HANDS AND FEET
He is too small to understand what happened.
And too little to know that the trauma he had experienced had the potential
to change the course of his life. Forever.
He had cried too many tears already, probably alone, and now his eyes were dry,
Albeit, bloodshot and black from hits to the head.
He had been found in a public washroom, tied by his hands and feet.
Bloody, bruised, and weak.
How thankful I am that the hospital called us to take him.
How grateful I am that he was able to be placed in the arms of a caregiver that understood trauma care and was willing to open her heart for yet another child.
How relieved I am to have staff that are determined to work on prosecution of the abuser.
How thankful I am for people who believe in our program and support us,
in so many ways.
There is heartache in this ministry, this job, this mission, this calling.
Many of us have sleepless nights as we listen to the stories of the children.
Many of us cry in the shadows asking God why?
Many of us question our own motives and life stories in the light of abuse and pain.