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Lost, But a light
It's the third sunset I've watched since I wandered away from Mom at the park. I'm thirteen; how did I get so lost? My stomach growls, sitting beside a tree for the night. If I had a gun, I'd shoot somebody for a cereal bar and bottled water, but there's nobody around. Taking off my jacket, I slowly wrap my chest like a blanket. It's warmer that way. If they don't find me tomorrow, there won't be much left. I wonder if Mom will rent out my room? Suddenly, a shaft of light pierces the looming darkness. Mom yells, "Matthew!"
The Light Behind the Cross
It happens every Sunday morning. The Preacher will start to get his message rolling, and that's when I notice the light behind our cross, above the baptistry, intensifies. I don't know if it's a button he pushes or that Jesus is in the building.
I'm determined to investigate, so I volunteer for the Saturday clean-up crew. The first thing I do is grab a vacuum cleaner and head for the pulpit. I vacuum every inch of this floor, then get on my hands and knees, finding nothing!
Well, all I can say is, it must be the Lord.
My Light Fades for Freedom
Although the darkness rages outside, I see a tiny flame in the old oil lamp beside my bed. That light touches my heart with hope, but it was never meant for me. My fate was decided the moment I took my first breath. The hope I speak of is for others born after my passing. May they feel the freedom that took many lives by finding a loving spouse, then watch their children grow up strong in a world without chains, whips, or oppression. Now, my light can slowly fade away, knowing they will never feel the pain of slavery.
