This is what I read today: an article about a 10 year old girl.
(Read it before you read any further....but know that it isn't happy.)

When I read it, I didn't cry. I was angry instead: at her family (she has a chance for a better life), at whoever would buy her, and at the people who support the child sex trade. And then I was angry at my life, at myself, for still being here instead of being there doing something. Every time I read something like this, I want to go and help these children, but I don't know how. And I know it's not time yet, I still have school, I have a purpose here as well, etc, etc. So I wait and I pray and I research so when the time comes, I know who is out there helping. Still, it leaves me frustrated and impatient and wanting to gather up all the children and make everything okay.

I wonder, too, how many more articles I can read and stories I can hear before it all starts to sound the same and to sound old, like I've heard it all before. I wonder, is there a point where my brain won't want to hear another story and my heart won't be able to cope with the sorrow and pain and I'll stop listening or caring. I pray that never happens; I know it will feel better but it means they'll win again and one day no one will do anything. That day must not come.

And now I'm at home and soon my Sunday School girls will show up for a sleepover and I think, they're all about that age, and their biggest concerns are about what movie we'll watch, and they take a loving family and an education and a future for granted, and I'm so thankful on their behalf.

And so this evening I'll watch them play and laugh at them and be happy, and for a little while I won't think about all the children who aren't allowed a childhood. For a little while the world will be okay.