THE POWER OF HER | Dr. Diane D. Thibodeaux Ashby: A Roadmap to Healing, a Lifetime of Refusing to Look Away

For more than four decades, she has challenged the silence surrounding domestic violence, confronted resistance within religious communities, and built institutions to help families find safety and stability. But behind the public accomplishments is a woman whose journey began with a teenage marriage in New Orleans, whose calling carried personal sacrifices, and whose understanding of love, grief and service continues to evolve.

MINNEAPOLIS, MN (October 26, 2026)

The children raised their hands. Dr. Diane D. Thibodeaux Ashby remembers that moment with particular clarity. She had been invited to speak at a church led by her brother, a pastor who did not believe domestic violence was a problem within his congregation. She had written a book called Abuse: The Hidden Cry, and he had agreed to let her introduce it during a Sunday service. Before addressing the book itself, however, she wanted to ask the congregation something. She began describing what violence and intimidation could look like inside a home. She spoke about objects being thrown, dishes flying, people being threatened or forced out, and the fear that could settle over a household. Then she asked how many had witnessed such things. According to Diane, children throughout the congregation raised their hands.

Her brother was upset. If these things were happening, why had nobody told him? For Diane, the answer was contained in the title of her book. The suffering had been present. What had been missing was an environment in which people felt safe enough to reveal it. She had spent years trying to explain that distinction to religious leaders. A congregation could be full of people who attended worship faithfully, participated in church activities and appeared to live respectable family lives, while carrying experiences that remained invisible to the people responsible for their spiritual care. Silence was not evidence that nothing was wrong. It could be evidence that nobody had made it safe to speak.

The episode was one of many that emerged during an extensive October 23, 2026, conversation with MinneapoliMedia, conducted as Domestic Violence Awareness Month approached its conclusion and one day after Diane participated in MyVote MyVoice's annual international roundtable on preventing domestic violence. At first glance, her biography reads like the record of an unusually productive lifetime. She and her late husband established a ministry. She founded a domestic violence crisis intervention organization, developed a round-the-clock childcare program, pursued theological education, served as a police chaplain, wrote a book, and created platforms through which people could discuss hardship, grief and recovery. But the biography alone does not explain what compelled her to undertake those responsibilities, how she navigated opposition, or what the work cost her.

Nor does it explain the relationship between the young girl who learned to care for others in New Orleans and the woman who would eventually challenge Minnesota religious communities to confront suffering within their own congregations. To understand that journey, it is necessary to return to a household in Louisiana, a young man named Rufus, and a marriage that began long before either partner could have anticipated the life they would build together.

The Oldest Girl in the House

Diane was born and raised in New Orleans. She remembers a childhood shaped by family responsibilities, particularly those assigned to her as the oldest daughter. Her mother worked, and there were younger children who needed care. Diane helped cook, supervise the household and perform the everyday tasks that allowed the family to function. Responsibility was not something she encountered for the first time when she became a minister or organizational founder. It had been part of her understanding of family life since childhood. There was no institutional recognition attached to that work. No certificate acknowledged the meals prepared, the children supervised or the household duties completed. They were simply things that needed to be done. Years later, when she began encountering women who needed childcare, transportation, housing or emergency assistance, Diane would again approach human problems in practical terms.

People needed help, and someone had to determine how that help could be provided. Her childhood also introduced her to the young man who would become her closest companion for nearly half a century. She met Rufus E. Thibodeaux in ninth grade. They enjoyed one another's company and developed a relationship that continued through adolescence. Their attachment was personal and affectionate, built around the pleasure of being together rather than any elaborate understanding of what marriage would eventually demand. Then Diane became pregnant. They were teenagers, still attending school, and their circumstances were hardly ideal for beginning a family. Rufus wanted to marry her. Diane recalled that other people doubted the relationship would survive. The couple was too young, had too little money and faced too many responsibilities.

But a track coach who supported Rufus helped persuade the families to accept the marriage and worked to secure his continued education. On June 8, 1968, Diane and Rufus married. She was 15. He was 16. Their lives had changed before either had finished growing up. In the interview, Diane remembered their early years without pretending that youthful love had removed the difficulties they faced. Money was scarce. They were learning how to be parents while still discovering who they were as individuals. They had to make decisions for which neither possessed much experience. Yet the relationship endured. What stands out in her recollections is not a claim that they always knew what they were doing. It is that they wanted to remain together. Rufus was her friend, the person whose company she enjoyed, and the partner with whom she expected to face the future. They did not have a sophisticated theory of marriage. They had a commitment that gradually became a way of life.

Dillard University and the Road to Minnesota

Rufus attended Dillard University in New Orleans on a track scholarship. Diane remembered the financial importance of that opportunity. The scholarship made it possible for him to pursue higher education while the young couple supported their growing family. He completed an undergraduate degree in accounting. Near the end of his college years, however, he experienced a serious health crisis. Diane recalled that his academic work had been completed, but the illness introduced uncertainty into their plans. They had to consider what recovery would mean for employment, family responsibilities and the future they had been trying to establish. The circumstances were frightening for a couple who had already confronted the challenges of marriage and parenthood at an unusually young age. A professional opportunity eventually brought Rufus to Honeywell in Minnesota.

The family left New Orleans for a state Diane knew almost nothing about. Rufus had heard of the Minnesota Vikings. Diane remembered having little familiarity with the place or its winters. They arrived not as established community leaders, but as a young family seeking stability. Diane credited a supervisor at Honeywell with encouraging Rufus as he recovered his confidence and developed his career. That support mattered because their transition involved more than geography. They were beginning again in unfamiliar surroundings after a difficult period. Rufus later entered military service for a period before returning to civilian employment. Over time, the couple became more deeply involved in the Christian faith. A sister of Rufus, who had embraced Christianity, encouraged them to reconsider their spiritual lives. Diane remembered the unfamiliar language of salvation and the gradual development of a religious commitment that would eventually become central to their marriage.

In 1982, they incorporated Holding Forth the Word of Life Ministries, now operating as Family Life Centre. The organization became the foundation of their shared ministry. But Diane's particular calling was still taking shape. She felt drawn toward women who were hurting. Initially, she believed that might mean organizing a Bible study, praying with women or becoming more involved in existing church activities. She tried to fit the calling into familiar religious structures. The feeling persisted. She eventually concluded that the work she was being asked to do extended beyond the congregation. She wanted to reach women in the wider community as well. That decision would lead her into a problem she had not previously understood and into a confrontation with religious attitudes she had once assumed would support her.

The Discovery That Changed Her Ministry

Diane began speaking with people who understood the needs of women in crisis. She recalled discussing her ideas with Alice Lynch and being connected with others who could help her understand available community resources. Among the people she encountered were individuals associated with domestic violence shelters. They described women living with threats, intimidation and physical abuse. Diane was surprised. She had not understood how widespread those experiences could be or how difficult it might be for women to obtain assistance. She was especially troubled to learn that some churches resisted outside intervention, even when women within their congregations were experiencing violence. Her initial response was confident. She believed that her position as the wife of a pastor might allow her to enter religious spaces that were closed to other advocates.

If shelter workers could not reach women in the churches, perhaps she could help create a connection. She would soon learn that the barriers were more deeply rooted than she imagined. Some religious leaders regarded domestic violence as a private matter between husband and wife. Others emphasized biblical teachings about obedience and submission in ways that placed responsibility for marital conflict on women. Diane recalled being told that her husband needed to bring her under control. The implication was that she had exceeded the proper boundaries of her role. Her efforts to address violence were themselves treated as a disruption. Rufus initially worried about the conflict. The couple was relatively new to ministry, and challenging established religious leaders carried consequences. Diane nevertheless believed that she had encountered a genuine need.

She asked Rufus to give her one year. If the work proved unnecessary, they could reconsider. But she wanted the opportunity to try. In 1985, she incorporated Oasis of Love Crisis Intervention Program. She began with extremely limited resources. There was no substantial budget, no large professional staff and no established institutional infrastructure capable of meeting every need. Diane recalled working with one volunteer. People began arriving through word of mouth. According to her account, more than 200 people sought assistance during the first year. They included women and men. Some needed help finding safety. Others needed information about services, counseling or practical assistance. The demand challenged the assumption that domestic violence was absent from the communities in which she was working. It also confirmed Diane's conviction that churches could not address the problem simply by encouraging people to pray harder or remain silent.

The Church and the Question of Safety

Diane did not abandon her faith when she began challenging religious responses to domestic violence. She believed that her faith required the challenge. That distinction is essential to understanding her work. She was not arguing that churches should cease supporting marriage or that religious teachings had no relevance to family life. She was insisting that the preservation of marriage could not take precedence over a person's safety. During the interview, she described encountering arguments that women should be more obedient, more patient or more willing to accommodate their husbands' anger. She rejected the idea that an abused woman was responsible for preventing a man's violence. In Diane's understanding, marriage involved obligations on both sides. She believed that religious teachings about submission could not reasonably be used to excuse coercion, intimidation or physical harm.

Her position created tension because it challenged the authority of people who were accustomed to interpreting family problems through established religious expectations. She was asking them to recognize that their own congregations might contain victims of abuse. She was also asking them to accept that spiritual counseling alone might not be sufficient. A woman facing immediate danger might need shelter. A parent might need childcare. A family might need legal assistance, housing, transportation or professional counseling. An abusive partner might need to be held accountable. These were not problems that could necessarily be resolved by encouraging a couple to remain together. Diane developed Oasis as a bridge between faith communities and organizations equipped to provide services. She sought to connect people with shelters and other resources.

When agencies had information that could help church members, she brought that information into religious settings. When someone needed assistance beyond what a congregation could provide, she tried to connect that person with an appropriate organization. Her work did not require every church to become a shelter or every pastor to become a domestic violence specialist. It required religious leaders to recognize the limits of their own expertise and the importance of connecting people with qualified help. The distinction remains significant. Faith can be an important source of comfort, identity and community support for survivors. But religious authority can also increase danger when it is used to pressure someone to remain in an abusive relationship, conceal violence or accept responsibility for another person's harmful behavior. Diane's work occupied that difficult intersection. She sought to preserve the strengths of religious communities while challenging practices that could leave people unprotected.

Listening for the Cry

The title of Diane's book, Abuse: The Hidden Cry, captures the central problem she encountered. The cry is hidden not because suffering is necessarily rare, but because people may have powerful reasons not to disclose it. They may fear retaliation. They may worry that nobody will believe them. They may depend financially on the person harming them. They may be concerned about their children, their housing or their standing within a community. They may have been taught that discussing family violence outside the home is disloyal. Within religious communities, they may also fear that seeking protection will be interpreted as a failure of faith. Diane wanted congregations to understand those barriers. Her experience at her brother's church illustrated the consequences of overlooking them. When the children raised their hands in response to her questions about violence in the home, the pastor was confronted with information that had not previously reached him.

Diane understood the moment differently. The children had not necessarily been waiting for an opportunity to accuse anyone. They had been given a way to identify experiences that adults around them had not openly acknowledged. For Diane, the lesson was that people needed safe opportunities to speak. She encouraged religious leaders to establish confidential points of contact for people experiencing crises. Even one appropriately trained, trustworthy person who could receive a request for help and connect someone with qualified services could make a difference. The idea was practical and modest. It recognized that people frequently approach familiar institutions before seeking help elsewhere. A church might be the first place someone turns. The question is whether the person receiving that disclosure knows how to respond safely.

The answer cannot simply be to promise prayer and send someone home. It must include listening, assessing immediate needs, respecting confidentiality and recognizing when specialized assistance is necessary. Diane's experience also taught her that violence affects more than the person directly targeted. Children may witness abuse or live with its consequences. Relatives may become involved in efforts to protect someone. Financial insecurity can spread through a household. The effects can continue long after an immediate incident has ended. The hidden cry, in other words, may come from several people within the same family.

When Leaving Requires Somewhere for the Children to Go

By the mid-1990s, Diane had encountered a recurring obstacle. Women who wanted to leave abusive relationships often lacked the practical resources necessary to establish safety and independence. Some were threatened with the loss of housing. Others faced financial control or threats involving their children. A woman might decide that she could no longer remain in a dangerous relationship and still have no reliable place for her children while she worked, attended school or sought assistance. The decision to leave did not automatically produce the means to do so. Diane described women whose partners used financial dependence as a means of control. A threat to withdraw money or force someone from a home could make an already dangerous situation more difficult. Even when shelter was available, parents still needed to maintain employment, pursue education and care for their children.

Diane began considering how Oasis could address that gap. Her initial idea was small. She wanted to offer childcare for women who needed time to attend appointments, work, study or make arrangements for their families. She did not expect the program to become a major operation. But the need extended beyond the families she initially intended to serve. In 1996, she founded Agape Child Development Center. The program offered childcare 24 hours a day, seven days a week. According to the biography Diane supplied, Agape was subsequently registered with the state in 2001. The timing coincided with significant changes in public assistance policy. Federal welfare reform in 1996 increased pressure on recipients to move toward employment and imposed new limits on assistance. Minnesota's implementation of welfare-to-work policies created practical challenges for parents who needed childcare while attending school, searching for employment or working outside conventional business hours.

Diane encountered families caught between those expectations and the realities of available childcare. Some parents worked evenings or overnight shifts. Others needed weekend care. Some faced the frightening choice of leaving children without appropriate supervision or losing employment that was essential to their family's survival. Agape offered an alternative. Diane recalled the center filling quickly. She described expanding to two locations within approximately a month as demand increased. Contemporary reporting supports the broader significance of the model. In October 1997, The Christian Science Monitor reported on Agape's overnight childcare services and their importance to mothers moving from welfare into employment. Eight years later, Minnesota Parent documented Agape operating at two Minneapolis locations and described the scarcity of licensed childcare providers offering care around the clock.

Those accounts establish that Agape was responding to a genuine and documented gap in the childcare system. Its significance went beyond unusual operating hours. Diane had recognized that childcare could be part of a family's pathway toward safety and stability. A parent who could work had a better opportunity to maintain income. A parent who could attend school could pursue education or training. A survivor who could arrange dependable care for children had more options when navigating housing, legal matters or other services. Childcare did not eliminate the danger posed by an abusive partner. Nor did it solve poverty. But it addressed a barrier that could otherwise make recovery and independence more difficult. The center grew from the same philosophy that had shaped Oasis. Identify the practical obstacle. Find a way to respond. And recognize that people cannot always act on good advice unless they have the resources needed to follow it.

Building Beyond the Immediate Crisis

Oasis did not remain limited to its earliest work connecting people with emergency assistance. Diane's organizational history describes the development of programming addressing abusive behavior, youth violence prevention, transitional housing, grief, family support and other needs. The expansion reflected a growing understanding of the ways violence can affect families over time. Immediate protection is essential. But the consequences of abuse do not necessarily end when someone reaches safety. Children may require support after witnessing violence. Survivors may need help rebuilding financial independence. Families may need access to counseling, housing or educational resources. Communities also need prevention strategies that address harmful attitudes and behaviors before violence occurs. Diane described organizing separate discussions with women, men and teenagers. She wanted to understand the different experiences people brought into relationships and the assumptions that shaped their conduct.

Her work with men included attention to accountability and the need to develop healthier ways of responding to conflict. She also recognized that men could experience abuse themselves. That recognition did not diminish the importance of addressing violence against women. It reflected her experience that family violence could involve different victims and different circumstances. Effective responses require careful distinctions. A person experiencing abuse needs safety, support and the freedom to make informed decisions. A person using violence must be held responsible for that behavior. Programs addressing abusive conduct must not shift responsibility onto victims or treat reconciliation as more important than protection. Diane's broader prevention work sought to address the attitudes that allow violence to continue. Rufus became part of that effort. She recalled him speaking with men about the responsibilities of marriage and challenging narrow ideas about masculinity.

He used the image of a man possessing both steel and velvet. Strength, in that understanding, did not require harshness. Gentleness did not mean weakness. A man could contribute to household responsibilities, express affection and treat his partner respectfully without surrendering his dignity. Diane remembered Rufus using ordinary examples, including washing dishes, to challenge men who considered domestic work beneath them. The point was not the dishes themselves. It was the assumption that authority within a household depended on dominance. For Diane and Rufus, the way people treated one another at home mattered as much as the values they proclaimed publicly. Their marriage had begun in adolescence, under difficult circumstances. Over the years, they had developed a partnership that became central to their ministry. That partnership also gave Diane a personal perspective from which to challenge religious teachings that excused intimidation or violence.

The Education of a Community Advocate

While building institutions and raising a family, Diane continued her formal education. Her biography lists an undergraduate degree from San Antonio Theological Seminary in 1987, a Bachelor of Theology in Counseling and Pastoral Care in 1990, a Master of Theology from Minnesota Graduate School of Theology in 1993, and a doctorate in Child Development, Domestic Abuse, and Pastoral Care and Counseling in 1994. She also reports having served as a Hennepin County police chaplain from 1988 to 2006. Her involvement with the Stairstep Foundation Reclamation Project placed her within a network of religious and community leaders. Those roles expanded her opportunities to encounter people dealing with personal and institutional crises. Yet Diane was clear that formal education could not replace what she learned through direct service.

The people who came to Oasis did not arrive as abstract examples of problems discussed in textbooks. They came with immediate needs. Someone might require shelter. Another person might need childcare. A parent might need help understanding available resources. A family might be dealing with trauma that affected several generations. Diane learned to begin with the circumstances in front of her. She also learned that professional knowledge and institutional access were only useful when they could be translated into assistance that people could actually obtain. Her experience within religious networks reinforced that lesson. Even among organizations dedicated to community improvement, she encountered reluctance to discuss domestic violence. She recalled that during many years of involvement with the Stairstep Foundation, she was invited to address the subject only once.

The experience frustrated her. It suggested that the barriers she had encountered during the early years of Oasis had not disappeared simply because domestic violence had become a more widely recognized public issue. The willingness to acknowledge a problem in general terms did not always translate into a willingness to confront it within one's own institution. Diane continued to challenge that distinction.

What the Biography Could Not Show

For much of the interview, Diane spoke about the needs of other people. She described women seeking safety, families needing childcare, religious leaders resisting uncomfortable conversations and men learning to reconsider their behavior. Then the conversation turned toward her own life. What had the work cost her? The question produced one of the interview's most revealing responses. Diane spoke about her sons. Rufus Jr. and Christopher had grown up while their parents were building ministries and organizations. By the time some of the institutional work expanded, they were approaching adulthood or attending college. Diane remembered trying to remain present for important family occasions. But she also remembered the demands on her time. There were people who needed help, programs that required attention and responsibilities that could not easily be postponed.

Looking back, she wished she had spent more time with her children. She did not describe the work as a mistake. Nor did she suggest that the families she served had been undeserving of her attention. She simply acknowledged that the time devoted to one responsibility could not always be recovered elsewhere. The admission matters because public accounts of community leadership often emphasize sacrifice without examining what sacrifice actually means. A founder's biography may list the institutions established, the programs developed and the people served. It rarely records the ordinary family moments that were missed. Those moments are difficult to quantify. They may not involve a single dramatic event. Sometimes the cost of service is the accumulation of absences that become clearer only after many years have passed.

Diane's reflection complicates the image of the endlessly capable leader who manages every responsibility without consequence. She was a minister, advocate, student, wife and mother. She had the same limited hours available to anyone else. Her calling did not exempt her from the difficult choices created by those limits. She believed that helping families was part of the purpose of her life. Yet she could still wish that she had been more available to her own children. Both things could be true. That honesty is essential to understanding the woman behind the public accomplishments. It also gives added meaning to what happened in the next generation.

The Family That Continued the Work

Diane and Rufus did not build institutions that depended permanently on their direct leadership. Over time, their sons became involved in ministry. Diane recalled that Rufus ordained both sons before his death. The gesture carried deep personal significance. A father who had spent decades building a ministry was able to recognize his sons' spiritual responsibilities before the end of his life. Christopher and his wife, Jori Thibodeaux, subsequently assumed leadership responsibilities connected to the church and the family's community institutions. Jori, Diane's daughter-in-law, became a central figure in carrying forward the work associated with Oasis and Agape. In November 2024, the Minnesota Spokesman-Recorder documented Agape Oasis under Jori's leadership as president and chief executive officer. The report described an organization continuing to work with families through childcare, education, violence prevention and other support services.

The transition deserves attention not simply because an organization acquired a new leader. It represents a generational passage within the family that helped create the institution. Diane and Rufus began their ministry in 1982. Diane established Oasis in 1985 and Agape in 1996. Decades later, Christopher and Jori were helping carry those responsibilities into another period. That continuity is particularly meaningful alongside Diane's reflections about motherhood. She remembered wishing she had spent more time with her sons during the years of institutional growth. Yet the work she and Rufus began eventually became part of the responsibilities undertaken by the next generation. The relationship between those experiences should not be simplified. It would be presumptuous to suggest that the sons' later involvement erased the sacrifices Diane remembered or that their choices can be explained entirely by their parents' example.

But the two realities belong in the same story. The institutions that demanded so much of Diane's time became part of the legacy her family continued. The work moved beyond its founders. And Diane entered a stage of life in which she could remain involved in ministry without carrying every responsibility she had once assumed.

Forty-Nine Years, and the Life That Followed

For nearly five decades, Rufus was the person alongside whom Diane understood her life. They had met as teenagers, married while still in school, raised children, moved across the country, confronted financial hardship and built religious and community institutions together. Their partnership was not incidental to her public accomplishments. It was woven through them. Then Rufus developed cancer. Diane recalled that the couple had endured other illnesses and difficulties, and that they had not expected his final illness to take his life. They had sometimes imagined that neither would have to live without the other. It was an expression of how closely their lives had become connected. But the possibility they had hoped to avoid eventually became reality. Rufus died after 49 years of marriage.

Diane had to confront a future without the person who had known her since adolescence. The loss affected more than companionship. It altered her understanding of daily life, ministry and personal identity. For so many years, decisions had been made within a partnership. Now she had to determine what continuing forward would mean. Her Christian faith remained central to that process. She reflected on biblical teachings about grief and sorrow, drawing comfort from the belief that she did not have to carry the full weight of loss alone. But she did not describe healing as forgetting Rufus. His place in her life remained. She learned instead to understand grief as something that could be carried into a changed future. That experience informed Queens Overcoming by the Grace of God, her support ministry for women navigating grief.

She knew that loss could alter a person's sense of identity and possibility. She also came to believe that the end of one chapter did not necessarily mean the end of love. A friend encouraged her not to close her heart. At first, Diane did not know how to interpret the advice. She had spent almost her entire adult life in one marriage. The idea of another relationship seemed unfamiliar. Over time, however, she became open to the possibility that companionship might return. She met John W. Ashby. They married in the fall of 2020. Diane spoke about that transition with an awareness that the new relationship did not erase the old one. Rufus remained part of her history and emotional life. John belonged to a different chapter.

She did not need to pretend that one relationship replaced the other. She could honor what had been while making room for what was now possible. She was also clear about the kind of life she did not want to recreate. After decades of pastoral responsibilities, she did not want another marriage defined by the same institutional demands. Her ministry had changed. Through DDT Ministries, established in 2019, she continued to preach, teach, conduct seminars and participate in conferences. But she did so from a different position. The daily responsibilities of the institutions she and Rufus had built were increasingly in other hands. Diane was still active. She was simply learning that service could take another form.

Against All Odds

Diane's work has also included efforts to help people tell their own stories. Through Against All Odds Productions, she created a cable television platform featuring individuals who had encountered serious challenges and found ways to move forward. The idea reflected her longstanding belief that personal experience could become a source of encouragement and practical knowledge for others. People who had endured hardship could explain what helped them survive. Their accounts might provide hope to someone facing a similar situation. But Diane's interest extended beyond stories of individual recovery. She was particularly drawn to people who used what they had learned to serve their communities. Overcoming an obstacle was meaningful. Helping someone else overcome one could extend that meaning. Her association with Beyond Walls Gospel Radio since 2019 provided another setting for ministry and communication.

Her book, television work, radio involvement and community programs share a common concern: the importance of allowing people to speak about experiences that might otherwise remain concealed. That concern also shaped the conclusion of her interview with MinneapoliMedia. As part of THE POWER OF HER tradition, Diane was asked to recommend another person whose story deserved to be shared, elevated and celebrated. She thought of a woman named Joyce. According to Diane, Joyce had experienced abuse while married to a pastor and later developed work using drama to help children address trauma. Diane described the challenges Joyce had encountered, including resistance from religious leaders who were reluctant to confront the conduct of a fellow pastor. She admired the way Joyce had transformed personal experience into work intended to help others. The recommendation was not simply a referral for another interview. It illustrated the principle Diane wanted to leave behind. The value of surviving hardship could extend beyond the survivor. Experience could become knowledge. Knowledge could become service. And service could create possibilities for people whose stories had not yet been heard.

The Question October Cannot Answer Alone

October is Domestic Violence Awareness Month. It is a period in which advocates, survivors, institutions and communities draw attention to intimate partner abuse, honor those whose lives have been affected and consider ways to prevent further harm. On October 22, 2026, MyVote MyVoice convened its annual International Domestic Violence Awareness Month Roundtable. The theme was Before Violence Begins: Teaching Respect, Building Healthy Relationships and Choosing Non-Violence. Diane participated in the discussion, bringing the perspective of someone whose work in the field reaches back more than forty years. The following evening, she sat down with MinneapoliMedia to reflect on that history. The timing was significant. Her early work began during a period when many survivors encountered serious obstacles to obtaining help and when some religious leaders resisted acknowledging abuse within their congregations.

Today, domestic violence is a recognized public safety, health and social concern. There are specialized advocacy organizations, legal protections, educational initiatives and public awareness campaigns. Yet the existence of those resources has not eliminated violence. Nor has greater public discussion ensured that every survivor can safely obtain assistance. Diane was asked to consider what had changed since the 1980s and where communities continued to fall short. She did not offer a simple answer. She expressed concern about violence among young people, the difficulty of teaching respect and the continuing gap between knowing what is right and acting accordingly. Her response was shaped by religious conviction. She believed that communities needed stronger moral foundations, greater respect for human life and a renewed commitment to teaching people how to value one another.

Those beliefs form part of her understanding of prevention. But her own institutional history also demonstrates that values must be accompanied by practical resources. A woman cannot always leave a dangerous home simply because someone tells her she deserves safety. A parent may need childcare. A family may need housing. A survivor may require legal protection or financial assistance. A person using violence must be held accountable. Children exposed to abuse may need specialized support. The challenge is not only persuading people that violence is wrong. It is creating conditions in which people can obtain protection, make informed choices and rebuild their lives. Diane has spent decades working at that intersection. Her experience suggests that awareness is necessary but insufficient. The work continues after the public campaign ends.

It continues when a church receives a call from someone in danger. It continues when a parent cannot find childcare. It continues when a child reveals what is happening at home. And it continues when a community must decide whether it is willing to confront conduct that powerful or respected people would prefer to keep hidden.

The Roadmap to Healing

Near the end of the interview, Diane was asked what she hoped to leave behind. The question invited her to reflect on a lifetime of accomplishments. She could have spoken about the ministry established with Rufus. She could have named Oasis, Agape, her educational achievements, her chaplaincy, her book or the programs that continued under the leadership of her family. Instead, she spoke about a roadmap to healing. She wanted people to find a path they could follow. She imagined leaving signs along that path, small indications of what might help someone move from suffering toward recovery. The idea was modest in one sense. She did not claim that she could solve every problem. She knew from experience that human lives were too complicated for that.

But the idea was expansive in another. If one person received help and then helped someone else, the effects could extend beyond the original act of service. The work could multiply through relationships, shared knowledge and the willingness of people to respond when others were hurting. It was the same principle that had shaped her earliest work. She had not begun with a large institution. She had begun with a conviction that women in pain needed assistance. She had listened to people who understood domestic violence and discovered needs she had not previously recognized. She had challenged religious leaders who preferred silence. She had connected families with shelters and other resources. She had established childcare because she understood that safety and economic independence were connected.

She had pursued education while learning from the people who came to her for help. She had built institutions while carrying responsibilities at home. And she had eventually confronted the personal cost of those choices. The roadmap she now hopes to leave is not a claim that her life provides a perfect example. It is something more human. It acknowledges that people can make consequential contributions while carrying regrets. That faith can offer strength while also requiring difficult questions. That love can endure through hardship and grief. That institutions can grow beyond the people who founded them. And that healing may involve finding a new way forward without denying what has been lost. Diane's life has contained several beginnings. There was the girl in New Orleans who learned responsibility as the oldest daughter.

There was the teenager who married Rufus without knowing what adulthood would demand. There was the young mother who followed her husband to Minnesota. There was the minister who discovered suffering within religious communities and refused to remain silent. There was the founder who created practical resources for families facing violence and economic insecurity. There was the woman who wished she had spent more time with her children. There was the widow who had to learn how to live after losing the person who had accompanied her since adolescence. And there is the woman who found companionship again, continues her ministry and watches a younger generation carry forward institutions she helped establish. None of those chapters cancels the others. Together, they form the life behind the legacy.

When Diane recommended Joyce as another woman whose story deserved attention, she demonstrated that she was still thinking about the people whose experiences might help others. She wanted the spotlight to continue moving. She wanted people to recognize that important work often begins with someone who has endured hardship and decided that others should not have to face the same difficulties alone. It is an understanding of legacy rooted less in personal recognition than in what becomes possible for other people. More than forty years after establishing Oasis of Love, Diane D. Thibodeaux Ashby is still concerned with the question that first drew her toward women who were hurting. What can be done to help? The answers have changed as her life has changed. Sometimes the answer was a connection to a shelter.

Sometimes it was a conversation with a pastor. Sometimes it was childcare during the night. Sometimes it was teaching men to reconsider what strength meant. Sometimes it was giving people a place to speak. And sometimes it involved accepting that she could not carry every responsibility herself. Her institutions have entered another generation of leadership. Her personal life has entered another chapter. But the purpose she describes remains recognizable. She wants to leave a trail that others can follow. A roadmap to healing. Not because she has found every answer, but because she knows what can happen when someone finally hears a hidden cry and decides not to look away.

About THE POWER OF HER

THE POWER OF HER is MinneapoliMedia's ongoing signature series, A Spotlight on Women Building Legacy, Leadership, and Liberation in Minnesota, dedicated to recognizing, celebrating, and amplifying the voices, experiences, achievements, and lasting contributions of women across Minnesota. Through in-depth interviews and compelling personal narratives, the series explores the journeys of women who are breaking barriers, challenging conventions, creating opportunities, strengthening communities, and shaping Minnesota's present and future.

Reporting and source note

This feature draws primarily on MinneapoliMedia's October 23, 2026, interview with Dr. Diane D. Thibodeaux Ashby and the biographical information she supplied. Historical context includes reporting published by The Christian Science Monitor in 1997, Minnesota Parent in 2005, and the Minnesota Spokesman-Recorder in 2024, together with the organizational history of Agape Oasis.

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