She sits on the curb. Her feet are dirty; you wonder if her feet are ever truly clean. She is surrounded by the world. A vender is yelling about something being a "very good price..." There is a loud radio blaring the music of the land: rhythmic, mournful, and compelling. You smell smoke when a gust of wind blows. They must be burning trash this morning. Someone is always burning trash. You continue walking away from the burning trash and shouting venders. As you look further down the street your eyes are clouded by the haziness; the sunlight is trying to get through the haze. You would think it was fog or smoke, but there is neither the moistness of fog, or the choking odor of smoke. Now there is only a hint of smoke in the breeze. A moterbike whizzes past with three full grown men crammed on. Seeing the exhaust from the bike you realize the haze is smog. What you would expect - soft rays of morning sunlight are not present, rather the haze and ever present odor of exhaust, smoke, and spices. As you walk past a stand you see a man is selling round crispy pastry, boiled in oil. Than you look back at the little girl, she still sits alone, one hand grasped around a burlap bag. She has on an orange skirt with the hem coming out, it appears to have been coming out for many months now. There are stains on the hem and you can see places where the fabric is worn with only a thin layer of weaved threads remaining. Her shirt is too small, showing her skinny brown waistline. She is small and frail, yet strong and almost hardened to the world. Your mind tells you children are innocent and precious, in need of protection. This child seems hardened and strong, yet very broken. The bead work on her shirt seems almost pathetic, beautiful reds, burgundies, purples, and aquas sewn into what was once a rich orange shirt. They seem out of place on a dirty, hungry child. The touch of finery on such a desperate child makes you wonder if she had always lived this way.
Her eyes scan you. Seeming to judge and evaluate every inch of your appearance, and maybe even your heart. You look into her eyes than look away quickly. Those eyes are dark with the deep darkness that is embedded in her soul. Then something in you weeps. How long has she been this way. How long has her heart been in these chains of darkness, confusion, and sin. You want to grasp her shoulders and ask "How long have you been in these chains? Do you even know what freedom is?" you would even go so far as to hold her close, kiss her cheek an whisper "I love you," though you don't know her. But no one would know these thoughts crossed your mind. Because you glance at her as you walk a bit slower, but you don't stop. You are seemingly unmoved by this childs eyes. you walk on.............
This child's deepest need is not a new dress, a full meal, or even a happy home. Rather she needs Jesus Christ our Robe of Righteousness, Our Bread of Heaven, Our loving Heavenly Father.
As you walk on down the street, your busy life ahead, your To Do list in your pocket along with your ticket for your comfortable bubble of a home, it hits you - the WORLD is full of people with the same basic need as this nameless child. Some hide it under smiling faces, rich clothing, rituals, pleasures, diversions, education, or money. Yet the brokenness of sin invades the heart and soul of every living person. The chains of bondage are obvious in this child’s eyes, but even the smiling eyes of your friends are covering a deeper bondage and sorrow.
And than you remember the words of Jesus Christ, the Son of the Living God: "The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he hath anointed me to preach the gospel to the poor; he hath sent me to heal the brokenhearted, to preach deliverance to the captives, and recovering of sight to the blind, to set at liberty them that are bruised,
"How shall they hear without a preacher......?"
"Pray ye therefore that the Lord of the Harvest would send forth laborers...."
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