This morning I watched a woman cry. She had traveled to Missouri from New Orleans in the wake of Hurricane Katrina with two friends. She had been transplanted into this little Sunday school classroom, amidst a crowd of clean, white faces in America’s Hometown. And she cried.We had just finished prayer time, a large portion of which was dedicated to those on the Gulf Coast. And when we opened our eyes, her face was wet.
I can only imagine what she saw when she closed her eyes—the scenes that flashed in the dark.
Those tears made more sense to me than the scenes on my television, the words in my newspapers, the photos in my magazines.
This morning I watched a woman cry. She was beautiful. She broke my heart.
This morning I cried.