Some family member arrives,
Stand up,
Pleasantries and hi’s, sit down.
She’s from out of town,
Not too far.
But originally from the south,
So far.
It’s different there,
But changing often.
Quickly we get to know each other,
Then the stories come.
Just like she did,
But this is not so pleasant.
Think back to 2007,
Probably adolescent.
Playing outside-carefree and unafraid.
But miles away at the same time
This new friend was taken.
Taken with her family,
stolen from the street,
in the light of the day—kidnapped.
The south is different.
It sounds extreme and that’s because it was.
6 months. No hope. No hope.
Captive.
Not just physically, but their souls too.
No hope.
We were playing war outside-
Carefree
And unafraid.
But she was taken and kept
until rescued.
I don’t have words,
Especially not in a language we can both understand.
As I reflect on the hope I know,
I desire for her to have it.
These are the words:
Hope is a person.
She does not know Him.
He is the hope all man desires for-
Outside, carefree, and unafraid;
Or taken, kept, and hopeless...
Both need hope.
Real hope.
How will she believe if she has never heard?
How is she to hear without someone telling?
How will they tell if they are not sent?
More with hope need to come.
I remember my need for hope.
Hope isn’t a thing.
He is Jesus.
How beautiful are the feet of those who preach good news.
How beautiful are the feet of the One who made the news good.