Re-post from last year:
As you know, I hope by now, that I write about child abuse on
Tuesdays in support of Teddy's Law. I am wavering on how to write today.
The Christmas song from the British and Irish rock bands of 1984 plays
in my mind. I watch it and read the lyrics on You tube. I think how does
this all fit in?
When those images of the Ethiopian children with
their huge bellies from starvation first came on the nightly news, yes,
we were in the midst of celebrating Christmas in Connecticut. Our loft
apartment in an old textile factory screamed "yuppie" all over it, or as
we later came to be know as D.I.N.K's- "double income, no kids." A
somewhat, but not completely self centered time in our lives was that
We had our two cats we bought in New Hampshire.
They were in a sense our children. The male, Arthur, a fluffy sweet
Himalayan developed those bladder stones that had killed my first
Siamese, Ho Chi. I made better money than an unemployed dad did twelve
years earlier. We could save Arthur. Then those pictures of those kids
blasted on the TV. Yes, it was their government's fault. Whatever food
we sent would sit on the docks because the their government wouldn't
distribute it, yet, my heart went out to those kids. But I had a sick
cat at home that I could pay two hundred dollars for the operation to
save him. How could I let a creature in my care suffer because I felt
guilty about starving children across the ocean? Actually, if my money
would have helped, I could do both.
I prayed about this, wracked with guilt. Guidepost magazine,
that month, ran a story about a cat, a Siamese cat, that a woman prayed
to be healed. The point was God cares for our pets, as well. This was
well before all this modern obsession with our pets. I took care of
Arthur. We had the surgery and changed his diet to the sophisticated cat
science food. I still feed our cats this diet.
Sunday, in church,
a man spoke of Indonesia. There is a different kind of starvation going
on. Peace. They don't know Jesus. They are slaves to religion, but have
no peace. They have no hope. They have not the Bread of Life. "Feed the
World" played in my mind, again. I heard it this morning on the radio. I
thought of how my husband would comment when this song first came out,
"No, they're Muslim," in answer to the question, "Do they know it's
Christmas time again?"
We can't feed the world. Just as in 1984,
often times the food would sit rotting on the docks unable to reach the
children, our efforts thwarted. We have to find the key to reach the
ones we can. And we need to give them more than physical food. We need
to reach one.
So what does this have to do with child abuse
awareness? Governments, religions, world systems abuse the children.
This man from Indonesia showed a picture of a girl, one of sixty
children of a father's many wives, who gave her life to Jesus. She
changed and the father knew he couldn't trade her like property anymore.
That is just one life out of millions. It is mind boggling. How can we
help? We try with one child. We try to reach one person.
challenge at church this Sunday: Think of one person here who needs to
know Christ, that you can reach this Christmas season. Pray for that
person. Then pray for one Indonesian to have that divine appointment
with a Christian to meet Jesus. The trickle of one life at a time
changes the world. The president of the country told this man that the
future leaders of Indonesia will some day all be from this school
because lives are changed there.
But don't forget after Christmas
about feeding the world. They may not know it's Christmas time, but if
we introduce them to the One of Christmas, they will have more than the
water of their bitter sting of tears. And don't just thank God it's
them, instead of you. Jesus told his disciples against all odds, "You
feed them." He will take the little and make it great.