Today my heart broke . . .

for the 10 year old boy whose widowed and slummed mother beat him almost to death,

because she had no more capacity for the stress of her life.

And my heart was quietly grateful . . .

for the neighbor, also a slum dweller, who took him in to nurse his wounds and let him stay the night,

sharing her nothing, while the police arrested his mother.

Today my heart broke . . .

as I drove through Kibera, distracted by graffiti and garbage, and the grime of the harshest living,

compelled to give a drop in the ocean of deep poverty.

And my heart was quietly grateful . . .

as one six year old knelt in front of another, whose body convulsed with cerebral palsy,

and helped him drink a cup of cool water after his mid-day meal,

half of which was all over his clothes, the spoon taking mind of its own at the end of his uncontrollable arm.

Today my heart broke . . .

as I became so blatantly aware of the distance that separates us

that I will never know with every cell of my being what it means to struggle to survive.

And my heart was quietly grateful . . .

that some times, somehow love prevails even in the darkest places.

Today my heart broke . . .

that I am too small, too concerned with me

to be the hands and feet of Christ.

And my heart was quietly grateful . . .

that perhaps crying His tears is the first step in what He’s asking of me.