Sunday, March 4, 2012

There Are Not Words

Please find a way to help. Donate. Pray.

That truck on it's side was one of the only indications that a home used to be near it's place.

That big object in the tree is a tool shed.

Everywhere there are roads like this one, which no longer lead to a home and instead lead to a pile of rubble where one might find a group of weary, shell-shocked people working hard to salvage what is left of their belongings.

This is where souls groan. This is where people need to see His hands and feet. This is where only a greater one, the Greatest One, can sustain both the grieving and those serving them.

I have often shuddered at blessed are the poor because I am not poor, and at blessed are the weary because I am not weary. But this is where I learn that to be blessed, I must join side-by-side with the poor and weary until I become one with them, until I am truly sharing their burdens. It is here that my soul learns to groan, that my heart learns to trust, and that I learn what it takes to sacrifice until I too will inherit the Kingdom of God.

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