Many times we are so sheltered from the true face of the real world. We see it's gilded side. Our young people at times see it as inviting, seducing friend. They don't notice the pain, sorrow and wages of sin. The hurts, the pain and despair. For me ----the emptiness. The gnawing feeling that eats on my soul that is naked and uncomfortable that tells me----that I am not finding fulfillment no matter what I do. A evil chuckle from somewhere in the background announces that I never will. I am deceived into believing that only the short lived pleasures and highs of this life are the closest I will get to any fulfillment.
However there is so much hope and life in Jesus Christ, because he comes to set the captives free. He restores the Truth that we were made to be servants to God, not to languish as a slave to self. Millions are possibly a prayer or tract away from deliverance from the grasps of the wicked world if we would but make effort to spread the light of the Gospel.
For myself I am a product of prayer of others. In a sense we all are. Our parents, grandparents, a mission or church group, and even some Christian out there praying earnestly for the souls of the lost, whom we may never see in our life---these people's prayers have reached the throne of grace. The end of the world will come --it is suggested by the fact that will God find faith in the World when he comes. So let us pray.....
Here is a painful prayer request for Lance Giesbrecht's neighbors in Ukraine. It seems Eastern Europe has more than its share of sorrows in the realm of "white slavery".
JLT.
The Prayer Request:
This story below reminds us of Christina and Angela, our Ukraine neighbor girls. Christina was isolated and put to work servicing men by her mom after she was born again this summer at Bible Camp… We are praying mightily for them and for their mom.
A Excerpt from the story Cheaper Than Shoes by Elora
She glances at the man out of the corner of her eye and quickly wipes the stray tear inching down her cheek. I can’t do this anymore, she thinks. She’s just. so. tired. Her body aches. With a resigned sigh, she crosses her legs and pulls her jacket closer to her skin, protecting what’s exposed to the harsh wind coming from outside. What’s underneath would hardly count for clothing, and she silently hopes she won’t be sent to the streets this evening. Her feet still have blisters oozing from the heels she wore last night and there’s a purple bruise on her knee from where she tripped from a crack in the sidewalk. She whimpers at the memory – running from a drunk man, hearing the laughter of those around her when she fell, the whispers of slut and whore bouncing off the alley way. She closes her eyes and thinks of before this - laughing with her mom, fetching water with her sister, dreaming with her best friend.
She forgot what it was like to dream.
.......The man leaning against the wall taking in his surroundings catches her eye and smiles. He throws an obscene gesture her way and winks. Her heart sinks and she braces inwardly for him to come over.
“How much for a massage from this one?” he asks, pointing at her with a foreign glint in his eye. He is young. Successful. He holds a brochure in his hand with no words – she recognizes it as one the boys pass out at the airport.
.........The shop owner glances behind him, following the man’s gaze. Looking the girl up and down, he shrugs. “Twenty. Good price.
Closing her eyes, she breathes deep his scent as he walks up to her. She studies his shoes for awhile. Leather. Expensive. A small scratch on the right foot – almost as if he ran into a twig while running. She refuses the realization he probably paid more for his shoes than he did for a short session with her. His hand wrap around her small arm and she winces at the strength. Her pulse becomes erratic and she lifts up a silent prayer, hoping someone is listening. Oh, God. Please let this be a dream. Please let the pain end. Please?
Someone is listening, right?.........Lifeless. Forgotten. Invisible........
.........Someday, she thinks, someday someone will listen. Someone will hear, and she turns toward the window and watches the coming sun cast light against the deep black of another day.
No comments:
Post a Comment