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It trickled down, down into her very being. It ate away at her insides, her very self-esteem was being chipped away by the stinging words that seemed to flow so smoothly from his heart so callous. Yet, so many time he echoed that he loved her. So many times the bruises followed after. As soon as she would beckon herself to find shelter elsewhere, the words "I love you" would singe her heart, burn her from the depths of her being. She wanted that, to be loved, to be held, to be accepted. So, she stayed. Day after day, until they found her dangling from twelve feet of television cord. The world forgot her. We forgot her.
Racing from his assailants as he always did, would always find him back into the cradle of metal bars, but only for an hour or two, until the orphanage came to steal him away. Then, just like clockwork, he would run. He didn't know what he was running from, or for, but he knew he was trying to find something that none could seem to give. And that night he decided to run, it started to rain and hard. As he ran across the cracked black pavement, he slipped and met face to face with an 18-wheeler that tried so hard to stop in time. But, time got lost somewhere in between his broken heart and that broken pavement.
There was a small crack in the glass, just enough so he could reach through and unlock the door without setting off the alarm. Once he got in, he could finally grab some food for his family. They had been starving for 3 days now, almost to the point of brittle bones and a skeleton physique. He had to get them food, or he would not be the man that society says he is. They would die, and he would live, and he would feel awful for not caring for those he loves. He perused the aisles of toys for his young boy and as he reached for the black cap gun, a shot was heard in the back ground and then the poor man fell face first to the ground as a bullet was shot from the local on-duty police officer who had been trailing this impoverished family for days.
Trails, drops, storms; lives of those who we simply toss up a prayer and walk on by go unnoticed by the eyes of those who call themselves believers. We are called to hold the hand of the oppressed, to embrace the fatherless, and hear the widow. Drop after drop, day by day, they go into a place never to return and it is because we choose to let the rain of fear plummet us to a slow spiritual death that we never notice, and yet, time after time, Jesus beckons us to care for the poor. Are we? Or are we letting unnecessary storms rage?? It's your move.
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