Tuesday, February 26, 2013

The Weeping Of A Woman

I hear the weeping of a woman, a woman of many years
Her weathered skin is more than just old age, Her tears aren't of fond memories of days gone by
Each tear holds the name of a young girl she once knew,
I see each tear falling in slow motion to her tattered gown
It tells the story of a sister, a friend, a mother who lived their lives in fear
She remembers them so vividly, the hollow eyes gazing back at her
The girl afraid for her life and the lives of her children
The sister that died too young in the face of disease
The friend cowering in the corner, trembling after being raped
The mother who was burdened with no way to put food on the table
The babies left home alone  at night because there was no one there to care for them
While their mother looked for work on the streets, in the eyes of danger and regret

You see, this woman lived a full life, filled with happiness, she had what she needed
so it was easy to forget and close her eyes to the pain around her
Yet somehow she remembers vividly the pain of those, the lack, the hopelessness
The old woman looks to her lap, where a giant leather bound book lays
the pages falling out after being turned over and over throughout the years
One final tears drops to these words, and this tear, 
This tear, it holds the name of Jesus
"For I was hungry and you gave me nothing to eat, I was thirsty, you gave me nothing to drink
I was a stranger and you did not invite me in, I needed clothes and you didn't clothe me
I was sick and in prison and you did not look after me."
Oh, these tears she weeps, these heavy breaths she breathes, she does with regret
She remembers each moment, looking into the very face of Jesus as he asked her
"Do you love me?" Assuredly, she answered, "Yes." And that was it.
She read. She spoke. She sang. But she never "did."

Now this woman looks ups from her lap and gazes into the eyes of Jesus, the empty eyes.
The empty eyes of her friend, her sister, her mother, her daughter... and the empty eyes
of the woman in the heart of her city or a woman on the crowded death laden streets
the other side of the world. That woman she never helped. That woman that bore the
eyes of Jesus, whom she said she loved.
And in her ears rang these words as the tears begin the brim her eyes again.
"Whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me."
This woman could be you. This woman could be me. But I do not want her story to be mine.
Her tears to be mine at the end of my life.
The tears I cry, I want to be with the heart of God, not just for the weak and the broken,
the addicted and imprisoned, but with them.

I was asking God, how do I put myself in these womens shoes. The truth is I can't. Because I have never been there. But I can put myself in the place of the woman who ignored the cries of others...
I am down to my final three days of my suburbia to the streets project.
Together, many of you have helped me raise money to help two of these precious women
off the streets and out of prostitution. I have 3 days left to help one more.
I have raised $950. I have $50 pledged. I need $200 more to help one more girl.
Will you give up your coffee today and help me, help them?
If so, click donate below...

These are the women YOU are helping...with your donations...


Kerrie said...

beautiful Julie :)

TicoTina said...

so happy to have been a teeny tiny part of this project and so thrilled that you reached your goal and then some!

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