He was the one who woke me up. I didn’t want to open my eyes. And when I did, I blinked and wanted to fall back asleep. But it wasn’t sleep he woke me from. It was spiritual apathy. My husband, Ron, told me he cried as he read the newspaper that morning. What could be so moving as to make you cry over a picture?
It was a little girl and her dad. The child was my little girl’s age, and her daddy crawling under a fence, searching for freedom.
It could have been my husband and my daughter in that picture. But it wasn’t. We were safe in our houses, food in our bellies, and comforts all around us.