She wakes to the sound of birds outside her window, the dawn just beginning to peak through her window. She stretches and lays aside the threadbare cloth that is her only blanket and rises from her mat on the floor. Then she tenses, he is there. The abuses she bore the night before flood her mind and she reels back from any chance that he would touch her, make contact with her, know that she exists.
“Cinderella. CINDERELLA!” The cry comes from the rooms above her and he stirs.
Quickly she slips on her sandals and flies from the room.
“Coming mother!” She calls, attempting to be quiet, yet loud enough for the person calling to hear her. she flinches as she hears movement behind her and rushes up the stairs.
“I’ll pay for one more hour.” She hears him say and everything inside her wilts, crushed beneath a weight that forces her to her knees.
“Take care of him, Cinderella. Get his money first. Take care of him and then start cleaning.”
In writing about worship, about God’s presence in our lives and our great need of Him. Can we remember that others need Him too? Can we see past our plight of failures, of un-fulfilled dreams, of sorrows and fears and see that we are not alone?
As I consider the coming new year, I want my worship, my life to not just make me feel good for a moment. My worship is to go beyond me, to affect lives, give hope and promise to not just a few but to many. Many need it, need it so much.
And the story I shared, this is a reality, made cleaner because the true reality is unprintable, for millions for people around the world.
A challenge, a call to arms.