Bloody hands…

I imagine myself, running towards an unwanted battle, and seeing people strewn across the streets, bleeding and gulping for life to hang on. A battle, which could have been prevented, had I been fighting the right way before all this mess started.

Looking down at my hands, I shiver at the sight of the redness drying on my skin, and I try to wipe it off. But it’ll need some hot water.

That’s exactly how I feel. It’s exactly what I’ve been doing. Spilling blood on my hands.

How many times does God ask us to do something? To tell just one person of His great love and mercy?

We are too afraid of our ruining our reputation, or rejection from those so desperately in need, or perhaps, unsure about God’s will.

Young people, by the scores, across the world are aimlessly groping around in dark caves for something to hold on to, lest they fall. We have the ropes, the gear and the skill.

May God help me to get in there, and save those who are falling, or die trying.


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