a wee Light
The child twists her face in mockery. "She's very ugly!" she states, pointing. My gentle contradiction puzzles her, as did the previous points of conversation. She shrugs and changes the subject. I soon learn that these are recent immigrants from a region of civil war. The five children interrupt each other, glad for an audience. Around us the moldy, dark caverns which used to be buildings sag with caved in roofs. Only an occasional apartment boasts an actual remaining door. Stench, rot, rats, and death linger in the air. Older prostitutes and transvestites pepper the passing pedestrians. A refugee recognizes us and smiles, waving. These stately buildings were homes before the pogrom. How crime can be swept aside as if it never happened is a wonderment. Each generation now reaps the bitter fruit of former deeds. So the elderly squatters shuffle past, with haunted eyes, and the young are mocking and beligerent, setting themselves up in rebellion before they are barely started. Those who move in find their children can't play outside without being at risk of pedeophiles. For one crime gives birth to others. Infrastructure is scanty, fires start easily, disease runs about on rat's feet. Abandoned buildings were transformed in to brothels. Even churches didn't escape this desecration. Darkness reigns here unbridled.
Or so it seems. In little corners, Light is growing. These are the homes where there is Hunger and Thirst for Eternal Food and Living Water. In various languages, from many backgrounds, worship is rising. People are meeting in secret and studying the Bible. Prayer for healing is whispered abroad. A God that answers prayer! That changes everything! Yes, it may just be in a few small corners just now. But Hope can't be held back, especially where it contrasts so greatly with it's environment.