Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: ONWARD CHRISTIAN SOLDIERS (don't write about the song) (05/14/15)
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TITLE: A Journalist's Letter | Previous Challenge Entry
By KC Lemmer
05/20/15 -
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Standing barefoot in the hot African sun, a boy of approximately sixteen years of age was gazing at the scene in devastation; his own life had been spilt out on the streets, trampled on and ruined. The expression on his face is one that I will never be able to describe adequately; it is an expression that only those who have known true pain and horror will fully grasp.
For many minutes he stood as still as the body lying at his feet, and then, with a heaviness in his movements, he bent down and gently lifted the lifeless girl. With slow steps, he made his way up the littered street, picking his way carefully through the chaos, his dark brown eyes silently absorbing the sights of a street that had been filled with colourful vendors, laughter and cars only hours before. The coup had brought more damage than freedom. And it is to my shame that I followed him, looking for a story; in part, I wish I hadn’t – but I did.
Our journey took us down many poor avenues, past crying people and those trying to restore broken remnants of the once beautiful. I noticed that never once was he careless with the girl in his arms, despite the fact that I was sure she was dead.
Eventually we reached a church building. The injured and the hurting were being helped through the double doors and others, carrying the dead or those too damaged to walk, followed. Many were leaving, first aid kits in hand, their faces set. I hung back when the boy tentatively entered with his burden. As you know Sir, I have never been much of a church goer. However, my curiosity overcame me and I decided to follow.
No one looked surprised or stopped me as I cautiously entered through the oak door frame, and no one stopped me as I stepped into the warm interior of the building. They had opened the windows, maybe due to the heat or maybe due to the smell of stale sweat and death, and so a hot wind blew through the building. The chairs had been pushed against the windows and some were seated on them being attended to. Bodies were laid out on the concrete floor, some covered in blankets. For one who has seen many things in my life, I still find death (especially in quantity) disturbing. But what struck me most was the peacefulness of those around me. Don’t get me wrong, Sir, they were definitely hurting, angry and confused by the events of the day, but these feelings didn’t consume them like one might have expected.
The boy that I had followed laid his burden down; the small weight of the girl, carried for such a distance, caused him to need to stretch out the cricks in him. From where I now stood, I realised that he was younger than I had first thought him to be. He stood listening and watching in silence before going over to some of the injured, and then he began to tend them.
Sir, I will not continue to describe the things that I saw today – I cannot, because for some reason I was affected more than I thought possible. I will say that there was death and destruction, but I saw healing and forgiveness. As it was, I found myself backing out that place, but not before someone had pressed a piece of paper into my hand. It read:
John 16:33 "These things I have spoken to you, so that in Me you may have peace. In the world you have tribulation, but take courage; I have overcome the world."
It is with regret, but strong conviction, that I write to say that any article that I send to you (and I will send one tomorrow on today’s riots) for the newspaper will not capture the passion, life and commitment of the things I saw today. What I saw in that building reminded me of soldiers on a mission; they were not like the freedom fighters or those in the uprising who physically fought. Yet they were dedicated to a cause. Please consider these words and look into sending aid ASAP.
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