 |
|
|
His eyes shone bright behind a sad expression. His clothes a bit tattered. His hair black, tousled with a few curls framing his face. The dust of the dirt beneath him seemed to cling to the worn shoes on his feet. His lips flat, devoid of smile. His skin was brown with the smoothness that comes from youth. Maybe he was seven, a year sandwiched between the ages of my own children. I scanned the picture again, slowly. Red athletic shorts, trimmed in white. A faded green T-shirt that housed his tiny frame. His shoes, not sneakers, but old, scuffed, leather lace up dress shoes, probably his only pair. What was it about those deep, brown, beautiful, sad eyes… childhood innocence lost, worry over the next meal, orphaned…heaviness lived there but heaviness wasn’t alone. What else was it? I recognized it, I knew it. I just had to dig through the layers of an unfair life to find it. Yes, that was it. Sitting behind the pain, I knew what was pooling in those eyes of his…hope. The hope that is God breathed, the hope that a heavenly father brings to His child in spite of his circumstances. Hope for a meal, hope for an education, hope for his family, hope for a dream. Hope for a life not yet lived, a life teeming with possibility through Christ. Hope for sponsor.
The opinions expressed by authors may not necessarily reflect the opinion of FaithWriters.com.
If you died today, are you absolutely certain that you would go to heaven? You can be right now. CLICK HERE
JOIN US at FaithWriters for Free. Grow as a Writer and Spread the Gospel.
|
|
|
