A few days ago a friend of mine sent me a Facebook message. I love to get little messages from friends who live so many miles away from me. This particular friend has had a significant influence on the journey that is my life. I don’t think she knew that until this past week but that’s probably how influence and inspiration works most of the time.
I knew she was training for a marathon. Excellent. I knew she was running the marathon to raise funds for a non-profit close to her heart. Excellent. I knew generally what the cause was. Okay. I knew this message was in connection to her fundraising. Eh. . . I was avoiding this Facebook message. Not because I have anything against fundraising. No, not in the least. Rather, I was avoiding this dear friend’s message because I knew it would force me to open my eyes.
I had been praying for this friend’s training, for her fundraising efforts and for her family. Goodness, anyone who has trained for an endurance event can tell you that a supportive family is important. It takes a good amount of time to train for such an event. What I hadn’t done was really look at the cause. I knew it would make is so I couldn’t turn away.
After a few days of trying to ignore it I took a deep breath and opened the message that I knew would drive straight to my core. I read her message and tried to harden my heart to the eyes looking at me through the photos. The girls who are no different than my girls, except for circumstance.
On the drive home from picking up my younger two children from school those eyes haunted me. Their stories tore my heart apart. A righteous rage arose in my soul. I wanted to turn tables. I wanted to scream at the people who could even consider such a thing an option to consider.
I knew I couldn’t ignore my friend’s request anymore. I couldn’t look at my own girls and know I denied such a small amount that would make such a big difference to girls so similar so far from home.