“Forgive, and you will be forgiven." ~ Luke
6:37
She scribbled a note and set it on
the table. It contained only eight
words, but that was enough: “I’m running away – don’t look for me.” She left home not knowing where she was
headed; didn’t know how she’d survive or who she’d meet, but didn’t care. At 14, Marin was free and that’s all that
mattered.
No matter how she’d tried to sleep, the hard floor hurt her
bones and scratched her skin; never mind the bugs and rodents that preyed on
young flesh. Abysmal didn’t nearly
describe the water quality, especially at the bottom of the barrio’s drainage ditch.
Sometimes she wouldn’t eat for days, saving what few scraps
the family managed for your younger siblings just to keep them quiet - she
hated the desperate sound of hungry children.
Knowing what life on the streets would be like for her beautiful,
young daughter, Marin’s mother Livia hurriedly packed to go find her. Before leaving her small village, Livia
stopped at the store for one last thing - pictures. She sat in the photo booth, closed the
curtain, and spent almost all she had on pictures . . . of herself. With a purse full of B&W photos, she
boarded the bus to San Jose.
Marin had no money but Livia
knew her daughter was too stubborn to quit.
When pride meets hunger, a human will do unthinkable acts for food.
Livia searched bars, hotels, any place with the reputation
for street walkers. She taped her
picture on bathroom mirrors, hotel bulletin boards, and random utility poles. The back of each photo contained a brief note.
It wasn't long before both money and pictures ran out. Livia wept as she boarded the bus for her long
journey back to La Carpio.
Weeks later, Marin descended the hotel stairs. Her face looked tired. Brown eyes no longer sparkled of youth . . .
but of fear and pain. Her dream had
become a nightmare. Oh how she longed to
trade these “empty” beds for her mother’s dirt floor. Yet the little village was in many ways,
miles and sins behind her.
As she reached the bottom of the stairs, her eyes noted something
familiar. She looked again, and there on
the lobby mirror was a small picture of her Mom. Marin’s throat tightened as she raced across
the room, removed the small photo, and read its compelling invitation:
"Whatever you’ve done, whatever you’ve become - it doesn't
matter. Please come home!"
Marin caught the next bus.
Lord - How do you do it? How to you constantly forgive us when we screw
up and hurt You? Grant me the strength
to forgive; I don't want to live with the burden of anger and hatred any
longer. Help me Lord, forgive everyone
in my life. Amen.
