My heart pounds inside my chest, sending extra blood to my furious legs, racing through unfamiliar streets of dirt and grime. I think my body must be redirecting its blood flow to give speed to my escape because my head is so light with fear as cold sweat continues to dampen the back of my neck. They’re going to kill me, and I don’t want to die! Fear and despair combine their dark forces in my soul as I seek to wipe the blur of endless tears from my line of vision. Yet, I have no idea where I’m running.
“Please, God, just let it be away from those who tortured me
and burned me.”
I’m fooling myself.
There is no escape. I only
succeeded in enraging them more by tearing off into the night. Just as plainly as I ran out, so did
hope. I’m alone, hated without a cause,
despised, spit upon, slapped, punched, kicked, raped, burned, and yet kept
barely alive for them to continue another day.
Oh, how I wish for eternity that another day would never come! Oh, how foolish I am to wish anything!
I’m tired. I’ve been
running as if the devil himself was grasping at my heels every step of the
way. And I’m drained. The breaths of my sobs have left my lungs
almost as desperate as I am. Water for
my tears has gone arid. Fresh wounds
trickle warm blood down my face and thighs.
“What’s the use?” I whisper to myself, “If they’re going to
kill me, would it just be better to take my own life?”
I’ve never thought a thought like that before. Would anyone care? Would anyone notice? Would anyone even…
Just then, I noticed I’m not alone. Someone had seen me running, or rather,
falling forward, sobbing. I give
up. If this is God’s will for me, so be
it. I’m too tired to fight. I just hope I lose consciousness, quickly, so
as not to cringe in pain. I grow faint,
collapsing among the gravel stones, then do faint.
As it happened, that “someone,” who had seen me running, was
like my guardian angel; a ministry worker who already saw more cruelty and
death up close than the average civilian on the edge of a war zone; a ministry
worker overflowing with the love of Christ, endangering her own life, because
she sought the welfare of another, me;
one who, with joy, uttered loud thanks to God because this child escaped
Hours later, I awaken to odd sensations; I am clean, I am
warm, and I am on something soft. My
wounds are freshly bandaged. I am
wrapped in warm softness. I slowly draw
a full breath of clean air, and sigh. My
‘guardian angel’ smiles at me signaling the rest of my life’s journey will be
different. Someone cares.
Want to help make the most impact in a situation
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care? Wellspring International does.