We drive away down the narrow road shaded by trees as her daddy and siblings fade away in the background.  She strains for a last indefinite look of the family and playground.  She begins to scream with desperate cries, “daddy…..daddy….DADDY.” Softer, with muddled sounds of submission, “I want my daddy.  Why can’t I have my daddy?”

            The radio begins to play a song, “He will carry you.” I lament for her, “Can you hear her?” I pray to the Father of mercy on her behalf.  I look back; she finally relaxes under the seat belt staring out the window.  She is gone for a while, back at the playground with her siblings and daddy.  For a few minutes, I imagine myself back there, too.

            The pain and confusion are unspeakable.  She longs for morsels of hope to stave off the fear.  She is poor, homeless, and helpless.  Who will rescue this one?  Is there a hero for the neglected and abused, a champion for these children?  No money can cover her pain or compensate the responsibility of shouldering the burden.  I dream of a culture that would make these little ones a priority as they are lost in legislative sessions and philosophical tanks.

            I have considered taking up cursing or some other vice to ventilate the anger over social injustice.  Yet what am I but a speck of dust in the land of self indulgence and comforts.  Our greatest war, thus our greatest enemy, is against the forces of personal and familial injustice (social forces of darkness). The human heart cannot be court ordered to change but must be acted upon by an outside force of convincing power.

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