They are from all over, from Africa to your back yard. They have names I can’t pronounce and names like John, and Steven and Mary and Joe. They are white, and black and yellow and brown.
And they don’t stand a chance.
Invisible to most, yet alive to such pain. They feel, and cry and get hungry and hurt.
They want to be touched, and hugged, and told that they are loved. They starve for a smile. But many of us don’t see them–invisible to most.
They want to laugh and run and jump and feel the sun. But they are kept in cages of hatred and misunderstanding. Invisible to most.
Of immeasurable value.
Of infinite worth.
Yet invisible to most.
Oh, Lord, open my eyes. I don’t want to look away.
Use my hands, and my heart, and my voice and my strength.
Handwoven by the Creator.
Works of art.
Counting One Thousand Gifts with Ann
#21 Resources to help
#20 a Heart that feels