This is not the post I planned to write today.
Yesterday morning, eyes heavy, my fingers fumbled on my nightstand searching for the iDevice that would bring me my morning news. I tapped the CNN square, then immediately shot up and reached for the light.
The city of my father’s family glared on the crimson and eggshell screen. Just 10 miles from my dad’s boyhood home, a horrific crime had been taking place. On Monday, three women held in captivity for a decade finally made their escape.
Kidnapped Teens Found! Women Reunited With Family! Neighbor Turns Hero!
When any tragedy strikes, a selfish focus envelops me. What if it were my daughter?
This is a photo of my daughters 10 years ago.
This is them now.
Ten years in captivity. It’s a long time to lie awake wondering what happened to your child. Ten months. Ten days. Ten minutes. Ten anything is too much to bear.
I once read the book, Room: a Novel, by Emma Donoghue. The story told about a kidnapped girl, her fathered-by-her-captor son, and their daring escape. Each turn of the page disturbed me further until I became nauseas. It was fiction.
Stories like this are not supposed to be real.
We all know a long road of healing lies ahead for these women. Let’s remain thankful for the joy we share because their families are whole once more.
No, this is not the post I planned to write today. Blogging about striving to live with a servant’s nature, I could not ignore this story or write about something insignificant in light of three women and a child now free.
All my heart wants to do is shout from the rooftops (or the inter-webs, as the case may be), Thanks Be To God!
For the hundreds of mamas out there who still don’t know where their missing babies are, may we keep praying for them until they, too, can make their families whole again.
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