” — Hillel the Elder. It began with a small blackberry bush. Just a slender, spiked vine growing by the roadside at the western entrance to my town.

I stretch my memory back and though I cannot recall the exact date, I do remember the moment with surprising clarity.

Fishing is often framed as harmless recreation. For many, it is said to be a way to relax, to connect with nature and to simply be.

As I look out my window this morning, the familiar rhythm of sanctuary life unfolds. The team moves with their usual quiet purpose, ensuring every animal is fed, has fresh water and is cared for. Even after restless nights and heavy skies, life continues. Responsibility continues. Kindness continues.

Well, perhaps not quite a manger, rather, the next room, there’s a perfect pink piglet who snores beneath a blanket of red festive cheer.

“Thoughts become things, so choose them wisely.”

From the moment we humans first bent animals to our will, we began a trade they never signed up for. We took their wild and precious lives and exchanged them for food, water and shelter.

It must have been twenty years ago, yet if I close my eyes, I’m back in that small training room with nineteen strangers.