Friday, November 16, 2012

She stumbled down the hill, looking weak and desperate. Her body so thin and feeble that she was barely able to walk. She was starving, looking for anyway to get food for her and her family of twelve, so that they didn't end up eating dirt again to ease the pain in their stomachs. Then she saw it, the mispero tree.

At the exact same moment that thirteen year old Rosa was considering taking some of the small rotten fruits, my mom and I came around the corner and spotted her. We had been out walking and talking. We saw her from a distance and immediately I knew that God had put her on our path for a reason.

She looked at us, scared to death.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

She nervously looked down to the ground. "Do you think that I could take some of these?" she asked pointed to the rotting fruit.

"Do you need help? Can I get you some food?" She looked up and me, and I could see the pain and the fear in her eyes, and the dirt around her mouth like she had just been eating it.

We ran back to the house grabbing all of the food and the clothes we could find hoping that she would be there when we went back.

We brought her everything that we had, and she looked at us, emotionless, like her life had been so hard that she was now numb to the world.


My heart breaks thinking of Rosa, wondering where she is and if she's ok. I can't help but think of how that could have been me. I could have been the thirteen year old girl barely surviving, fighting for life and trying to find food.

Precious Father, 
Help us not to forget. Help us to remember how blessed we are, and help us to not forget about those who aren't so blessed. I don't understand why its like this, but don't let us be so wrapped up in the questions and the overwhelming number of stories like us, instead let us do something about it. 
In your holy name I pray. Amen



1 comment:

  1. So wise what you said "don't let us get so wrapped up in the questions". That can be hard to do but it's neccessary in order to act. Thank you for sharing. ((hug))

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