The Dying Child

   It's not hard to see that all around the world children need the love of a family. From the onslaught of war, famine, trafficking, disease, and abandonment there's a huge gap where our next generation is falling into. There is a responsibility resting on our shoulders as human beings to step up to the plate and take ownership of this mandate. This mandate was set in motion by our forefather's who came to this nation to right which was wrong. We have only fallen back into a place from which they tried escaping. It's the crime of apathy, and self-gratification that has hurled us back into a world where all we consider is ourselves. The time has come for us to see things shift back to what is true and take back the time we have lost.

   There are cchildren in our own cities that are broken and dying without hope for a brighter future. They long for the kiss of a mother's soft lips or a strong shoulder of a father to cling to. This is our responsibility as humans. Are we not concerned for the hurting infants of this day and age? Are we not moved to tears by the cry of a hurting generation? We must tend to the beat of our own heart hearts that are telling us to go. Go towards that cry. Go running with arms spread wide and embrace the lonely ones. The process may be great, but the reward even greater. Listen to these words from a great author who understood loneliness and pain, but in the end found comfort in the love of a mother who he saw as an angel....

The Dying Child


Mother, I'm tired, and I would fain be sleeping;
Let me repose upon thy bosom sick;
But promise me that thou wilt leave off weeping,
Because thy tears fall hot upon my cheek.

Here it is cold: the tempest raveth madly;
But in my dreams all is so wondrous bright;
I see the angel-children smiling gladly,
When from my weary eyes I shut out light.

Mother, one stands beside me now! and, listen!
Dost thou not hear the music's sweet accord?
See how his white wings beautifully glisten?
Surely those wings were given him by the Lord!

Green, gold, and red, are floating all around me;
They are the flowers the angel scattereth.
Should I have also wings while life has bound me?
Or, mother, are they given alone in death?

Why dost thou clasp me as if I were going?
Why dost thou press thy cheek so unto mine?
Thy cheek is hot, and yet thy tears are flowing!
I will, dear mother, will be always thine!

Do not sigh thus – it marreth my reposing;
But if thou weep, then I must weep with thee!
Ah, I am tired – my weary eyes are closing –
Look, mother, look! the angel kisseth me!

By Hans Christian Andersen.



May you be spurred on to bring that glimmer of hope to a child's eyes and may you be challenged to once again shift things back into perspective! Be filled with grace and strength!

J.